Page 35 of The Cutting Edge
"Who is going to watch the post-game Madrid airport show with you if you leave? " she laughs.
"Excellent point, "I say, stepping inside her hospital room. There is unmistakable chemistry between us, and suddenly I find myself in the unusual position of not knowing what to do next. The kiss we shared last night was electric and I haven't stopped thinking about it all day. And the adorable picture she sent before the game with Marissa, wearing my jersey, has to be a sign that this thing between us is moving in an interesting direction. She looks so fucking cute sitting there in the hospital bed still wearing my jersey, and what I’d really like to do is scoop her up in my arms and carry her off somewhere and make love to her until we're both so satiated we pass out.
Probably not appropriate, given she’s in the hospital for the concussion I gave her.
Do I kiss her? Pass “Go” and make myself comfortable in the undersized recliner by her bedside? Tell her I can’t get her out of my head, and I don’t want to?
I'm not sure whatever this thing is between us is quite yet, and to be honest, for the first time in a long time I'm actually invested in not screwing things up with her. I can’t stop thinking about her, even when I’m playing, especially when I’m playing, which is highly unusual for me.
The good news is that I’ve never played better. I didn’t go more than two minutes tonight without thinking about Coco, and I played better than I have in months. I was definitely trying to impress her, and if it pays off in my game, who am I to complain?
I mean, what the hell was I thinking with telling her I’d score another goal just for her — who am I, Babe Ruth? That was just ballsy as shit, it could have gone terribly, humiliatingly wrong — but man, I felt like a Viking when I actually pulled off that hat trick. A fucking Viking.
I opt to make myself comfortable in my usual recliner, but all I really want to do is kiss her. “No one should have to watch airport TV alone.”
She switches on the television and flips through the channels until she reaches our show.
“Oh!” I say, unclasping her green stone necklace from around my neck, "I wanted to make sure to give this back to you. I forgot yesterday."
"You wore my lucky necklace?" she asks, sounding surprised.
“I did. I hope that’s okay. You said it was important to you, so I didn’t want to just leave it in your hospital room with nobody in here to guard it. I put it around my neck when I left the hospital so I’d remember to bring it back to you the next day. But then, of course, I forgot yesterday that I had it on." I hand it back to her carefully, heat rising as our skin makes contact for the first time since last night.
“Well, you had a bagful of lobster macaroni and cheese on your person, and once you’ve tasted that little bit of heaven it’s probably pretty tough to focus on anything else.” Her eyes, playful and full of mischief, meet mine.
“Hmm,” I say, feeling every spark flying between us to the depths of my soul, as my eyes travel from her mesmerizing green eyes to her tantalizing lips and back to her eyes again. “Almost anything else.”
"I guess it worked out for you. You had a pretty incredible game tonight.” She grins, “Or do you always play like that?”
“I’ve certainly had some awesome games in my career, so I don’t want to give your lucky necklace all the credit… But I will say tonight was the first hatty of my NHL career."
“I don't know, it sure sounds like the magic of the lucky necklace to me,” she laughs.
“Maybe we’re operating on a faulty premise here. Are you sure? What makes this necklace so lucky?”
“Well, first of all, green aventurine is believed to be the luckiest gemstone.”
“Lucky rock, check.”
“Don’t be an ass. You asked the question. Green aventurine is believed to be a powerful conduit to manifest good luck, prosperity, and riches. When my mother gave it to me before my first Nationals, which I won, by the way, she told me its special power was in opening doors for me to create my own luck. I’ve always loved that idea.” She rubs the large green stone between her fingers. “This is a stone of opportunities. ”
And then, all of a sudden, it hits me. I wore her necklace in practice yesterday too, and I played like a boss.
Maybe Coco’s necklace had something to do with it. Or maybe Coco herself did.
Of the two, my money’s on the girl who’s occupied my nearly every thought since we first spoke.
She's struggling to put the necklace on, and I stand up to assist, “Please, allow me." She hands the necklace back to me and then turns away, sweeping her long auburn hair to one side and exposing her shoulder and the pale delicate skin of her elegant neck.
I hold the necklace out in front of her, placing it around her neck, and awkwardly work to close the tiny clasp behind her. Big hands, little clasp, you do the math. I allow my thumb, only my thumb, the singular thrill of pushing a single curl out of the way. I’m enthralled by its softness and beautiful color - a fetching combination of red and light brown strands. As I work to close the clasp, I accidentally brush the creamy skin at the base of her neck with the knuckle of my index finger and she shivers. It’s flat-out the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Are you cold?” I ask, "Do you need a blanket?"
"I'm not cold at all, "she says, turning to face me. "In fact, quite the opposite."
She tilts her head up to look into my eyes, and that's all the invitation I need.
“Hmm… Are you too warm?"
