Page 132 of The Import Slot
“I hear Vicky and Liam spent the night together,” I say.
“I hear!” He gives me a suggestive look.
“Okay, what did Liam tell you? Vicky reckons they just cuddled.”
“He wouldn’t say. Probably because Johnny was there, I don’t have a sister, but I wouldn’t want to hear about her getting railed if I did.”
“Oh, it would be a Christmas miracle if they got back together.”
Ryan’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the screen before hitting reject.
“My dad,” he says.
“Shouldn’t you get it?”
He shrugs, but it rings again, and again he ignores it. It’s only when it rings for the third time does he pick up.
The conversation he has with his dad is short and sharp, with one-word answers from Ryan.
He hangs up and tosses his phone on the bed.
“Are we having this shower, babe?”
I follow him into the bathroom and get undressed, turning the water on and letting it run hot before stepping in.
“What was that about?” I ask.
Ryan steps in behind me.
“Well, there’s been some talking this morning. Liam is looking into coming here next season, and I’m pretty sure my dad wants to lecture me about it. Still, if that’s the case, someone will have to go, perhaps me, so signing for the Jets again would be the best option.”
“Well, now you mention it, Danny seems to think the rules may change for next season with an increase in import slots,” I say. I’d forgotten about it until now.
“What? Are you serious?” he says.
“Yeah, but that, too, is also just talk.” I pause for a moment. “Are you actually thinking of staying? Really?”
“I’ve already asked if we can discuss it after Christmas, Jen.” He leans in and kisses me, melting away my thoughts and worries.
“How come you gave me your first goal puck?” I ask as we break apart.
He takes me by the chin and looks me in the eye, his hands slightly rough on my skin. “Promise not to laugh?”
“What? Why would I laugh?”
“You’ve turned me into an old romantic,” he says.
“I won’t laugh,” I promise.
“That puck was the most important thing to me. Well, what it represented anyway, but I want you to have it. It’s like a piece of my heart, the same with that puck I gave you when I scored my first goal here. You’ve still got it, right?”
“Yes. It’s in my knicker drawer,” I admit, and he chuckles, leaning in to kiss me.
“I love you,” he says, and I say it back because I do, so much that sometimes I think my heart will burst.
There’s a pause for a moment, and I can tell he’s thinking.
“I’m not going back to the NHL, Jen,” he says.
