Page 87 of Second Shot

“Yeah.” Kincaid guffaws. “The First Bush.”

We all laugh and it feels so fucking good to be back to normal. I don’t ever want to go through anything like what Gabe and I just weathered again. I also appreciate the guys so much more than I did when I first arrived. They truly had my back when Freddy came for me. I didn’t let them in, but they protected me regardless. That’s not just something a teammatedoes. That’s something a good friend does. I came here to play hockey, but it seems I’ve found love and a great group of friends.

“Bathroom break,” I announce, sliding off my chair.

“I’ll come with you,” Gabe says.

I smile. “Sure. The more the merrier.”

“You’re not going to have bathroom sex, right?” Foster jeers.

“Jealous?” Gabe responds, laughing.

Foster shrugs. “Maybe.”

The bathroom is small and dimly lit, with vintage charm that fits the bar’s old Southern bones. Exposed brick peeks through chipped plaster, and a tarnished mirror hangs above a pedestal sink with brass taps. The air smells faintly of lemon cleaner and a single sconce casts a soft amber glow, catching on the ornate frame of the mirror and the filigree scrollwork on the stall doors.

We take care of business and meet back at the sink. We wash our hands and as soon as I’ve dried my hands, Gabe pounces, pushing me up against the nearest wall and kissing me. I respond, sliding my hands up his back. This is the first time we’ve been alone all day, and even though I’m spending the night at his house tonight, I’ve craved his touch.

When the kiss ends, he says, “Dude, we’re going to the fucking playoffs.”

“I know.” I shake my head, squeezing his ass. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

“It is though.” He kisses me again and then reluctantly steps back. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, lust glittering in his eyes. “Damn, can’t wait to get you home.”

“Are you going to have your way with me?” I smirk.

“Well, duh,” he responds with a laugh and we leave the bathroom.

When we return to the table, our teammates are deep in a debate about playoff matchups and potential Cinderella stories. But as I settle back into my chair next to Gabe, I realize I don’t care about any of that right now. All I need is the press of his knee, and the knowledge he’s mine. Whether we hoist the Cup or not, I already feel like I won the big prize.

Later that night, we’re lying in bed, sweaty from probably the hottest sex we’ve ever had. Gabe’s body is curled around mine, and he’s on the verge of dozing off. I’m covered in his creamy release, and mine is leaking out of his ass. What might look like a porno to any outsider is actually the most romantic moment of my life.

Life is good right now. I have Gabe and the Seadragons are making a run for the cup. But ifGod came down right now and made me choose, I’d take Gabe’s love every time. I could live without hockey if I had to, but not without Gabe.

Gabe gives a soft snore and I grin, kissing his hair. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d crave the domestic life. But Gabe and I are all in. Our near breakup only made us stronger. In fact, I’m so invested in this man, I’m moving out of my soul sucking condo and into Gabe’s home. It was his idea, and I’m thrilled about it.

Even the fact that my father called wanting tickets to the finals doesn’t dampen my happiness. But he can go fuck himself. After the messages he sent me when I was under attack from Freddy, I’m done even trying with that man. I wouldn’t give him a glass of water if he was dying of thirst in the desert.

I guess for once he thought I was valuable to him. Stanley Cup Finals tickets are notoriously hard to get. Every game is usually sold out, often within hours or minutes of release. Sure, I could have gotten him tickets, but I didn’t. I also didn’t bother responding to his messages. But he’s so arrogant, he’ll probably show up with his pals trying to be the big man. It would never occur to him I wouldn’t do his bidding.

Gabe jerks and mumbles loudly,“I had it.”

I gently pat his cheek. “Hey, baby, you’re just dreaming. Everything’s okay.”

His eyes open and he looks disoriented. Then he covers his face, groaning. “Oh, God, I just had the worst dream.”

“Yeah?” I smile. “Another one?”

“This one was worse than last night’s.” He shudders.

“What happened?”

He exhales. “We were in Game 7… everything was tied, final minute. You passed me the puck. It was clean, a perfect feed, and I was in the slot with nothing but open net. Their goalie was way out of position. It was a gift.”

I grimace because I know what’s coming.

He sighs. “And I whiffed. I didn’t just miss, I fanned on itcompletely. Like, the kind of miss where the whole arena goes silent. I could feel everyone watching, knowing I blew it. Even you looked… I don’t know. Disappointed in me.”

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