“We’re not married.”
“Yet,” Brody calls from two rows back. “But after tonight’s performance? She’d be stupid not to lock that down.”
“Maybe that was his plan,” Anderson suggests. “Score five goals, propose tonight while she’s still in shock.”
“That’s actually not a bad strategy,” Almardon agrees. “She can’t say no to a five-goal scorer.”
“She could definitely say no,” I argue.
“Not tonight she couldn’t. Tonight you’re basically Wayne Gretzky.”
“That’s blasphemous.”
“Five goals though,” someone else chimes in. “That’s Gretzky territory.”
The chirping continues but I tune it out, watching the city lights pass and thinking about what’s waiting for me at the hotel. About her nervous and anticipating. About the promise I made and how I’m going to keep it.
The bus finally pulls into the hotel. I’m off before it fully stops and take the stairs because the elevator’s too slow.
I pause outside the door for a second, trying to get my racing heart under control. Five goals. Five orgasms. I need to pace this right, make sure she can handle it, make sure I take care of her properly.
I made history in that arena tonight. And I’m about to make history off the ice too.
35
JULIETTE
Five goals.In one night. In front of almost twenty thousand people who have no idea what that scoreboard really means for me.
I’ve changed positions on this bed about a hundred times in the last ten minutes. Sitting cross-legged. Lying on my stomach. Standing by the window watching the Calgary skyline. Back to the bed. The jersey keeps riding up and I keep pulling it down even though there’s no one here to see that I’m not wearing anything underneath.
There’s a single knock at the door. Sharp, confident, like he knows exactly what he’s walking into. Like he didn’t just make history. Like this is perfectly normal.
I open it and he’s there wearing that dangerous grin that got me into this situation in the first place.
His eyes start at my face then travel down, stopping at the jersey’s hem hitting mid-thigh.
“What’s under my name?” He’s already crossing toward me, kicking the door shut behind him. His hand lands on my thigh and slides up, expecting resistance,but finding none.
His whole body goes still. “Fuck, Juliette.”
“You scored five goals.”
“I did.” His voice drops to something rough. “And you’re trying to kill me before I can collect.”
“You earned the easy access.”
He laughs, dark and low, backing me to the wall. “Nothing about tonight is going to be easy.”
His hands grip my thighs and lift me against the wall in one motion. I gasp and grab his shoulders for balance.
“Been thinking about this since the second period.” His mouth finds my neck, his teeth grazing across my skin. “Watching you up there in my jersey, when you realized I was going for four. You went completely white. Then red. Then you sat down like your knees gave out.”
“They did give out.”
“Good.” He sets me on my feet and drops to his knees so fast I don’t have time to process the movement. “Let’s see if we can make that happen again.”
He shoves the jersey up and his mouth is on me before I can respond. No buildup, no teasing, just his tongue working me in focused circles that make me grab for the wall behind me.
