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“You look like a future hockey wife.”
I wave her off. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Ash and I have briefly talked about marriage, but never in detail. We both want to get married, and that’s as far as we dipped into the subject. It was enough to keep our curiosity satisfied.
“You know that’s what is going to happen. You two can’t keep your hands off one another. The last time you were in the coffeehouse, he was all over you. When was that?” she asks.
I sift through my memory bank for an answer. “Two weeks ago?”
“Was that the last time I saw you? That’s too long.” She shakes her head. “I miss you working for me.” Sticking her bottom lip out, she pouts, looking like a baby that’s about to have a tantrum.
“I miss you too, but I miss the tips more,” I tease.
“You miss me more, admit it.”
I no longer work at the coffeehouse because not only did Candy, who I discovered is really called Candice, sign with me to plan her and Brayden’s wedding, but once she told her friends who was organizing it and who I worked for previously in New York, I signed another three couples. Between working at High Octane, attending hockey games, date nights with Ash, and planning four huge high-profile weddings, I barely have the time to eat some days, although Ash is an amazing chef and always has a hot meal waiting for me to come home to when he doesn’t have a game.
Home.
I’m practically living in his luxury apartment with floor to ceiling windows and a bed almost the same size as my whole apartment, because as Ash says, I live in the heart of the city; you work in the city. It’s easier if you stay the night.
So, for the last two months, I have made myself at home in his place. It’s far nicer than my apartment, and of course, he has the biggest television to watch movies on and a dedicated game room filled with his rare retro arcade games. He’s been teaching me how to play pool. I've even beaten him a couple of times, and I am only two spots behind him on Pac Man that I helped him win last month at the specialist auction. Ash thought it was down to me being his lucky charm and wearing my lucky cream scarf, when in fact, I may have whispered a little too loudly making sure everyone heard when I said that it didn’t work and needed a full refurbishment costing thousands of dollars. It was just a teeny tiny white lie. Of course, there was nothing wrong with it. It worked, no one bid on it and he won it, snagging it for less than half the price they usually auction for.
To say that my life has continued to be normal would be a huge understatement. My female work colleagues are fascinated by our relationship and get super giddy and excited on the days he picks me up from work when he’s not playing a hockey game or training.
The past two months have been a whirlwind, no, more like a tornado.
From the press going wild over our first public appearance together. Then Ash doing everything he could to ensure the tabloids don’t hound me, feeding them little snippets of our relationship every now and then. He thinks it’s the way to appease them and keep them at bay. So far, it seems to be working.
Then, of course, there are the special day trips he arranged for us either hiking or coffee dates in the park where we enjoyed the views. It’s where we have chatted for hours, and watched the leaves changing color as the first frost hit. The fact we had to huddle together to keep warm was simply a bonus.
I’m almost able to do a full revolution of the ice rink skating by myself without falling over. Now that is progress. Ash has been so patient with me and the perfect gentleman in every way.
Sometimes he’s too much of a gentleman. Because we still haven’t…
“He won’t be able to keep his hands to himself tonight. He’ll be fucking you in the limo.” Kourtney stands back to examine me again and claps, then rubs her hands together.
True to his word, Ash has taken the time to learn every inch of my body, allowing me to discover what I like and what I don’t, showing me what he likes too. Over and over again. But…
“We still haven’t, you know?” Pinching my eyes shut, I can’t look at Kourtney when I confess that we haven’t gone all the way yet. I’m still a freaking virgin and trust me, it’s not from lack of trying but again, Ash being the painfully perfect guy he is, wanted me to be one hundred percent ready and sure.
Well, Ash Johansson, I am.
I couldn’t be more ready. The connection we have is stronger than ever; tonight is the night.
Kourtney’s silence feels louder than a bomb.
I pop one eye open to see if she’s still here. Her mouth wide open, she closes it, then opens it again as if she’s a guppy fish, then holds up her pointer finger. “Wait. You still haven’t done the deed yet?”
“The deed?” I don’t like sex being described this way. Sounds like something you would write on a to do list.
“Yeah, you know, the pump, jumping bones, ride the pony, bang, boink, bumping uglies, squatting the cucumber patch, pounding the punani—”
“Pounding the what?” I yell, disgusted, causing Kourtney to throw her head back with laughter. She sits back down on the sectional sofa in Ash’s apartment that’s big enough to fit at least twenty people and tucks her legs under her. “You have so much to learn.”
“We’ve done everything else. Just not it.” I flap my hand about dismissing her stupid words. I put my hands on my hips, annoyed with her for thinking I am sexually inexperienced. I am far from it. Ash has explored lots of different kinks with me; restraints, edging, blindfolds, voyeurism; which is my personal favorite, I love nothing more than watching Ash fuck himself with his hand while talking dirty to me and vice versa. It’s the hottest thing, knowing how hard I can make him come with just a few words or while watching me play with myself; something I never thought I would be comfortable doing with anyone, but it all feels so natural with him.
Right.
Perfect.
