Page 59 of Taking It To Overtime

I know I said I’ve caught a few games, but that was a lie. I’ve watched every time he’s hit the ice. I record the games I can’t watch live. It’s the one way of following him that Tandy allowed. Even if we both knew I was full of shit when I tried to pretend I was just an avid hockey fan. I’ve seen him score goals on totally illegal streaming sites when I’m abroad. I’ve watched him scowl at opponents, slam the puck past a million goalies, and point at the camera before each…

The world screeches to a halt.

“I saw an interview you did last season.” I close the space between us, pressing the front of my body to his naked chest. “It was about game day superstitions. You refused to talk about yours.”

His hands are on my waist again, “Some things are—”

“Private. I know.”

Because his superstition isn’t one he’d share. His pre-game ritual has history and even when he thought there was nothing between us, no chance for a future, he still didn’t change it. Before every game he played—even though he assumed I wasn’t watching—Robbie would stand on the ice for the anthem, hand pressed across his tattooed heart. And as the last bars of O Canada faded into the stands, he’d kiss his palm and point at the camera.

All those years.

It wasn’t just his heart. It wasn’t just a kiss,

It was my flower.

It was for me.

“I’ve been looking at this all night.” Robbie loops his finger under the silver chain of my necklace. “I didn’t get a good look at first, and then I was distracted, but I know what this is.” He tugs gently, and I hiss at the pressure against the back of my night. My eyes go heavy lidded as Robbie smirks. “At first I thought I was seeing things. But I’m not, am I?” A kiss to my neck along the links of silver and I whimper.

“How long have you been carrying this necklace around Vera?” His lips trace the metal. “Was it stashed in the back of your jewelry box? Did you pack it up and bring it home because Kimmelwick brought up memories?”

His mouth presses to the pendant, dipping into the barest shadow of my cleavage. It takes three deep breaths before I can put together a sentence.

“I wear it every day.”

“You—what?” Robbie pulls back, staring deep into my eyes like subtitles are printed on my irises. “My initial? Every day?” It almost sounds like he can’t breathe.

“Is that so hard to believe?” He squeezes his eyes shut, at my question. “Don’t you wear me?”

I kiss my palm and press it to his tattoo, then I pull his head down and suck his lower lip into my mouth. Our kiss goes from zero to sixty in the span of a heartbeat. I dig my nails into the skin of his chest and he hisses against my lips, chasing my mouth as I suck in a breath. He fists my dress again, dragging it up to pool around my waist, and without my skirt in the way, I can wrap a leg around his hips. He boosts a hand under my ass and then both my legs are hugging his torso.

“Vera.”

He steps away from the door, carrying me to the foot of the closest bed. I bounce when he drops me on the coverlet. “I’m going to last about thirty seconds here, so you have to tell me how to make you come.”

“It’s been that long?” I’m teasing him as he skims his hands up the outside of my thighs.

“My right hand’s a pro, but I don’t think that’s going to help much.” He grins and I can feel his smile as he presses a kiss to my bare shoulder. “It’s been sixteen years.”

That fact did not compute. Not in my brain. He said there was no one else, but I didn’t realize he meant joint orgasms, too. He hasn’t had sex since me. Since he surprised me for prom and I offered myself up to him as if it could make him stay. Spoiler alert: it couldn’t.

My lips part as I take in a shaky breath. I’m already drowning in heat, sweat a fine layer on my skin despite the overpowered air conditioning.

He tries to pull down the top of my dress, and it won’t budge. I hold in my laugh.

“There’s a zipper,” I tell him and prop myself up on my elbow before guiding one of his hands to my back and the tiny zipper hidden in the underlayer.

Robbie’s fingers slip over the tiny piece of metal, too big and unpracticed to get it down blind. His brows pull together in a frown as he tries again. I’m biting down on my lips, holding in my laugh. I don’t want to smirk or do anything to let him know how cute his fumbling is. In my experience, guys don’t respond well to that.

Although they rarely ask for instructions or guidance either and Robbie’s done both. Usually I’m slow to build and most guys lose interest and don’t appreciate direction. It’s easier to use a toy, or fake it and handle business on my own. I don’t want to do that with Robbie. The guy has also survived off only self-handies for over a decade. I don’t want to put too much pressure on one sexual encounter. We can always take a nap and try again.

There’s a muffled curse and then the world is spinning and I realize Robbie has used his grip on my hips to flip me to my stomach.

“This okay?” His voice is deeper, a growl that vibrates through my bones. Mine is breathy, almost a stutter as I say, “yes.”

He leans forward and grips the zip tab with his teeth and drags it down my spine and fuck. Did I say it takes a lot to get me there? Robbie’s going to make me eat my words.

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