Tucker lowers himself onto the bed and offers me his hand. He drags me down to sit on his lap when I take it.
I’m immediately surrounded by his fresh, citrus scent and I barely resist the urge to inhale his neck. If he’s holding me, I don’t think he’s going to break up with me. But I don’twant to push my luck, seeing how upset he looked a second ago.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I would have probably worn them like that.”
I open my mouth to express my shock at his admission, but he laces his fingers through mine and explains.
“The lucky factor of my pants is that they were unwashed. They were forgotten in my locker after practice, and one day during freshman year, our starting goalie was injured, and I got my debut on NCAA ice.”
He explains how he had come late to the locker room with no idea that he was going to have to play and he had forgotten his gear in his room. “The team has laundry facilities and they wash our uniforms, so most of my gear was taken care of. But I had started to wash my underwear separately at home. For some reason, the detergent they use is really harsh on my privates and makes me break out in hives. That night, since I wasn’t coming from my room, I had forgotten that I had taken all my protective underwear home to wash with my special detergent.”
Tucker points at the bottle of detergent I found by his clean laundry hamper.
“At least I used the right kind.” I reassure him.
His tone is kind but sad. “Yeah. But the point is, I found that pair in my locker. It had fallen to the bottom, and I hadn’t taken it home to wash. It was a little sweaty, but beggars can’t be choosers and unwashed underwear beat risking a puck to my junk without any protective gear.”
He explains how he had an amazing first game and how he kept wearing that same underwear as long as their winning streak lasted.
“Every time I forgot my lucky pants, we lost.”
I feel terrible. Dancers can be as superstitious as hockeyplayers. I own a pair of stud earrings my grandmother gave me for my eighteenth birthday, and I wear them for every performance. My granny is no longer with us, but she was my biggest fan, and those earrings make me feel closer to her. Like she’s watching over me.
“So the lucky part was that they were unwashed?” I ask.
Tucker nods. “Yeah. I had to make do with them, and my teammates gave me shit because they smelled. I know it sounds gross, but after we had an amazing game that ended in a shutout, they kept joking about how even sweaty pants couldn’t stop me. That’s how the whole thing started.”
“Tucker, I’m so sorry.”
His big hand comes up to cup my jaw. “I know, baby. I’m not mad at you, I promise. You had no idea. I’m sorry if I reacted like a weirdo.”
If he had been yelling at me about this or been horrible, I wouldn’t feel as bad as I do right now.
“Can you ever forgive me?”
He strokes the spot behind my ear with the pad of his thumb. “There is nothing to forgive. It was an honest mistake. I’ll have to find a new lucky charm or a new lucky routine. At least I have time to figure something out before the regular season begins.”
He’s trying to put on a brave face, but I know he’s still sad. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”
Knowing Tucker, I expect a whole list of crazy requests. Especially bedroom stuff.
“Just hold me and kiss me?”
His lips are soft, and the kiss is deep, reverent, almost cautious. Whether Tucker Prescott is in a playful, flirty mood or tired and a little sad, his kisses make my heart melt and my body come alive.
When he breaks the kiss, my fists are holding the fabric of his t-shirt.
Tucker doesn’t back away from me; he keeps my face cupped in his hands as he looks at me.
I’ve never seen him so sad, and it breaks my heart. “I’m so sorry, Tucker.”
“Shh,” he murmurs, silencing me with another soft, slow kiss. “I’ll be ok, baby. And I swear I’m not mad at you or Baety. It’s just that…”
“What is it?”
He closes his eyes for a second, and I can’t help but notice how long his blond lashes are. “This hasn’t been my summer, that’s all. First, that mix up with my grades and missing graduation. Then that stupid clause that has us sneaking around when I want to spend with you every minute we aren’t training. Now, this thing with my parents. They’re losing our family home. And there’s nothing I can do until I go pro.”
I wish I could do something, anything, to help his family. “The last thing you needed was a girlfriend who washed your lucky underwear.”
