Page 29 of At First Smile

Originally, he wanted to surprise me, but the control freak in me overruled that.

It’s not that I must be in control. It just comes with the territory of being legally blind.

I need to know where I’m going in order to prepare for how to handle it.

I research menus ahead of time, since most places don’t have accessible ones.

I plan how to get there via public transportation, including when the last bus runs to ensure I can get home.

Even with rideshare services, I’ve gotten stuck for several hours in different locations.

Information and planning are my best weapon in navigating a sighted world as a visually impaired person.

I explained this to Rowan on the phone Monday night as we hashed out date details. Unlike Alex, who’d gripe about how my need to know everything killed his ability to be romantic, Rowan simply proceeded to offer all the details, including texting a link to the park’s map and event info.

“Ready?” Rowan says, turning off the vehicle and putting on his hat.

My attention moves to the crowds of people streaming into the park and then back to him. “Sure you want to do this? We could go somewhere less public?”

He looks out the window and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be mauled by fans, or uncomfortable.”

A deep chuckle rolls through him. “Contrary to what happened at LAX, I’m not that big of a deal.

I’m recognized here and there, mostly during the season.

With L.A.’s abundance of famous people, I’m pretty small fish.

I tend to draw more attention when I’m back in Canada or in smaller cities where hockey is a bigger deal.

” He frowns. “Of course, I’m more recognizable since punch-gate. ”

“Has there been a lot of media since LAX?”

He sighs. “Some. Some reporters have shown up at Axel’s and a few camped outside my condo, but it seems to have died down. What happened at LAX was a lesser version of what occurred outside the arena after we lost the cup.”

“I can’t imagine what that was like. LAX was intense enough.”

“I’m so sorry I put you through that.” He rubs his hands down his face.

“You put me through nothing. Even if you’d told me about being a famous hockey player, you had no idea the press would be there.”

He sloshes a breath. “I wish I knew how and why they were there. I’d thought anything newsworthy about me punching Landon would have died down.”

“Me too.” I nibble on my lower lip.

“Are you worried about going out in public with me? LAX wasn’t my norm, but I can’t guarantee something like that won’t happen again.”

Leaning against the plush leather seat, I fiddle with my dress’s hem. “I know your famous, but I forget because you’re just Rowan to me.”

“I am just Rowan,” he says softly.

“You are, but you’re still famous… And sometimes that fame may bring attention. I know this seems odd coming from someone with a social media platform, but I don’t really like a lot of attention. At least with my social media, I have the control. I decide what to put out there.

He closes his eyes. “I have no control over that, even with Sasha’s skilled assistance.”

“I won’t pretend it doesn’t make me nervous.

As a legally blind person I already get a lot of attention when I’m out.

Lots of comments, stares, and pointing fingers.

There’re plenty of people who don’t see me as anything but my disability and feel emboldened to share all their thoughts about it with me.

” I turn my gaze to Rowan. “I’d imagine in many ways what you deal with in the public eye is similar, only with you we can add reporters, podcasters, social media, and fans. ”

“Yeah.” A hint of a laugh coats his response. “To so many people I’m just a hockey player, not a human.”

“And they say I’m the visually impaired one.” I flash a cheeky grin.

“Stupid bastards.” He huffs a quiet chuckle.

“Agreed.”

“I don’t want to hide our relationship but if you want to keep things lowkey, I’d understand. If we get too much attention tonight and you want to leave…or if you want, we can leave now?—”

“I’m not worried.” Reaching across the console, I run my fingers over his strong jawline. “After all, your beard went into witness protection.” My fingers skim to his lips and dance along their outline. “I think we’ll be okay. Nobody’s recognized you, yet.”

He reaches over and caresses my cheek. “You did.” His thumb strokes over my skin.

Like the strike of a match, the air between us ignites. The charged heat engulfs me, raising my body temperature.

“Rowan.” His name is a hissed breath.

“Pen.”

“I know it’s not the end of the date, but…” Channeling my inner-sex kitten I bat my eye lashes.

Rowan makes a delicious growly noise in his throat before he leans in and takes my mouth in a slow kiss.

Each press is hungrier than the last. He drinks me up, sip-by-sip, like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

My entire body melts into his kisses. His fingers comb through my strands and down to my back, pulling me closer.

“Rowan,” I whimper with his gentle bite on my lip, followed by a soothing lick of his tongue.

“So fucking delicious.” His mouth drags down my neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.

“More,” I moan and lean back giving him greater access.

He pulls away.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe.

His chuckle is low. “I told you”—he trails his fingers down my neck and traces the outline of my pendant— “you never need to beg with me, luv. I’ll give you what you want.” He leans in…

But GB jumps up from the backseat and wedges his wiggly body through the front seat gap. His tongue rasps against my cheek with enthusiastic kisses.

“Seriously, dog,” Rowan grumbles.

I laugh. “Guess he’s not giving up that easy.”

Rowan may be certain he’ll win the war for my heart, but GB is a fierce competitor.

We lounge on the gray blanket dotted with crossed hockey sticks, a gift Rowan tells me he received from Finn after being picked up by his first NHL Team.

GB snuggles between us. With his head nestled on my lap, I stroke his smooth coat while he snores gently.

The sun dips low in the sky, firing a burnt orange as it sinks below the horizon. Quiet murmurs from the couples and families settled on blankets and in lawn chairs underscore the melodic voice of a singer who Rowan cheekily calls “Long Beach Ed Sheeran.”

“You know Harley is following me on social media.” I sip from a bottle of sparkling water that Rowan included in the small picnic he brought.

“Fucking Michigan Ed Sheeran.”

My eyebrow lifts. “Rowan Iverson, are you jealous ?”

“Of the fuckboy with the guitar?” he scoffs, not answering the question.

With a wry grin in place, I kick his denim clad calf with my bare foot. “You know that fuckboy was on your side the entire time. He was hitting on me to make you jealous, so you’d make your move. Guess his aunt recruited him because she thought you needed some motivation.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… In fact”—I tilt my head— “he even knew about your secret hockey identity. When I got off the stage, I told him I don’t like men that play games and he said, ‘Unless it’s hockey.’ I thought it was just a stupid joke, but now I realize he knew the entire time.”

“I like the way you say my secret hockey identity. It makes me sound like Batman.”

“I always found Batman very sexy.” My mouth curls into a seductive smile.

“Yeah,” Rowan purrs and leans towards me. His hot breath ghosts over my lips.

GB lets out a low growl.

Rowan flops back, laughter vibrating in his chest. “Seriously, dog, I’m your human. Aren’t you supposed to help me get the girl, not steal her for yourself?”

“You’re gonna have to up your game, Iverson.” I skate my fingers down GB’s neck, who nuzzles in tighter.

“Oh, I have game.” He sits up and moves closer, positioning himself behind me. Legs alongside me and GB, he urges my shoulders back until I’m leaning against his chest. Those strong arms of his settle around my middle.

“You’re an excellent backrest.” Eyes shut, I lean into his embrace.

“It’s just one of my many skills.”

“Can’t wait to experience the others.” My voice drips with a breathy huskiness.

“Take that, GB.”

A giggle bursts from me.

“Tell me a fun secret.” His murmur caresses the spot below my ear.

I grin, thinking of me asking him that very same question on the plane. “I hate carrots but love carrot cake.”

“Why do you hate carrots?”

“When I was diagnosed with RP, my mother was convinced carrots were the key to preventing my ultimate blindness, so she made them for every meal. Have you ever had carrot pancakes or an omelet with slivers of carrots in it, because I have.” My nose scrunches.

“But you still like carrot cake?”

“It’s probably just the cream cheese frosting, but yes.”

I feel him swallow. “Does it ever scare you?”

“Losing the rest of my vision?”

His fingers skim over my dress’s fabric. “Yes. Full disclosure I did look up RP after you told me about your condition.”

His curiosity about my eye disease is to be expected.

It’s refreshing that he looked it up, so I don’t have to explain to him that RP causes permanent blindness.

With how upset some people get when I tell them this, you’d think they were the ones losing their sight.

From the age of six, the knowledge that one day my entire vision would fade to black has been part of my life.

“Yes and no.” I open my eyes and take in the fuzzy world around me.

Something about this conversation fills me with the need to soak up all I can, because one day…

“When it happens, I know I’ll adapt. My entire life has been about adapting.

With each degree of vision loss, I figure out a different way to do things, even seeing.

Right now, so much of how I see the world already comes via my other senses. ”

“What does scare you?” His tone is curious and a little somber, but not pitying.