Page 43 of At First Smile

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Face-Off

Rowan

M idday sunshine halos Pen’s hair as it streams in through CN Tower’s panoramic windows.

Rich strands of bronzy-red and warm brown spark in the waves on her head.

She squints from behind her red-framed glasses against the glare.

I fight the urge to just stand here and drink in the sight of her or slip my cap atop her head, shielding her from the brightness.

She really is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

And she loves me. It still feels unreal.

Even this morning, buried to the hilt inside her, our gazes tethered, and her murmured, “Rowan, I love you,” as she slumped against me sated and spent, I clung to her as if she was a dream that I’d wake from at any moment.

It’s like the moment the fog dissipates and reveals a velvet sky full of stars. I always knew stars existed, but the moment the gray disappears, and they twinkle above, you look up and realize how breathtaking they truly are. Loving Pen is like that.

“Here—” I take my hat off and place it atop her head. “—it’s extra bright up here.”

She bites her lower lip. “What about you?”

Looping my arms around her middle, I nestle her into me. “I got everything I need right here.”

“Smooth, Iverson,” she teases with a breathy laugh. “But aren’t you nervous someone will recognize you without it?”

In L.A. I mostly fly under the radar during the off-season.

This summer I haven’t been as incognito, but the media fascination with punch-gate has waned over the last few weeks, especially with the world’s biggest popstar now dating a pitcher for one of L.A.

’s Major League baseball teams. Landon and I are old news.

Toronto is different. Hockey is a big deal year-round. It’s also where I’m originally from, so I get recognized way more. Three people stopped me for selfies and a few Toronto fans shouted, “You suck, Iverson!” as we walked to Tim Hortons this morning.

“I’ve had the hat on all morning, and it’s proven a terrible disguise.” I chuckle, resting my chin at the crook of her neck.

She spins in my arms and presses her big smile against mine. “You’re kind of a big deal here. Do you ever think about moving here?”

“Like playing for Toronto?”

“Yeah. Your contract is up at the end of the season. Punch-gate aside, you have some of the best stats when it comes to avoiding chances allowed, shot attempts, and goal generation in the league.”

“Luv, how much research are you doing on hockey?” Smiling, I swipe my fingers along her chin and take in her pleased grin.

“So much that after the CN Tower, I want you to take me to the Hockey Hall of Fame, so I can see where my boyfriend will be inducted one day.”

Pleasure and pride surge in my chest.

“Seriously though, do you think about playing for Toronto? It’s a hockey city. Your family is here. It’s home,” she says, her gaze dropping.

“You’re my home.” I cup her cheek. “I’m planning on staying in Los Angeles… Staying with you.”

“What if…” She swallows thickly. “What if the team doesn’t offer you a new contract?”

It’s the risk I took when I signed my contract three years ago with the Bobcats.

Most players with my stats and age wouldn’t have signed a short-term contract, especially one that didn’t include a no-trade clause.

I did it to play under Stefan Carlson again, and it was the stipulation of the organization which was weary of my reputation as a little too aggressive while they were rebranding as a family-friendly NHL team.

Thankfully, Madeline Jacobson, the new owner, seems to only care about me helping her win.

I band my arms around her, holding her tight. “If the Bobcats let me go at the end of the season, I’m staying in L.A. I have plenty of money to retire early. Axel’s is just one of the many businesses I’ve invested in over the years.”

She tips her head up. “I’m not worried about your earning potential. I can always be your sugar mama.”

Laughter barks out of me.

“But I know how much you love hockey. I wouldn’t want you to give that up to stay in the L.A. area for me.”

“For us,” I murmur, pressing a slow kiss on her lips. “I don’t have to play in the NHL to have hockey in my life. There are local leagues. Hell, I’ve got a girlfriend with a brilliant hockey strategy brain; perhaps she and I will start a team for Axel’s.”

“You love me that much?” she whispers, her voice tentative.

“Yes.” Certainty punctuates my words.

Part of me may be waiting to wake up from this dream. To discover that none of this is real. That she doesn’t love me. That she’s not mine. That I never met her. Even if this is only a sweet dream, I am rock-solid in how I feel about Pen and how hard I will hold on to this and make it my reality.

A flash of white teeth scrape across her bottom lip as she nods. “Can we take a picture for Cane Austen and Me?”

I skim my hands along her spine. “Sure. Where do you want to pose? By the window, so I can get the city backdrop?”

“No… Not a posed picture of me, but a selfie of us.”

A furrow creases my forehead. “Are you sure?”

“Yes… Are you?”

“Luv, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life as I am about us.”

Rising to her tiptoes, she presses her lips against mine. For a few moments, we just lose ourselves in each other until someone clears their throat. With a sheepish grin, she pulls back.

Not sorry at all. My grin is more wolfish than sheepish.

“Is this something you’ll post now or wait until after tonight?”

We met with Sasha a few weeks back. There’d been a lot of back and forth about when to have our first public photo.

With everything going on with that douche canoe Alex, I didn’t want to add any extra pressure on Pen, so we opted to just debut at the fundraiser and if folks spin this as a stunt, which Sasha warned some people may, we’d weather that storm.

I don’t care what people write about me, but I do care about what they say about Pen.

“Tonight, they’ll take photos of us. Sasha has the press release ready.

I know it’s not what we’re doing, but it feels so formal…

it feels… not us. You say I’m home for you, but with you it’s like I’m soaring.

It seems right to have our first public photo be something we take together high above the city that you hail from, where I’m quite literally on top of the world with the man I love. ”

Like a team. My pulse thuds. “On our terms.” I smile.

“Our terms.” She pulls her mobile from her back pocket and hands it to me.

My thumb caresses over my mobile’s screen. Tucked below my chin, Pen beams. My arms wrap around her and my hat, now backward, rests back on my head. A glow from the streaming rays of sun outlines us. Thousands of likes and comments flood the picture linked to both our social media sites.

“Bro, you’re trending,” Finn says, slapping my back.

Slipping my phone into my suit pocket, I pick up my pint. “It’s hardly trending.

At least, I don’t think it is. Sasha’s texts, with several angry face emojis that we’d not given her a heads up before posting, mentions inquiries from several media outlets.

The LA Press and other media outlets have reached out.

Even with Emma, who was famous in her own right, reporters didn’t approach us to do stories, but thanks to the previous stories about our meeting in the airport, they are fascinated by me and Pen’s relationship.

Finn nudges my ribs and leans against the mahogany bar. “The world loves romance. My books wouldn’t be so popular if they didn’t, and Pen and you are a swoon fest.”

“Speaking of romance what’s going on with Trina and you?”

“She’s engaged.”

“My question stands.” I sip my Guinness.

“I repeat my response.” He looks towards the hotel bar’s entrance, no doubt looking for our dates.

After the Hockey Hall of Fame, I brought Pen back to the hotel. Trina then promptly stole her, calling out, “Don’t worry Irish Puck Boy, I’ll bring her back to you,” as they ran off to the hotel’s spa.

“We’re just friends. Plus, I’d never interfere in someone’s relationship. Not my style,” he says, ice clinking against the glass as he finishes his Old Fashion.

I place my hand on my older brother’s shoulders and squeeze. “I know. You’re the honorable brother.”

“Good God,” Finn groans and stands straight.

My gaze follows his and my breath stutters.

At the entrance stand Pen and Trina. The light from the chandeliers seems dark compared to their radiance.

Trina’s red bob, normally smooth, is styled in fat beach waves.

A satin emerald-green dress molds her statuesque figure, the slit that runs to mid-thigh reveals a flash of leg.

Beside her stands Pen, her long hair is pulled into a loose chignon, bunched in curls on her right side, a silver pearl encrusted comb holding it all together.

A sleeveless silver dress hugs her breasts and flares below her knees.

“They’re gorgeous,” Finn murmurs.

“And both are taken.” I slap my brother’s back.

“I’m aware. We’re just friends.”

“I think I’d be uncomfortable if my friends looked at me the way you’re looking at Trina.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and smooths down his black tie as the ladies approach us.

“Gentlemen,” Trina croons, reaching the bar. Pen comes to my side.

If Trina knew my thoughts as I looked at Pen, she’d reconsider calling me a gentleman.

All I want to do is whisk Pen away for a night where only I get to experience her beauty.

Where I can hold her close as we dance beneath the stars.

Then, I’ll spend the night consuming every inch of her until the only sound that passes her lips is my name as she cries it out over and over again before she collapses in a heap in my arms.

I’m greedy for this woman in ways that make me more Neanderthal than Mr. Darcy.

“You’re stunning.” I capture her mouth in a languid kiss.