Page 55 of At First Smile

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

An I in Team?

Rowan

“ R owan,” Pen whimpers, her head falling back against my shoulder.

The way she says my name as she falls apart is the most addictive sound in the world. Reminiscent of a favorite song, her lyrical mules and whines sing to me.

With lazy circles, I stroke between her legs, pink shading her white skin, and a gentle shake rolling over her. Tucked against my chest, my other hand cups one plump breast, tweaking the hard peak.

“God, I love Saturdays,” I murmur and bite gently on her earlobe. “I get to take my time with you—” I pinch her nipple and apply just a little more pressure to her clit. “—to enjoy every inch of you.”

“God!” she cries, her body seizes with relief.

There’s never a moment when Pen isn’t beautiful to me.

After she first wakes, her long hair tumbling from her ponytail.

After yoga class with JoJo, sweat glistening on every inch of her.

Lounging with GB, a pair of old leggings and one of my too-big-for-her T-shirts.

A new red dress like she wore last night when she asked me to move in.

Right now, a sated smile and blush painted across her cheeks, as she lays against me.

While moving in together doesn’t seem to change anything, as I’ve practically moved in over the last two months, it somehow changes everything. Now, this is our home, not Pen’s place.

This may seem crazy to anyone on the outside looking in. Technically we’ve only been together for two months. Still, this is right. The calm that settles over me with her in my arms solidifies that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

“What are you thinking?” she whispers, caressing along my forearm.

“About us living together.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

I kiss below her ear. “No.”

“It would make sense. It’s a huge commitment.”

“Luv, I’ve pretty much moved in already.”

“But this makes it official.” She shifts, rolling over to face me, and winces after bumping her still-injured hand. “Like what does you moving in look like?”

“I’d imagine it looks like what it currently does, but with more of my stuff here.”

“We should probably talk about household management stuff.”

“Like finances?”

“No…well, yes—” her head tilts. “I don’t know.

The house is paid for, thanks to Aunt Bea, so it’s just utilities and taxes to worry about.

I wouldn’t expect you to pay anything. Guess I’m thinking more about chores and how the house is set up.

Things like that. I want you to feel like this is our home. ”

“First, I will contribute to the household finances.”

Her body goes rigid, tension coiling her muscles. “I don’t need you to pay for me.”

“I know that.” I kiss her temple. “But we’re a team, so fifty/fifty?”

She nods, seeming to mull that over before she agrees. “Fifty/fifty.”

“The rest we can figure out over the week. We can discuss chores and what I should bring from my condo.”

Her face scrunches. “Are you going to want to decorate with neon light beer signs?”

A laugh belts out of me. “Pen, you’ve been to my condo, have you noticed lit beer signs?”

“Maybe you hid them as a ploy to lure me into the delusion that you don’t have terrible taste.”

“I have great taste,” I protest, tickling her.

Giggling, she wiggles against me. “Truce!”

I kiss her.

“You do have excellent taste, you chose me.” That big smile beams up at me.

“Luv, I had no choice when it came to you.” It’s not a line, it’s the goddamn truth. From the moment that smile slammed into me at the airport, I was done… I was hers.

“That line just earned you a treat.” Her uninjured hand skates down my stomach.

“We need to shower and head out for your doctor’s appointment.”

Today, Pen’s provider will examine her hand to make sure it’s healing.

If it appears that her wounds are closing, they’ll remove the splint.

She’ll still have a week or so for her hand to properly heal, but the splint removal will give her more dexterity with her hand, regaining the ability to type, use her cane, and do other things.

“Not even one day living together and the magic is already gone,” she quips and sits up.

“Tell my fingers that,” I say wryly, slipping the fingers, still coated in her, into my mouth.

“Who needs a right hand?” she pants, crawling atop me.

We were only five minutes late for Pen’s appointment.

Not that it matters since we’re still waiting.

Though I’m not complaining. Pen’s head rests on my shoulder, my arm looped around her, as one end of our earbuds is in her ear and the other in mine.

We’re listening to the climactic end of our latest buddy read, a hockey romance.

She finds it endlessly entertaining to listen to me grumble about all the things the writer gets wrong.

Still, a smile stretches across my face at the cliched grand gesture.

“Aw, she told him they’re pregnant with a baby-sized jersey,” Pen gushes at the book’s epilogue.

My stare skips around the room. A toddler, tiny hands clutching a stuffed llama, bounces on what I assume is his dad’s knee. Their brown eyes and broad smiles are nearly identical.

The vision of a little boy with Pen’s auburn hair, my green eyes, and chipmunk cheeks, sitting on my lap pluses joy inside me.

After my mother’s comments about one day being a Gran during our Toronto trip, Pen and I have discussed children.

We both want a family, but not for a few years.

Pen wants to be more secure in her career before we add the title of mom to the many roles she already plays.

“Penelope Meadows,” the nurse calls.

Slipping the earbud from her ear and handing it to me, Pen rises. “Ready?” She reaches out her uninjured hand to me.

Nodding, my palm envelops hers. “Yep.”

A contented sensation twines around me with each step we take, our hands clasped.

In Pen’s books, there have been romantic gestures similar to what I did last night.

This is the simple, the everyday things that aren’t written about by authors.

It’s just a doctor’s appointment. Still, the moment she reached out her hand, inviting me to come into the room with her, almost knocked the air out of me. I’m her teammate, and she’s mine.

“This is closing up nicely.” Dr. Alvarez grins, warmth glinting in her hazel eyes.

“Really?” Pen winces as Dr. Alvarez prods at her injured hand, clear fluid oozing from the wounds.

I’ve seen worse in my years of playing hockey. Broken bones. Bloodied noses. Knocked out teeth. Cut calves after a skate blade slices into a player’s leg. Still seeing the woman I love, her hand raw, red, and oozing…

“You going to be okay there, tall and dreamy?” Dr. Alvarez quips, a dark eyebrow quirking.

“Yup.” I cough, shifting in the plastic chair.

“We’re going to remove the splint. I’ll have the nurse clean you up and re-bandage. He’ll go over instructions about keeping it clean and letting it breathe when you’re not out and about. It should take about a week or so before you regain full function of the hand.”

“No more splint?” Pen vibrates with excitement.

“No more splint.” Dr. Alvarez rises and pulls off her gloves.

“Freedom!” Pen cheers in a terrible Braveheart impression, making me and the doctor laugh.

As we leave the clinic, Pen’s grin can’t be contained. She unfolds Cane Austen and almost coos to it. “I’ve missed you! Have you missed me?”

To celebrate we head to Bread. Saturday wouldn’t be Saturday without a visit to Bread. It will still be a few days before Pen is back to full use of her hand, but to see her big smile, even with the little winces as she uses her cane, my chest fills with happiness.

“Pen! Rowan!” Jela chirps, greeting us at the hostess stand in front of Bread.

Several waiting customers tip their heads toward us. A few whisper and nudge each other. We’re mostly ignored by the regulars who see us each week, but every now and then someone recognizes us. For the most part, people leave us alone, but sometimes they approach, gawk, or take a sneaky photo.

“Oh my gosh, Pen! What happened here?” Jela points to Pen’s bandaged hand.

“Bar brawl. You should see the other guy,” Pen deadpans.

“I bet you swatted them with Cane Austen,” Jela teases, a crooked smile covering her face. “Seriously, what happened?” She motions to our usual table.

I pull out Pen’s chair and she sits. “I was attacked by a dog.”

Eyes the size of saucers, Jela gasps. “What?!”

Jela’s shocked breaths and startled oh no’s grow louder with each detail of Pen’s story, one branded into me.

That night with her cocooned in my arms, she re-lived it.

Somehow Jela’s horrified expression to Pen’s retelling punctuates how scary it was.

There’s no embellishment like one of Finn’s stories.

But the gentle shake in her hand as she speaks illustrates her fear. That fear gnarls itself inside me.

This whole situation is an unfortunate happenstance, as Finn put it. Just the wrong place at the wrong time. All of it made worse by Pen overhearing her bosses discuss her capability. The idea of her going back to work on Monday churns in my stomach.

Pen assures me that this isn’t everyone at the hospital, but she’s also shared that this is par for the course, just something she deals with. It pisses me off, despite my understanding. God, I want to storm in there, but as Sasha has warned me, “You can’t fight her battles for her.”

The whole thing slipped out Friday morning when Sasha appeared at the rink with a reporter doing a spotlight on Eli.

I told her about what happened to Pen, the dog bite and the asshole comments.

Greg faces similar things and Sasha remains supportive of what he wants to do, no matter how much she wants to go scorched earth on anyone who hurts the people she loves.

As sweet as Sasha is, she and I have that in common.