Page 153 of Face Off
“Yeah. That’s not something you usually do.” She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I’ve done a lot of things with you, baby, that I haven’t done with anyone else. One of my best friends finding out about our relationship doesn’t make me uncomfortable. In fact, I’m excited about it.” It’s my turn to shrug. “I was serious when I said I want to hold your hand in public and show you off. Now there’s one less person to hide it from. Hudson is all for it. He said he’s happy for me, and that’s pretty damn cool.”
“Be honest.” Her fingers loop around my silver chain and give the jewelry a gentle tug, urging me closer. Our mouths are inches apart, and I brush my nose against hers. “How terrible is it to not be single anymore?”
I pull down on her bottom lip with my thumb then cup her jaw. I’m so fucking desperate to touch her. “I would say I wish I had gone off the market sooner, but that means I wouldn’t be with you and… I don’t know. Not to get all cheesy and shit, but you were worth the wait. I like learning how to do this with you. I like learning that you hog the covers and have to sleep with one leg on top of the sheets.”
“It balances out my body temperature,” she argues, and I grin. “You’re smiling at me. I like it when you smile at me.”
“You used to hate it.”
“Not so much anymore. Is it silly to say I’m excited for you to meet my dad? I’ve never introduced him to any of my boyfriends before, and I’m glad that you’re the first.”
“How the tables turn. Five months ago you would’ve laughed in my face if I asked to meet your dad. Now look at you. You’regrinning, Red.”
She swats at my chest and I curl my fingers around her wrist. “I am not.”
“You’re a terrible liar. What’s your question of the day?”
“We’ve done so many of these, I’m afraid I’m going to run out of things to ask soon.” Emmy sighs. “Can you go first tonight?”
“Sure. What are you most proud of in your life?”
“I miss when we talked about birthdays and favorite colors. Now we’re getting into the real deep stuff.”
“I mean, I could ask your opinion on time travel instead.”
“I don’t even know how to begin to answer that.” She wiggles in my arms and closes her eyes. “I think I’m proud that I haven’t let the noise surrounding the sport I love get too loud. I wasn’t sure I was going to last in this league, not because I doubted my capabilities as a player, but because of the outside factors that tried so hard to get me to fail. The social media comments. The signs at away games telling me I don’t belong on the ice. I proved them wrong, and I found a place where I want to stay for a long time, with a person I want to be with. That’s never happened before.”
“I’m proud of you too. I don’t know if I say it enough, butfuck, Em. You remind me why I fell in love with skating.”
“Thank you. Now you have to tell me what you’re most proud of.”
“Not killing Cole Meyers,” I say, and she snorts. “I’m serious. I was ready to end that motherfucker with my bare hands, and I would’ve strangled him, if I had the chance. It’s a shame the refs got involved.”
“I can take care of myself just fine, I have been for years, but watching you stand up for me… I felt like I was yours for the first time. Like I had someone who would be by my side, no matter what.”
I write the wordminewith her freckles again.Mine, mine, mine.
All mine, for as long as she’ll have me.
I hope it’s forever.
“You are mine,” I tell her, and it sounds like there’s something else trying to sneak through.
Something I swallow down and replace with a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then the spot below her ear that earns me a pleased groan and a gentle roll of her hips. I switch our positions and ease her onto her back, my hands on either side of her head. Her hair is spread out on my pillows like wildfire, and when her eyes lock on mine, I think lightning strikes.
“Show me,” Emmy whispers, and her fingers find the tiny space on my bicep without any tattoos. The lone square of my skin that hasn’t found a permanent piece of art yet. I swear she writes out her name with pink nails and a hot press of her mouth. “Show me how much I’m yours.”
Time skips ahead after that. There are clothes, then there aren’t. I touch her everywhere and she touches me. I kiss her as I sink inside her and she threads her hands through my hair when she comes, the quietest little laugh at the back of her throat.
After I clean her up and burrow my face in the back of her neck, it still feels like I’m forgetting to tell her something, but I don’t have a goddamn clue what it is.
FORTY-FOUR
MAVERICK
Emmy isthe spitting image of her dad.
