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Sex with him is great. Like unbelievably so. But it’s more than that. I enjoy talking to him. I enjoy being with him.
He makes me laugh and I love that. I don’t feel alone anymore and I like that a damn lot.
The first period ends and the Zamboni comes onto the ice, so I sneak out of the box and head down to the concession stalls. I’m still in love with the hotdogs. There’s a line at the vendor so I join the end and pull out my phone, idly scrolling as I wait for my turn.
There’s a message from my dad, that I’ll reply to later, asking me how the production meeting went. Another from my brother, Brad, who wants to know how often to feed a puppy. That sends a shiver down my spine and I reply asking for more information because Brad can barely keep himself alive, let alone a poor dog.
And then there’s one from Rachel.
Check this out. – R xx
There’s a link. I click on it then immediately regret it. Because it’s taken me to a webpage called SexiestHockeyPlayers.com and damn if Eli isn’t number seven on the list.
I make a mental note to tease him about the other six, then I stare at his picture. It was taken when he was playing for the Razors because he’s wearing their jersey. He’s on the ice but not wearing a helmet, so I’m guessing it was taken after a game or during a break. He’s staring at something off to the left. And he’s smiling. His hair is wet from exertion, he’s got scruff on his face, and I’m kind of mesmerized by him.
I know how that scruff feels. I know how his lips feel on mine. I know the weight of his body as he moves inside of me.
My cheeks heat.
And this one. – R xx
I roll my eyes but click on it anyway. This time Eli is wearing a pair of shorts and a baseball cap and nothing else, running along the sand. The sun is hitting him in a way where every muscle of his stomach looks even more defined than usual. The woman standing behind me lets out a whistle.
“That man is hot stuff.”
My staff lanyard is still around my neck. One glance and she’ll know that I work here and I’m perving on the coach. I quickly close it down.
“A friend sent it as a joke,” I tell her.
“Everybody needs friends like that,” the woman says. “What’s that website again?”
I don’t answer because nobody is allowed to perv on Eli Salinger but me.
Luckily, I’ve made it to the front of the line so I put my order in, asking for extra onions on my dog because I haven’t eaten all day. And as always, I can’t stop myself from biting into it before I’ve even left the concourse.
The stadium is extra busy with all the Phantoms fans, so I push past them into the staff area, walking past the locker room as I stuff my face with hot dog.
“Mac.”
I turn to see Eli standing there in his uniform and socks. I hold my hotdog mid air, all too aware that I’ve got ketchup on my lip. Sauces and me just don’t mix.
“Hey.” I smile at him. “You’re all doing great.”
“You coming back to mine or am I coming to you?” he asks.
I like that he doesn’t ask if we’re going to be together. But that’s because he’s not being presumptuous. He knows I want to be with him.
“Mine?”
He winks and heads back into the locker room. And I wipe the ketchup from my face and lick my finger because I’m not wasting a single bit.
* * *
The noise is deafening. Half of the stadium is standing and cheering. The other half are trying to push past them to head toward the exit because their team lost.
Luckily, I’m in the cheering half. Every member of staff in the box is jumping up and down, high fiving each other.
Some of them even high five me.
