Page 11 of Fall to Me
Fuck. Him.
I breathe in deeply one more time, inhaling Carter’s scent, and on an exhale, I release all the negative energy from my body.
“Thank you,” I whisper, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “I needed a moment.”
I can’t explain it, but what he just did for me was enough to let my guard drop a little. My chest swells with emotion, and before I can think better of it, I rise onto my toes to kiss him softly on the cheek.
As he stares at me, his mouth opens, then closes, as if he wants to say something but is thinking better of it.
“She good?” an attendant asks.
Carter gazes into my eyes a little longer, then he glances over my shoulder and nods.
“Yeah, man. She’s good,” he says, then takes me by the hand and leads me to the table.
The attendant begins to secure me into the harness, and Carter doesn’t move an inch. He stands there beside my table, watching every move, never taking his eyes off what’s being done; not even for a second. Then he double checks the attendant, pulling on straps, testing the clips, and tugging on every line and wire to make sure I’m safe and secure before striding to his own table and lying down to be clipped in. I tug on my bottom lip with my teeth and blink back another wave of emotion. No one has ever taken care of me like this before. It makes me feel . . . I don’t know . . . cherished.
The attendant begins working to clip Carter in. “You look very familiar,” he says, leaning over to get a good look, then hesnaps his fingers. “Holy shit. You’re Carter Graham, winger for the New York Blaze.”
Carter flashes his pearly whites. “I am. You know hockey?”
“Yeah. Became a fan when we got our own team here back in twenty-seventeen. Man, that game in the finals last season was crazy. Sucks Boston won. Can’t stand their goalie,” he says as he double-checks everything.
“Sean Mac? He’s a good guy . . . been a buddy of mine for years. The Blaze picked him up a few months ago.”
“Oh yeah. Think I heard something about that. He is a damn good goalie, which is why I can’t stand him,” he chuckles. “The last couple of times we played Boston, Mac shut us out.”
“I guess that’s reason enough.” Carter laughs.
A buzzer goes off as the wall in front of us lowers.
“Ready?” the attendant asks.
Carter glances at me, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and holds his hands straight out in front of him. “It’s time to fly, baby.”
I don’t know whose genius idea this was, but they obviously didn’t think things through very well. Fans keep stopping us. I can’t even tell you how many autographs Carter has signed. We’re both five shots in. Wait. No . . . way more than that. Hell,whatever. I don’t even know how many shots I’ve had now. A lot. All I know is, I’m feeling good, and by Carter’s appearance, he’s right there with me.
He’s loud.
And chatty as hell.
And so fucking sweet.
Dammit, he’s hot.
His head tilts back as he laughs with a fan, causing my stomach to dip and my pulse to skyrocket at the sight.
The two men look at me, and I snap a few more pictures.
“Sorry. Might be a little blurry,” I say, handing the phone back to the fan who wanted Carter’s autograph . . . wait . . . no. A picture. Yes! That’s what he wanted. A picture . . . with Carter.
He keeps talking.
Shut up Carter, I want to win this Bingo thingy.
Grabbing him by his shoulder, I pull him down and brush my lips against the shell of his ear as I whisper, “Blowjob.”
His body stiffens, and my hand falls away. I reach out, grabbing him by the hand, and tug, dragging him into the bar.
