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And I should definitely have some. Snap out of the tentative, anxious bullshit state I woke up in.
After what’s undoubtedly an awkward pause, I clod into the kitchen and pour myself a mug.
Downing half the scalding brew in one gulp, I kiss my tastebuds goodbye. Desperate times, desperate measures.
I need to figure this out.
I’m not a tentative guy. I’m fucking reactionary. An act-before-I-think machine who’s made a career of running on instinct. But with Lara, the stakes are so high, I’m second-guessing everything. And it sucks.
PS: Where was this evaluative skill set when I was in high school English class?
Leaning back against the sink, I side-eye the living room, telling myself I’m not actually hiding from the woman casually parked on my couch, just out of sight.
What’s my problem?
She’s being totally normal. From the minute we left that storage room last night. Hell, before we were even out the door.
She gave me a conspiratorial smile while hashing out who’d leave first, where we’d reconvene after a quick cleanup in our respective restrooms, and how long we needed to stay before taking off. Her brain was firing on all cylinders, while mine was locked around the sounds she’d made when I pushed inside her, holding tight to how her lips parted when she came on my tongue and tucking away the feel of her arms around my neck like she never wanted to let go.
I nod, take another swallow.
She’s being totally, perfectly, follow-the-plan normal.
Business as usual. Literally.
Which means… maybe last night worked for her after all? I ought to be taking a victory lap and high-fiving her, but my heart wouldn’t be in it.
Because how can she be normal, when I’m like… this?
The sound of movement from the other room reaches me a second before she steps into the kitchen and comes up beside me to rinse her mug. “So, training camp tomorrow?”
More normal.
I can be normal too. “Yep.” I take a breath, ready to elaborate when it hits me?—
Coconut. Oh hell. It’s in the air around her.
That same sexy scent I was practically huffing last night when I had her wrapped around me, caught in my hold as her sweet body gripped and grasped at me through each thrust.
“Great,” she sighs, starting to turn away.
Fuck! “Sorry, Lara, wait. My mind was somewhere else.” Deep, deep in your body, but I’m keeping that to myself.
Those soft brown eyes turn back to me, and I go on. “Camp starts tomorrow. Some of the guys won’t do the full week. But since I was out for playoffs and anything we do off-season has to be separate from management, I want as much ice time with the coaches as I can get.”
She leans against the sink beside me, settling in. “So you can catch up?”
I huff a laugh. “So I can show them I’m already caught up. Remind them they don’t want to play without me.”
Her brows lift and she nods in understanding. “You feel good about it?”
“Yeah, as good as I can without a crystal ball.” We talk about what it was like being out last season. How I thought this career I’ve sacrificed so much for might be over. How it fucking terrified me. I tell her things I haven’t told anyone.
And she gets it.
She understands.
And then we talk about training camp and what it’s looked like over the years. What I’ve done this summer to make sure I can hold onto my spot come fall. There’s something really nice about sharing my plans like this.
