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“It’s crazy out there!”
The female voice almost breaks me. I’ve heard it raised in the background of video chats.“Dad, where’s my bag?”That’s something I have to remember keenly. She’s literally half my age. I’m thirty-six. I’ve got gray in my hair now. She’s still living at home, asking her dad where her book bag is.
“Emma, this is Logan. Logan… Emma.”
I’m forced to look up. Or stare at the floor like a rude prick. She tied her hair up as if to draw attention to the flush in her cheeks, but I don’t think it’s intentional. Her lips are beautiful when they curve into a shy smile. I can’t let myself look below the neck at her breasts, subtly shaping the fabric of her coat, or at her wide hips and thick thighs.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, offering my hand, then regretting it. I could’ve simply nodded and said hello. There’s no reason for us to touch.
She hasn’t looked me in the eye yet. As she raises her hand, she looks off to the side. I touch her, feel her warmth, and imagine it on my body. I imagine her hand wrapping around my manhood, rubbing, slowly at first, faster, maybe at the same pace I’m touching her between her legs.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” she says, quickly letting my hand go.
She almost snatches her hand back. Did she sense what I was thinking? Hockey has taught me to bury my feelings. The results matter. Set an objective and attack, even if it means you must attack parts of yourself. Switch off doubt. Switch off fear. Now, my goal is not to obsess over this woman. Like yesterday, when I was daydreaming aboutEmmabeing the woman I’d settle down with after retirement. Not just because I chose her but because Ineedher.
“Why don’t I check in, and then we’ll head to the room?” Michael says.
“Sure,” Emma and I say simultaneously, with the same quickness.
She seems nervous, too. Not like her dad is. He’s a little unsure about the dynamics. Maybe he thinks I’m going to play the alpha celebrity. Emma is different. I don’t think that gorgeous red flush in her cheeks is just from the cold. AmImaking her nervous somehow?
Michael walks over to the desk. “Dad, wait,” Emma says. “I forgot the bags.”
I nod over to the entrance. “My team has taken care of that.”
“Oh.” She laughs shakily. “That’s good.”
Michael walks to the desk, and Emma and I drift to the seating area so we’re not in anybody’s way. I’m aware that people are probably recording us, aiming their phones through the large windows of the hotel lobby. For once, it’s a good thing. It will force me to behave.
She sits opposite me, folding her legs. My gaze snaps to the movement. I can so easily imagine—no, I canfeel—my hand squeezing between her thighs, her warmth, as I slide higher and higher between her legs. “Are you enjoying the start of the season?” Emma asks, looking at the ornate coffee table almost stubbornly.
“No broken bones yet. That’s always a plus.”
“Does that happen?”
I smirk. “You must not watch a lot of hockey.”
“Obviously, it happens,” she says, flustered. “Meat vehicles moving at speed on the ice. Of course, people get hurt.”
“No need to beat yourself up about it, but I like that.Meat vehicles.”
She finally looks at me. A few strands of her hair have come loose. I think what a fine thing it would be to be the man to smooth them into place and kiss her forehead. Hold her on a cold winter’s day, warm her up, then take her to bed, and…Ah, there it is. I can’t help myself with her. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t know. What position do you play?”
“I’m a defenseman. It’s my job to stop the puck from going into the goal, but I score sometimes, too. Depends on the circumstances.”
She nods and bites her lip.
“Don’t worry,” I smirk again. “It’s okay if you’re not even the tiniest bit interested in hockey. Around here, it’s refreshing.”
She laughs again, but not awkwardly this time. It’s a laugh I’d like to hear as often as possible. “I’m interested. I just don’t know anything about it. I even bought some inline skates. I figured that would be better in California. Lots of concrete, not much ice.”
“The skills are transferrable,” I tell her.I could give you a few pointers.
Those words are almost out of my mouth, but then Michael returns, holding a room key. My security is behind him, with two hotel staff members carrying the bags. As weird as it might seem to somebody else, that conversation with Emma is the closest I’ve felt to a woman in years.
