Page 87 of A Million Times, Yes
“You know, when we went skating and you talked about the retired players whose jerseys hung from the ceiling of the arena, I realized it’s far more than just a sport to you. And you’re more than just a player—you’re a fan too.”
He nodded. “It’s been my entire life for a very long time.”
“And it’s part of you I don’t really know much about aside from what I’ve read.” I paused. “Will you introduce it to me?”
The smile on his face was as big as when I’d confirmed that I was his. “There’s nothing I’d love more.”
With my hand in his, he brought me toward the front of his condo and up a set of stairs that I hadn’t noticed when I first came in. The room at the top was a loft, the backside overlooking the living room, and what it had been converted into was the ultimate man cave, with a large brown leather sectional in the middle facing a wall of multiple flat-screen TVs. There was a projector and a popcorn machine and a full candy display and a bar that had a soda fountain and beer taps and shelves of liquor behind it.
But the attraction for me—and for Jordan, I was sure—was what covered the walls.
“In here is everything I’ve collected since I was a kid. Jerseys I’ve had signed. Sticks used by my idols. Pucks from Stanley Cup games. Rings I’ve been given for winning the Stanley Cup. This stuff isn’t just from a career in hockey—this is everything I’ve been able to compile as a true lover of the sport.”
Every framed jersey and stick and puck and ring display had lights shining over them as though they were works of art in a gallery.
“I can see how deep that love runs,” I told him. “One day, the names on those jerseys will make sense to me and I’ll look at these walls in awe, like I’m sure you do. But for right now, I’m in awe of you.”
He kissed the top of my head. “You don’t have to love a sport just because I do.”
“But I want to. I want to learn about the things you’re passionate about, the things you’re absolutely in love with, and I want to fall in love with them too.”
“Then let me show you what every hockey player dreams of and only a few ever achieve.”
He brought me over to the cabinet of rings, unlocking the glass to take one out. “This is the ring from the last Stanley Cup my team won,which was the last game I played in.” He turned the ring so I could see each of the sides and put it back in the cabinet. “If you want to know the truth, all that is, to me, is an award. Sure, I’m happy as fuck that I have three rings total. But what I hold on to are the memories and my teammates and the feeling of being on that ice.”
I put my hands on his shoulders. “Why did you retire? I get the feeling you didn’t want to.”
“No player ever wants to retire. We live and die for our sport. But my body can’t handle that level of play anymore. Hockey is for the young, and even though thirty-three—or thirty-one, when I retired—isn’t old, it’s ancient when it comes to that sport. A body can only tolerate so much exertion, and mine was reaching its limit. I made the choice to leave before my body made the choice for me.”
“I hate that for you.”
He pressed his lips to my forehead and whispered, “I’m grateful for the time I did get to play.”
“I’m assuming you could have just retired, that you didn’t technically need to go to work for the family business?”
“It wasn’t for financial reasons, no. I’ve earned enough money from the NHL that I would never have to work another day. But I have so much more in me, and sitting on my ass at home isn’t how I want to spend the remainder of my life.” He wrapped his arms around me. “My job at Worthington Enterprises is strictly on the sports side. Given my history, I bring a completely different outlook to the way our teams are managed and how our stadiums and arenas operate. That’s what I do on a daily basis, and that’s the corporate bullshit I was hinting at when I was trying to avoid talking about my employer.”
“‘Your employer.’” I snorted. “Youare the employer.”
“Well, my father is above me, so I’m not the top dog.”
I fell against his chest and looked up at his face. “Essentially, what you’re saying—and what you wanted to say before and felt like you couldn’t—is that you’re a total badass on the ice and in the office.”
“I fucking love hearing those words come out of your mouth.” He looked down, and his lips hovered over mine. “And now I want to see how they taste on your tongue.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jordan
I told her I wanted to see how her words—you’re a total badass on the ice and in the office—tasted on her tongue. Now that I had, I couldn’t stop kissing her. It was like my lips were rediscovering hers, my tongue uncovering her mouth, my hands exploring every inch of her body.
And all it was doing was making my dick grow in response, throbbing to be inside her.
I needed her.
I needed her far more than I needed the dinner I made.
I pulled my mouth away, her eyes slowly opening, a deep, feral hunger in her gaze.
