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She’s in my jersey.
Fuck. I can’t explain what seeing her in my jersey does to me. A surge of male possessiveness rips through me. That and arousal. I know exactly what I need to see when I get back to Ridley: her wearing my jersey, with nothing underneath.
Suddenly I can’t think of anything else but Phoebe in my jersey, oversized on her body, her bare legs smooth and creamy underneath the hem.
Fuck, baby. You can’t send me a picture like that before I have to go into a shower with the guys.
Unlike the newly renovated Ridley locker room, this place has an old-fashioned communal shower. The guys are all open minded, and so am I, but I don’t think they’d appreciate me having a raging, throbbing hard-on while we’re all showering together.
But that’s exactly what I have right now, because I can’t stop looking at the picture of her with my number emblazoned over her chest.
Fuck, I really need to see her from behind, with my name on her back. Shit, now my cock’s even harder.
I can’t believe I wasted so much time pretending my feelings for Phoebe were anything other than what they are. I’m downright smitten for her. Admitting it and embracing it feels so much better than fighting it.
“Texting with your future wife, co-cap?” Shane quips, slapping me on the back as he walks to the shower fully naked.
Future wife? Damn. I don’t mind the sound of that. I don’t mind the sound of that one fucking bit.
Woah, what am I thinking? I’m lookingwaytoo far ahead. We’ve only been together for a couple weeks.
Then again, it doesn’t feel that way. I’ve known Phoebe for most of my life. Our relationship feels way older than it is—maybe because itshouldbe.
When I think about my past, Phoebe’s almost always been a part of it. I realize that when I imagine my future, I want her to stay a part of it.
But in just a couple months, I’m graduating, and heading to Vancouver to play for the team that drafted me.
She’ll be here at Ridley for a least another year, figuring out exactly what kind of degree she wants to graduate with.
The whole fucking continent of North America will be between us.
I shake away the creeping feelings of doubt, letting them fall off my shoulders like heavy snow from tree branches. We’ll find a way to make it work.
I think back to two days ago, at that party. When she implied I was just pretending to be her boyfriend, and I said two small words that seemed to carry the weight of the world:who’s pretending?
In the couple seconds before she answered, my stomach was coiled with nerves. What if she wasn’t on the same page?
But then her smile said everything I needed to hear.
I’m finally able to get the situation below my waist deflated, and I walk into the shower.
On the bus back home, I end up sitting next to Shane.
“Last class at the rink on Tuesday,” he remarks.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Know what’s crazy? I’ll kinda miss it.”
Our kids started out rambunctious and pretty much stayed that way, but they were a good group. Eager to learn, and they really enjoyed their time on the ice. Who knows, maybe this experience will be something that sparks a lifelong love of the game for one of them.
“Yeah, not a bad way to earn a couple extra credits without having to sit in a classroom,” Shane says.
Man, what if Ridley never offered this opportunity, or I didn’t know about it, or decided to take a regular class instead? Who knows when mine and Phoebe’s paths would have crossed? Who knows how often I’d end up talking to her? Who knows if what happened between us ever would have happened?
Then all philosophical questions rush out of my mind as a much more important thought enters it. I reach for my phone to text Phoebe.
Make sure you’re still wearing my jersey when I get back.
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