Page 136 of Beyond the Lines
“I’m offended by your tone. Yes, I cook. I live alone, remember? It was either learn to cook or subsist entirely on protein bars and Gatorade.”
“The hockey player diet.”
“Exactly.” I stand, pulling her up with me. “So, food?”
“Food, I’m starving, actually,” she agrees. “As long as I can help.”
We move to the kitchen, where I weigh up the options, and settle on pasta with a simple sauce. Cooking together is surprisingly easy, our bodies moving around each other in the small space like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“You’re good at that,” I observe, watching her perfectly dice an onion.
“Better be careful.” She smirks. “I can cut you just as easily.”
When we’ve worked out a sauce and the pasta is on, I pour us each a glass of wine. We sit at my small kitchen table, the pasta bubbling on the stove behind us, and the moment feels perfect.
“To loving what scares us,” I say, raising my glass.
Lea clinks hers against mine. “Is that what I am? Something that scares you?”
“Terrifies me,” I admit, taking a sip. “But in the best possible way.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m scared too. But not of you—of this feeling. It’s so big.”
“I know what you mean.”
And I do. This thing between us feels immense, like it could swallow us whole if we let it. But unlike hockey, unlike art, this isn’t something I want to control or master. I want to let it take me wherever it’s going. The first stop is the dinner, and after that, who the hell knows.
Later, after we’ve eaten and washed the dishes together, Lea stands in my bedroom doorway, wearing one of my practice jerseys, which hangs nearly to her knees. She looks impossibly small and impossibly perfect.
“Your jersey smells like you,” she says, lifting the fabric to her nose.
“I’d hope so.” I shrug. “Although, I should warn you, I sweat alotat practice.”
“Gross.” She gives me a look, smirking, but she doesn’t take the top off.
“Come here,” I say, patting the space beside me on the bed.
She climbs in, curling against my side like she belongsthere. Her head rests on my chest, her arm draped across my stomach. And, although I want to rip her clothes off and ravish her, I also want to stay in this moment for a while, too.
“You know Mike’s going to be pissed at us for a while, right?” I say.
“Mike can go fuck himself.”
I laugh in surprise. “That’s very direct.”
“I’m done letting my family dictate how I should feel.” She sighs. “And I’m done hiding us, so Mike will either get over it or he won’t, but that’s his problem, not ours.”
I reach for her face, to trace the line of her jaw. “I like this fiery version of you. Very sexy, you know?”
“Oh yeah? Good, because you helped create her.” She leans closer, pressing her lips to mine in a soft kiss. “So was getting punched in the face was worth it?”
I smile against her mouth. “Absolutely worth it.”
And as she settles back against me, her breath warm against my neck, I know that I’d take a thousand more punches if it meant ending every day like this—with Lea in my arms, with the words “I love you” still hanging in the air between us.
Mike, the team, our art, and our futures—all of it can wait until tomorrow.
Tonight is just for us.
