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Overtime in a hockey game is electric. Everyone skates faster. Hits harder. Every shot counts.
It’s back and forth with Weston Scott and the Los Angeles Firebirds for three intense periods, but we’re hanging in. Then finally, Dix takes the puck, skates over the blue line, pulls back the hammer, and lets ‘er rip.
Boom. The horns explode. The crowd erupts.
Seattle Wave victory.
It’s a big win against a tough team, so the boys and I get a little rowdy in the locker room, blasting music and jumping around to let off the last fumes of our adrenaline. By the time I’m showered, dressed, and on my way out the door, I’m weary to the bone. It isn’t until then that I check my phone to see a text from Sloan.
Had to go. Car’s in your spot. I Uber’d home. See you when you get in.
She is asleep on the sofa when I walk into the house. I don’t know why she left the game early and I don’t know if something is wrong, but I’m loathe to wake her up and start the inquisition.
So I set my stuff down by the door and sit on the carpet at her side. Her hair is a dark curtain draped over half her face. It flutters in the draft of her exhales.
Unable to help myself, I reach up and brush it behind her ear. I do it softly, but she stirs anyway. She blinks back to reality, stretches, and opens her eyes.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Her sleepy eyes are adorable. “I smelled your cologne.”
“Too much?” I’m worried for a second that her super-powered pregnancy nose is gonna react badly to my scent.
But she shakes her head. “No. I love it.” She pulls me closer. “Come here. Let me sniff you.”
Chuckling, I get up and lie beside her on the sofa, tucking her into the C-shape of my body. She nestles closer. There’s nothing sexual or sensual about it, just the soft comfort of touching someone you love. I never thought I would be content with something like this, but that’s exactly what I am.
I’mhappy. Happier than I’ve ever been before.
She twists around in my arms and smiles up at me. Her fingertip traces along my jaw then runs it over my lips and I give it a kiss. Then it keeps going, over my chin, down my throat, over my chest inside the open collar of my shirt.
“I like touching your skin,” she whispers.
“I like you touching my skin, too.”
She arches up and presses a tender kiss to the hollow of my throat. But when she pulls away, I see a shadow flit over her face.
“Something wrong?” I rumble.
“Just… just so you know, Beck, I got… well, I guess I got fired today.”
Popgoes the happy little cuddle bubble.
“Excuse me?” I sit up and almost shove her off the edge of the sofa in the process. “Did you just say that you got fucking fired?”
She sits up with me. “Vivian and I got into an argument. I might’ve… pushed her.” She shakes her head and keeps her gaze rooted in her lap. “I know I shouldn’t have touched her, but she landed on her ass and fired me.”
“What did she do, Sloan? Why did you push her?”
She sighs. It’s from deep, like it came straight from her soul. “I know all about sticks and stones, okay, Beck? And high roads and turn the other cheek, all that kind of bullshit. But some things just aren’t okay. Some things aren’t right. She called me and my friends whores. Not in those exact words, but…” She shrugs. “I should’ve risen above, but I was so mad. She just pushed a button.”
“Sloan.” I tilt her chin up and wait until she looks into my eyes. “Viv isn’t fit to hold your fucking coat. Whatever she said is bullshit, and someone, someday was going to knock her down a peg. Honestly, I’m glad it was you.”
Tears brim in the corners of her eyes. “I lost my job, Beck.”
“I have plenty of money. Let me help you.”
“I don’t want your money. We’ve been over this. I don’t need to be your kept woman or your princess in the tower. I just need to get my shit together and get everything lined up.” She shrugs my hand away from her chin. “And I guess an apartment now, too.”
