Page 31 of Wrong Number, Right Player
“They will be. Soon as this playoff run is over, I’m going to spend an entire weekend making up for every night we’ve been apart.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I’m stroking faster now, watching the way her back arches as she moves her fingers in small circles. “You’re so beautiful, McKenna. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Tell me,” she gasps.
“You make me crazy. Make me want to forget everything that’s not you.” My voice is getting rougher, less controlled. “I think about you constantly. During practice, during games, during press conferences where I’m supposed to be talking defensive strategies.”
She laughs breathlessly. “That’s terrible focus for a captain.”
“Terrible focus, incredible motivation.” I’m close now, can feel the tension building. “Come for me, baby. Let me watch you fall apart.”
Her rhythm quickens, head falling back against the pillows. “Emmitt, I’m—”
“I know. I can see it. You’re perfect.”
She comes with my name on her lips, back arching off the bed, and the sight pushes me over the edge. I stroke myself through my orgasm, shooting off into my sweatpants as if I’m fourteen again. I watch her beautiful face as she comes down from her high.
For a long moment, we just breathe at each other through the screen.
“Well,” she says finally, voice still shaky. “That was…”
“Not nearly enough,” I finish.
She laughs, reaching for the robe to cover herself. “Not even close.”
I need to change but not yet. There’s no way I’ll break the intimacy of this moment.
“So seven more games until it’ll be your hands on me?” she asks quietly.
“Best-case scenario. Could be as many as thirteen if the series goes the full seven.” I run a hand through my hair. “I am in the strangest conflict of my life right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve wanted to win the Stanley Cup since I was seven years old. It’s been the goal, the dream, everything I’ve worked toward.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “But every series we win means more time away from you. I want to win more than anything, but I also want it to be over so I can start my real life.”
“Your real life?”
“With you.”
Her smile could power the entire Phoenix metro area. “I want that, too. But Emmitt? Don’t you dare hold back in these games for me. You chase that Cup with everything you’ve got. I’ll be here when you’re done. When you’ve led the Freeze to victory.”
And that, right there, is why I’m completely gone for this woman. She gets it. Gets me. Gets that some dreams are worth chasing even when they complicate everything else.
“I won’t hold back.”
We talk for another hour, about everything and nothing. Her business plans, my game strategies, movies we want to watch together, places we want to travel. Normal couple things that feel extraordinary when you’re stealing moments through a phone screen.
When we finally hang up, I sink onto the hotel bed and stare at the ceiling. Three floors down, the woman I love is probably doing the same thing.
McKenna
Theenergyinthebuilding today is electric in a way that makes my skin prickle. Game Seven of the Stanley Cup Finals. At home. Everything on the line. The extra media set up in the arena for tonight’s matchup is insane. And the security is no joke. I had to show my badge twice just to get to my assigned parking spot this morning.
I’m doing a final check of the hydration station just outside the locker room when the first wave of players filters in. It’s only two in the afternoon, but Game Seven has everyone arriving earlier than usual. The station looks perfect—electrolyte drinks organized by flavor and concentration, recovery shakes prepped and labeled, water bottles filled and chilled to optimal temperature.
“Hey, McKenna.” Derek nods as he passes, gear bag slung over his shoulder. “You ready for tonight?”
