Page 104 of My Wife
A ray of sunlight pours into the dim locker room. “No, that we have room to grow. To improve. To be better than we were tonight and show the Blizzard that when we lose, we get back up. We return stronger, tougher, more precise.”
Pierre says, “Ah, there he is. I was getting worried for a moment.”
I clap my hands together and turn things back over to the coaches.
They shake their heads … approvingly.
Badaszek says, “Go enjoy the gala. Be on your best behavior.”
As we start to filter out, Hayden whispers to Redd, “Looks like he’s in love.”
The latter holds out his hand and the former slaps a large bill into it. I glare at them but don’t argue. They’re wrong, so wrong, but I feel like I finally found my footing as captain and I’m not going to mess that up.
I’ve done enough damage in my life and everyone else’s.
Shortly after, when I meet Jessica in the lobby of the hotel to head to the event, I feel like I got punched in the face.
Her hair is in a chignon with strands spiraling around her neck. She wears sparkly earrings and light pink lipstick. The pale blue and white dress Grandma Dolly helped me pick out highlights her curves in such a way that makes me dizzy. Or it could be the sparkle accents.
I don’t know where to look without gaping, drooling, wolf-whistling.
Yeow.
Maybe Iwashit in the head with a puck and don’t remember. That could’ve happened.
Jessica smiles and wiggles her fingers in a shy wave as I approach.
The whoosh rushes through me and I nearly stumble.
“Is this okay? Did I overdo it? You look mortified.”
I glance around, hoping Grimaldi didn’t hitch a ride to Colorado. Supposedly Badaszek had him stay back for remedial work since his stats have practically dropped from the charts. If he or anyone so much as breathes in her direction the gloves are coming off.
“You look …” I place my hand on Jessica’s lower back, ushering her toward the exit. She scuttles, almost at a trot, jabbering about her dress, hair, and makeup.
I stop her on the sidewalk and plant my palms on her shoulders, my thumbs kneading the soft, exposed skin for a moment. I look her up and down, taking her in, wishing this would last forever. “Jessica, you look stunning.”
She presses her palm to her chest as if taken aback. “I do?”
I nod. “Yes, you do.”
Her fingers trail my cheek. “You didn’t shave.”
My hand finds hers and I grip it, kissing the top. “I would’ve but—” I cut myself off because those sound an awful lot like words I’m not ready to say.
She grins. “I like it this way. The perfect amount of stubble.”
Well, then.
She’s so stunning that when we enter the gala on the white carpet, people do double takes. The press snaps her photo—with me and solo, which is high praise because they must like her ice princess look.
The gala is much like the handful I’ve been to since joining the league. There are a few speeches and our team is honored with an award, followed by dinner and dancing.
Jessica politely toasts and has only a few polite sips of her champagne, but that’s all. Her eyes water from the bubbles. When we take to the dancefloor, her cheeks are flushed and she cuts loose. Smile bright, she kicks it up with the girls until the slow dance when I cut in.
She’s soft in my arms. Resting her cheek against my chest, she says, “My head feels funny.”
“Maybe we should head back to the room?”
