Page 97 of The Import Slot
“Yeah, imagine if Liam had come as planned.”
“I’d have fallen in love with him instead,” I smirk.
“Yeah? Then I’d have won your heart over, so we’d have ended up together anyway.”
He rolls over onto me, and we’re both laughing. I’ve never laughed so much with a guy.
“I need to get some sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow,” I say, wriggling underneath him. His dick is thick and heavy against my leg. “You are insatiable. You can’t be horny again.”
“I’m always horny for you.”
He kisses my neck, and I’m so tempted.
“A quick one,” I say with a grin, and his mouth finds mine.
Chapter 26
Ryan
Vickyhasmeinearly for practice to film me doing some puck handling for the socials. She made it sound like it was a favour she was doing me for the publicity, but I don’t give a shit about socials.
“We’re offering fans a chance to sponsor a puck, which gives them a signed photo of you presenting it. This is what I want for the promotional material,” she says, standing on the centre line.
Vicky has me skate back and forth in the neutral zone, bouncing the puck with the blade of my stick.
“Perfect,” she says, flicking her hair back. “Right, we’re all done.”
I skate toward the bench.
“No problem,” I say, but she doesn’t make eye contact with me today. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm, yeah.” She’s cycling through the pictures on her camera. “God, you look like Liam in this one.”
It comes out in almost a whisper; she sounds deflated. I bet she finds it hard to look at me.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help that.”
“No, no, you usually look similar but different, if that makes sense, but this one,” she holds out her camera, “this one is very Liam.” I don’t know what to say to her, so I head off, but she stops me.
“I was pregnant, you know, not long before Liam got drafted.”
I take a while to process what she says, and about fifty questions pop into my head. Still, Vicky recounts the story as if she’s been bursting to tell me.
“I was going to tell you that night we spoke in my kitchen, but then Jen called us through.” I pull her into a hug. She’s wearing some runners and slides a bit before she clutches me, and I can hear her breathing change: she’s trying not to cry.
“I’m so sorry, Vicky,” I say. Fuck. I could be an uncle now.
“Thanks. It’s just one of those things.”
“For the record, he’s never loved anyone else, Vic.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she looks back down at her camera.
“Vicky, do you need me next?” Bettsy shouts from the tunnels, interrupting the moment.
“Actually, I need Scott.”
I leave her to it and step off the ice, heading to the dressing room and wading through a few guys, chatting near the benches.
