Page 55 of Cherry Picking
For now, I’m stretching my legs at the hotel they’ve set me up in and trying not to crawl out of my skin while I wait.
Things have been so intense at home I’ve hardly had the time to be nervous. If we aren’t fucking, Riley is telling me stories about his childhood, about his little brother, and how they’re father is a former football hopeful turned coach who has kept the sporty tradition alive in them both.
If there’s a word for this kind of ethereal happiness, I’d love to know it, because nothing beats mapping out a path to the future with the love of your life.
Well, almost nothing.
Knowing in a couple of hours I’ll be in the Rippers locker room meeting Marek Hutton—Nashville’s prime line goalie for the last seven seasons—comes pretty close. He was the primary backup for nearly three years before that.
I grew up with the Rippers as my dream team. Mom would drive me out to every home game, and in the bottom of every bag I pack is the jersey I wore from game to game until I got it signed by every member of the team. From the first line players to the last to the PHL call ups who were only there for the day.
It’s my token. My charm that this is what I’ve worked for. This is what I spent years flailing from team to team to achieve.
I’m not after permanence—the concept and me never seem to stay on the same page—but a taste is enough to fuel me until I make it up again.
You can be damn sure I will.
“How can you have this much pent up energy at eight in the morning? And why did you have to callmeto get it out?”
I would almost be convinced I’d just woken him up, but I know for a fact Locke is opening the shop this morning, so if he’s not there, he should be on his way.
“Think of it as a courtesy call. So your uncle doesn’t get a hair up his ass about you opening late.”
“I think if my uncle cared, he wouldn’t keep scheduling me to open. Besides, no appointments until noon.”
I’ve paced the span of the hotel room at least a dozen times, but every muscle in my body feels clenched tight in need of release.
I need to be on the ice.
Or in a fight.
Or something to ease this tension coiling through me like a spring.
“Why don’t you call your boyfriend?”
“Because he needs his rest.”
And because I may have kept him up way too late last night yammering on about my excitement. He may have found some real creative ways to keep my mouth occupied.
Sex with Riley never gets old. Never goes stale. It’s fucking phenomenal every single time.
“How considerate of you,” Locke grumbles, but I know as much as he might complain that he’ll always be here for me.
Even when we’ve been in vastly different time zones, Locke has always made time to talk me down or hear me out when I need it. He’s been more of a family to me than my real one—minus my sister. Her absence has nothing to do with me and everything to do with our piece of shit dad.
“Hey, listen,” I say as Locke’s jaw creaks on a yawn. “You might be off the hook soon.”
“For this phone call?”
I chuckle. “No. For being my cover.”
“Oh?”
“Riley and I are … we’re working on opening up to people. I think we might be ready.”
“You mean, you thinkRileymight be ready.”
My smile dips to a frown. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk down about him.”
