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Her jaw drops. “You wanted to kiss me?”
I take a step closer and let my fingertips brush her cheek. “Fuck yeah, I did. Do you know why I haven’t had a girlfriend since I became a professional hockey player, even though women threw themselves at me? Still do, even.”
She shakes her head.
“Because none of those women were you.”
“Do you mean that?”
I wince in pain. “Yes, but I do need to sit down now. My ankle hasn’t fully healed yet.”
She follows me to the couch.
“I thought you never gave me a second thought after finishing high school,” she admits.
“No way. I tried to forget about you, but I failed. Big time. There’s no forgetting you, Holly Thompson. To be honest, hitting that patch of ice on the mountain was the best thing that ever could’ve happened to me.”
“But it messed with your career.”
“I’m out for the rest of the season, but I’ll make my way back to the ice,” I say. “More importantly, it led me back to you. Back to the woman I belong to.”
I grab her by the waist and pull her closer. “I know it’s been a long time, but now that I’ve found you again, I never want to let you go.”
“I hate that I still have feelings for you,” she whispers, her hands on my chest.
I brush a strand of hair out of her face and let my thumb run over her lips. She wets them with her tongue, and my dick grows in response.
Her gaze lands on my mouth. I put my hand on her neck and pull her closer. She lets out a soft gasp, right before our lips meet. I take my time exploring her mouth, enjoying every single second of finally having her so close to me.
It’s like my heart explodes, and all the feelings I had tried to lock away come rushing back at once. I’m dizzy with love and lust.
“That amazing kiss doesn’t change the fact that I’m still mad at you,” she says as we both come up for air.
“Sure,” I say.
The words that come out of her mouth might say one thing, but the way her mouth treats mine tells me an entirely different story.
“Wait, before we do anything else, there’s something I need to show you.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice edged with hesitation.
I smile. “It’s nothing bad. Don’t worry.” I push myself off the couch and limp toward the kitchen where I hid my creation.
For a split second, I doubt if I should really show her this, but then my brother’s words about actions speaking louder than words ring in my head. I head back to the living room and hand my creation to Holly.
She rips the wrapping paper off and turns the shoebox around in her hands. “What is this?”
“You’ll see. Open it up.”
She opens the box and her eyes grow wide. Inside is a photo album I handcrafted myself, with my nephew Navy’s art supplies. At first, I feared it would be too lame, but then I realized the only way Holly and I will work is if I show up as my true self, even if that’s vulnerable and a bit cheesy. I don’t care. All I care about is her.
She flips through the pages. I glued photos of us in them and wrote messages next to each and every one.
“You kept all of these pictures for years?” she asks with an incredulous tone.
I nod. “I did. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away because they meant too much to me.”
She flips to the last page and tears fill her eyes as she reads the words I wrote next to a picture of me holding a red rose. I took it in my hotel room yesterday.
