Page 51 of Second Shot

I snort. “You don’t have to pity me. I’m sure I could have found a way out of that trap.”

“Just keep telling yourself that, Gabe.”

He sets a steaming plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me. “How about we just eat while the food is hot?”

“Works for me. I’m starving.”

The eggs are perfect, creamy and rich, with herbs from little pots that sit on the sill of his kitchen window. I dig into the crispy, buttery toast, thick-cut bacon, and strawberries that taste like summer even though it’s now early March. Everything tastes better here, in this house that feels more like home than anywhere else I’ve lived.

“God, your scrambled eggs are so much better than mine.” I sigh, looking down at my food. “They’re like little clouds of goodness.”

“Thanks.”

I take another bite. “What’s your secret?”

He meets my gaze, his expression deadpan. “It’s all in the wrist.”

“The wrist?” I wrinkle my brow. “What does the wrist have to do with making eggs?”

“You need strong wrists.” He looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“To make scrambled eggs?” I give a confused smile. “And why would your wrists be stronger than anyone else’s? What in the world are you talking about?”

He holds up a forkful of egg, examining it closely. “Remember I told you I hadn’t had sex with anyone else for a few months before you?”

I frown, confused. “Yes. I’m not following why that would affect your egg scrambling skills.” I take a bite of eggs.

He makes a few stroking gestures with one hand, grinning. “My wrists got quite the work out during that dry spell.”

I almost choke on my mouthful of food, and have to drink some water. Gabe’s laughter fills the kitchen as he stands to pat me on the back.

“You okay?” he asks, still laughing guiltily.

“You almost killed me” I rasp, wiping my mouth with my napkin. But I can’t help smiling. I love this playful side of Gabe.

He gives my back another few concerned pats and then goes back to his seat. “To answer your question about how to make fluffy eggs, I just add a little cream and whip the hell out of them.”

I shake my head. “Why do I feel like you’re still talking about sex?”

He chuckles and bites into a crispy piece of bacon.

My heart warms as I watch him. Gabe is quickly becoming my favorite person. He’s no longer guarded, and rarely retreats into his quiet shell around me these days. He makes me feel safe and protected. I like him so much, it scares me. This thing between us feels really special, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. I’ve never had much luck with guys.

His voice interrupts my thoughts. “Hey, it just occurred to me. If you want to learn how to cook a few things, I can teach you,” he says simply. “If you want.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s no bother.” He smiles at me. “Besides, it’ll be healthier if we have more homecooked meals.”

His offer makes me happier than he knows. He’s implying we have a future that includes domestic moments and shared meals. I love the idea of that with him. I never really thought much about enjoying time at home. That was actually something Tam and I fought about all the time. He hated that I always ate out with the team after practice. I probably should have made more of an effort to go home to eat dinner withhim. I guess the fact I didn’t bother was telling. As time goes on, and I get some distance from Tam, I’m beginning to see a lot of his complaints about me were legit. I never put him first. Never.

Back in Chicago, all I cared about was hockey. And while my main focus is still on my job, I’m beginning to realize there’s more to life thanjusthockey. I’m starting to realize that there needs to be more to my life than just hockey. Hockey players are like all other professional athletes in that we all have a short shelf life. Injuries can take you out in an instant, and even if you get lucky, aging out of the job is a real thing. If you don’t have anything else in your life, when your hockey career ends, life will seem very bleak.

Gabe is the first guy I’ve been with where I can actually see a future. I can see us living together, Gabe cooking delicious meals and me fixing shit around the house. I’m tired of the single life. The idea of being domesticated actually appeals to me when Gabe is in the equation. I’d rather have a movie night at home with Gabe than go out clubbing with Niko and the guys. This thing with Gabe might be the only stable, mature connection I’ve ever made with another man.

Of course, since I don’t plan on retiring anytime soon, it’s a huge bonus that Gabe is just as obsessed with professional hockey as I am. Wecan talk about it for hours without worrying about boring each other. Not only is the sex off-the-charts great, but we also share a love of the game that most people can’t begin to understand. It’s hard for outsiders to grasp how demanding this life is. Being in a relationship with someone who shares the same grueling practice and workout schedules, along with the same disciplined approach to eating, definitely makes things easier.

“Let’s sit out on the deck and finish our coffee.” Gabe’s voice interrupts my thoughts as he comes over to take my empty plate to the sink.

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