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Even though my cock is rock hard, both from it being morning and from the feeling of her pressed against me, I’m perfectly content to lie still here while she sleeps, for however long it takes her to wake. Right now, I don’t want to do anything other than savor this blissful peace.
Last night, after we ate her cake, we watched a couple more episodes of Downton Abbey, talked for a couple hours about everything and nothing while the video was paused on the credits of the last episode we watched, and then made our way to her bedroom where she absolutely wore me out, making me come twice before we finally drifted into exhausted sleep in each other’s arms.
I think yesterday was the best day of my life.
For a second, my muscles become taut, and my heart beats a little fast, something like panic coursing through my veins.
My life has included winning the college hockey championships—yesterdaycan’thave been the best day of my life. Because that would mean …
But just as soon as the anxiety seized me, it’s gone. My muscles relax again, and my heartrate goes back to normal, the panic leaving me to be replaced with the same serene peacefulness that I woke up with.
Yesterday was the best day of my life. The day we won the championship included. All the other big wins and big firsts of my hockey career included. They all fade away compared to the day I spent with Zoey yesterday.
That should worry me. It should worry me a lot.
But lying here next to her, it’s impossible for me to worry. There will be plenty of time for me to wrack my brain and search my emotions over what exactly I need to do about how strong I feel for Zoey now—but that can wait.
I’ll have plenty of mornings to dedicate to that; I only have this morning to enjoy lying here with Zoey by my side.
I’m not sure how much time passes as I stare up at her ceiling, just enjoying being here. A couple minutes or a couple hours, I couldn’t say; time just doesn’t feel like it normally does right now. And Zoey’s face is so heartbreakingly beautiful when she’s plunged in peaceful sleep that I don’t move and risk waking her.
My phone picks the worst time to ruin the mood, the shrill sound of its ringer cutting through the peaceful morning air.
“Shit,” I murmur, trying to move as little as possible to reach Zoey’s bedside table and see who’s calling me.
When I read the screen of my phone, it becomes clear that, no, I didn’t die and go to heaven. My dad’s calling.
But no way am I letting him intrude on this moment.
I click the button that sends the call to voicemail, and then turn my phone all the way off for good measure. He can call as many times as he wants, send as many texts as he wants, and complain to me about not getting back to him “in a timely manner” next time we talk as much as he wants.
Right now, he can fuck off, for once.
Zoey lets out a tiny, sleepy moan as she stirs by my side.
Damn it, the call woke her up.
But when her eyelids flutter open and her gorgeous blue eyes, still sleepy, lock with mine, and when the bow of her mouth curves into a smile, I suddenly find it hard to regret that she’s awake.
“Morning,” she says, the word light as a cloud on her lips.
“Hey. Sleep well?”
She nods. She arches her back to stretch under the covers, pressing her soft curves against me. My cock throbs under the heavy blankets as her firm tits rub against my side with her movement.
“Did you just get a call?” she asks.
Well, if there’s one thing that can sprinkle some cold water on my erection, it’s her reminding me of my father.
“It’s no one,” I mumble.
Zoey puckers her lips and tilts an eyebrow in suspicion. She wriggles to the side to have room to prop herself up on her elbows, looking at me. “Spill it.”
I sigh. This girl can already read me like a book. And when we’re lying in bed naked together, how can I lie to her right to her face?
“It was my dad,” I admit.
“Not a conversation you’re looking forward to?” she asks.
