“We have book club today, but I have time for a coffee if you’d like.”
“And food.” I point at him. There’s no way he’s trained that hard and doesn’t need food. This guy eats twenty four seven. He could have just eaten and still would find room for a snack.
“Always. My girl gets me.”
I want to kiss him, but I don’t want to embarrass him in front of his teammates and friends. And honestly I’m not sure I can handle the globs of sweat trickling down his face and dropping from his nose and chin.
“Go shower. You smell.”
“And they say romance is dead.”
“No chance of me being romantic when you smell like that.”
“Fair point.” He gives me a casual wink before heading into the locker room and I snap a few shots of the Zambonis as they come out to resurface the ice.
Would Wyatt like skating? Is it something you’re born with an affinity for? I’d absolutely fall on my ass, but if my kid’s dad is as graceful as a fucking ballet dancer on the ice does that mean Wyatt would have wicked skating skills too?
Waiting out in front of the rink, I scroll through the photos on my camera. The screen is small so I don’t see the entire picture, but I’ve caught a couple of close up sincere shots of the guys during practice. Their smiles are genuine, their loyalty and trust clear in how they look at each other. And I can’t help but laugh at Apollo and Artemis giving Ares a noogie after making a great save.
The warmth from the team radiates from my tiny screen. It’s so wholesome, and when they’re not all stern-stare concentrating, they’re smiling and laughing with each other. I’d love to submit these photos for a human interest story on team dynamics. I had no idea what it was like until I stepped into their space. It’s easy to see why Raffi loves these people.
“That’s a good one.”
Ares’s voice scares the fuck out of me. I almost drop the camera but clutch it harder instead, my knuckles turning white.
“It’s easy when you have a handsome subject though, no?” he says.
I don’t know whether to roll my eyes, smack him, or message Eloise to tell her to control her boy toy. Either way, the goalie laughs at my reaction.
“How is he?”
Oh. He’s here for a purpose. What the hell do I do with that?
“Raffi?”
“Sí.”
“I…uh…”
“It’s not a trick question, Tori. I’m concerned about him. He’s pushing himself a lot.” His voice hangs at the end of the sentence like he’s unsure about something.
“You know we just started dating, right?”
Ares nods. “Bet you’d notice a behavior shift, if he was having more headaches or whatever.”
Can’t argue with that. “I’m worried about him. I’m not going to lie—it’s scary. I had to leave the game last time. Waiting for him to take a hit…” A lump grows in my throat.
A warm hand covers mine as I cradle my camera. “I get it. It can be a dangerous sport. But odds are in his favor generally. Most games we all come out fine, or no one would play.”
That’s debatable. Sometimes it seems like Raffi would play it even if his skates were on fire.
Pushing the lump down with a hard swallow, I lean closer to him. “He won’t step down from playing.”
Ares doesn’t flinch or react, he doesn’t gasp, or smack me—if someone suggested I step down from doing something I love, I’d want to hit them. Instead, his face shifts, sympathy filling his eyes. “It’s hard when it’s something you love, even when it’s hurting you. It’s like a drug.”
The youngest of the de la Peña brothers has a relationship with drugs and alcohol that is no secret.
“You can’t force him to leave.” Ares’s face is stern.
