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“I had a nice time tonight. Thank you for dinner, and the flowers, and for opening up.”
“I…I know I’m bad at it, but I’m trying to be better. For you.” His bottom lip slides through his teeth. “Thank you for agreeing to a date.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Would it be okay if I hug you? Please?”
I nod, and he wraps his arms around me. He presses his face against my neck and shamelessly sniffs me. “I missed you so much, Bea. So fucking much.”
“I missed you, too.” I rest my cheek against his chest. “Especially this version of you.”
He holds me for a long time. Eventually he pulls back, swallowing thickly. “I know I’m probably pushing it, and maybe you’re not ready yet, but can I kiss you good night?”
My heart clenches—hell, everything clenches. “I would like that.”
“Cheek or…” He trails off.
I tap my lips.
His fingertips drift from my temple to my chin, and he tenderly cups my cheek. He tips my head back and lowers his mouth to mine, just a soft brush of lips at first. His arm winds around my waist, pulling me against him as he angles his head and I do the same. I part my lips, and his tongue strokes inside on a quiet groan. I grip the lapels of his suit jacket, whimpering as my body warms and I feel his erection against my stomach. He adjusts his grip, and his palm settles against my throat. But still, the kiss is soft. An apology. A promise of what could be. I’m afraid to hope for more than this. But I want to try. I want to see what this can be outside of the secret bubble we were living in.
He ends the kiss before it grows heated and brushes his nose against mine. “Thank you. I’ll do everything I can to deserve you.” He pulls me in for another long hug.
I melt into him. Into possibility. Into what this might become.
Eventually he pulls back. “Can I see you again soon?”
“I’d like that.” His smile is so boyishly charming, I almost invite him in so I can sit on his face.
“Can I call you tomorrow?”
“That’d be great.”
“Night, Beatrix.” He kisses my hand and steps back.
“Night, Tristan.” I manage to get inside the apartment without pulling him along with me. My vagina is confused, but my heart is happy.
CHAPTER 24
TRISTAN
Away games have never been my favorite. I prefer home-ice advantage to sleeping in hotel rooms. Especially lately, since Flip is still being Flip. It’s stupidly awkward now that I’m dating his sister. I often end up on Roman and Hollis’s couch. Or Dallas and Ashish’s. It’s better than trying to pretend shit isn’t going down in the bathroom or the bed next to mine.
Instead of hitting the bar after the game, I go directly to the room. Flip will be at the bar for at least a couple of hours while he trolls for tonight’s bedmate, or bedmates, so I can get in some phone time with Bea.
I fire off a text message on the way to the room to tell her I’m calling in two minutes, and when I get there, I put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door.
I strip down to my boxers and a T-shirt on the way to the bed and hit the video button as I flop down on yet another hotel mattress.
“Hey, nice game tonight. Those two goals were magic.” Bea’s gorgeous two-dimensional image appears on the small screen in my hand.
My earbuds are close by, but I leave them out for now so I can hear what’s going on beyond our conversation. “We’re playing tight.”
“How was your day?” She’s fresh from the shower. Her hair is wet and pulled over one shoulder, the damp ends soaking into her white tank. I bet she smells fantastic. What I wouldn’t give to bury my face in her hair and smell her skin.
“Good. Better now. Yours? Did you have cake for dessert? Have you run out? Do you need me to send you another one?”
She smiles. “I did have cake for dessert. There’s still a slice left, though, so I’m good for now.”
“Are you doing that thing where you savor it so slowly it’s basically sawdust and requires half a pint of ice cream to be palatable at the end?”
She gives me the shifty eyes.
“I’m sending you another one tomorrow so you better eat up,” I warn.
“Okay. I’ll finish it.” She grins. “Tell me about the game—the highlights and the lowlights.”
I love that she talks hockey with me every night, like she gives a fuck about the actual game. Because she does. She knows it. She’s spent an inordinate amount of time sitting in arenas because of Flip.
“Highlights were the two goals,” I tell her. “Lowlights… Flip is off his game, and it cost us our lead in the second period, which I expected with us playing New York.”
