Page 30

Chapter Thirty

Christina

Who knew that sex is such a good hangover remedy?

After we tested his goalie stance against the bed and deemed it another successful position, Cam had to leave because his car was outside.

I slept like a baby, but now I’m back to wondering where we left things. I want to reconfirm with Cam that he’s cool with us maintaining the status quo and then parting after the Holiday Ball.

After his practice and lunch with some of the guys, he comes to my house for the first dance session in almost a week.

Before we warm up, I ask him, “Now that you know my situation, do you understand the need for secrecy and a time limit?”

“Yes. I don’t love it, but I agreed, and you’re right, nothing has changed.”

I need to hear him say it. “So we’re good until the ball, and then dance sessions and…the rest will stop?”

“You crack me up. Sex. The word you’re looking for is sex, Dancer.” He’s laughing, but sobers quickly. “I suppose, although if both of us decide to keep it going, I don’t see why we couldn’t.”

“Because you need to free up your time to bond with your teammates and find a woman who can give you what you want.” My heart clenches as I say those words.

He shrugs, the skin around his eyes looking pinched.

I give up. Whether he likes it or not, we’re going our separate ways after the team party. I can’t risk my heart beyond that, and if I keep spending time with him, I’m going to be a complete wreck when we do inevitably end things.

We run through the dances and the only glitch is still incorporating the consecutive cartwheels. Afterward, we spend a little time enjoying my playlist and freestyling West Coast swing, simply for the love of dance, until our dance goes horizontal as usual.

The following evening is a home game. I’m in his seats with Maria again. She finished her last class and closed the studio while I got to enjoy Cam getting down and dirty on the ice with spread legs during warmups. But by the start of the game, she was beside me, in full Tornadoes gear layered over her dance leotard and leggings.

We sip hot chocolate and lean forward on the edge of our seats as our team skates their asses off. The Vancouver Wolves score on Cam early, and he bangs his stick on the ice three times. He’s told me he does that to shake off the score. A goalie has to stay calm even if he’s down ten points, to focus on the puck, the sticks, and the direction of oncoming players’ cores. That almost always tells you the direction they’ll go or shoot.

We score and the stadium erupts. The Tornadoes are going to storm the opposition.

Cam lets another shot on goal in. Damn. Is this my fault somehow, a remnant of our conversation distracting him? Another reason I shouldn’t have told him.

But no, Buzz swings in and puts his helmet next to Cam’s, talking fast. Cam nods and I swear I hear him grunt. Buzz talks more and points to the player, and Cam replies. Petrovsky skates over and pats Cam on the back. I realize the same player, the one Buzz pointed at, scored on him both times. He needs the first period to be over so he can take a breath and analyze what he’s missing in the guy’s body language.

At the break, Maria goes to get her usual snack, a pretzel the size of her head, that I’ll get approximately three bites of. Cam almost stomps to the locker room, but I’m confident he’ll have his head on straight by the time he returns.

He does. No more points are let in during the second period and the Tornadoes torment the Wolves, keeping the puck in their zone for most of the time. We tie the score just before the end of the period.

In the third, the Vancouver player who scored both of their goals shouts to one of his teammates. As the puck hits his stick his smile splits his face, sure he’ll be able to fake Cam out a third time.

Cam skates forward to the edge of the crease and faces off with him.

He’s at war now, and I have no doubt he’ll block every shot the guy makes. It helps that the winger is cocky, which means he won’t pass it back to another teammate, he’ll try for the hat trick.

The Wolves player takes his shot and Cam not only blocks it, he catches it in his glove, stopping play. After tossing the puck to the ref, he laughs at the disgruntled wingman and gestures. Tucking his stick under his arm, he pats his head then wags a hugely gloved finger at the guy to say, “no hat trick tonight.”

The crowd goes wild as they all replicate the gesture. I’m laughing and doing it, too. The cameras pan the stadium before zeroing in on everyone in the owner’s suite, including Greg, mimicking Cam as well. Both Cam and Greg will make ESPN tonight.

Unfortunately, the game finishes in a tie, so we’re in sudden death overtime, our first as a team. Vancouver pulls the cocky winger, and the Tornadoes have Buzz, Saint, and Jack to protect Cam and bring the win home. Our theme song blasts as they get ready for the puck drop and then it’s on.

Maria barely follows the rules, but even she’s on the edge of her seat, fully invested in getting to a win. The five-minute period counts down. Cam makes two saves before the guys get the puck back into the other team’s zone. They try once, twice, then come racing back toward Cam. I’m barely breathing and Maria is clutching my knee like a lifeline.

Jack wrestles it away before they can attempt a shot and passes it forward where Buzz hovers at the blue line. Immediately, he’s off. Saint outpaces the other skaters, making it look effortless, and is there just in time for Buzz to attempt what looks like a missed shot on goal, overshooting it. Saint pushes off one last time and goes to his knee, catching the puck for a one-timer that flips up and over the goalie’s stick and shoulder.

The goal horn blasts, and the crowd goes wild. Tornadoes pour over the boards onto the ice, on Saint as soon as he stands. Cam’s helmet is up and his grin is huge, joining in the group hug before they head off the ice.

My heart is pounding. As Cam glances back, I pat my head and wave my finger and he laughs.

I almost wish I could go to Chasers tonight to celebrate with them. But he knows Maria starts work early most days, and she isn’t enough of a fan to want to hang with the team at a bar, so we’ve already made plans for our own private celebration.

I’ll have to be content with sex and secrecy, as that is what we agreed upon. If I have a momentary wish for more, I’ll get over it. With only a month until the charity ball, I’ll have to.

* * * *

Greg invited the whole Tornadoes organization to a catered Thanksgiving at our house. We had an away game on Wednesday, thankfully in Nashville so the guys could fly home late, and daytime home games on Friday and Saturday, so few players can get to their family and back in that window.

If anyone is in town, they’re welcome to show up with their loved ones. We’ll heat the pool and hot tub for the kids no matter what the weather. While it’s a young team with only a handful children that I recall, several of the office staff have families.

Cam showed me his DM exchange with his stepmom, and I’m excited for him that they’re coming in later this weekend. Too bad they couldn’t have been here for today as well. It might have been a low-pressure way to meet the other team members.

Greg structured today as an open house, with a turkey dinner to be served at 4:00 p.m., but guests welcome from noon on. There are snacks and salads out on a buffet for early comers, and the back-office families arrive earlier than the players. Cam texted me that they landed after 1:00 a.m., so that doesn’t surprise me.

The weather stays mild, in the seventies, and kids of all ages are splashing around in the pool. Some are playing made up games, while others call for their parents to watch them. I’m on lifeguard duty, drinking a Topo Chico for the time being, happy to take a role that enables me to sit down. Amy and I have tag teamed being on call in the kitchen for the caterers and directing guests to the bar or a large cooler for soft drinks.

The air shifts and my skin pebbles with awareness. Cam is here, although I can’t see him with the sun reflecting off the windows.

Sure enough, two minutes later, Cam and Jack wander out with tall slim cans of Topo Chico in hand. Given the pool and family time, Greg had made the dress code uber-casual, and they’re in board shorts and t-shirts, Jack’s with the sleeves ripped out. Probably in case there are any single women here, so he can show off his guns.

Maria’s family is out of state and given the costs and hours of her studio, she opted to join us here rather than spend the time and money to get home. Nicole is also coming, as she’s not close to her family in the Panhandle, but Lauren and her sister drove to her family home in Clear Lake.

Jack says something to Cam, and they put their drinks on a side table, strip off their shirts, toe off their shoes, and make a run for the water. They’re airborne, clutching their knees to their chests and yelling their heads off. The cannonballs spray everyone in the pool. Some droplets make it as far as my legs on a lounger along the side of the shallow end near my little house.

I roll my eyes at them. “No diving please.”

“We didn’t!” Jack gives me his cheesiest smile.

“Agreed. And that’s all right, but I don’t want anyone going in headfirst, as not everyone knows where it goes to shallow.”

“Oh, right. Okay. More cannonballs, coming up!” He turns to a gaggle of older children. “Who’s in? Christina will be judge.”

Cam says, “I’ll judge, too.”

Jack shrugs. “Good. We can’t have a girl judge, can we, guys?”

“Oh my god,” I mutter. Then louder, “Do not encourage misogynistic behavior in young impressionable minds, Jack.”

“Mis-what?” He plays dumb, then winks and gets the kids to sound off numbers for the spur-of-the-moment contest.

As Cam wades toward the steps in the shallow end, I point to a huge stack of towels. He shakes his head like a dog before toweling down, and I try not to pant. Behind my sunglasses, my gaze follows droplets of water down his sculpted abs to his waistband. I gulp some fizzy water, my mouth suddenly dry.

He throws himself down next to me with a quiet, “You look fantastic. You should always wear things that bare your middle and your legs.”

My eyelet off-the-shoulder crop top in Tornadoes purple and black capris are my attempt to be festive and casual. “Thank you.”

Just then Jack shouts, “Judges! Incoming.”

After we declare one young girl a winner, I take her into the house for a cupcake from a hidden stash that’s for after dinner. I return to find most of the kids in a water volleyball game with Cam and Jack as coaches.

Cam steps forward to lift a smaller boy up to spike the ball and Jack’s team boos. Jack subs in for someone who went under and came up choking. Then Cam shadows a little girl in the back row, his huge wingspan allowing him to return balls that she wouldn’t have reached.

Something in the region of my heart twists. Most twenty-four-year-old single guys wouldn’t bother themselves with kids. Jack is an overgrown child himself, but the minute a couple of cute women walk in, he’ll be out of the water shmoozing. Cam though is genuinely enjoying himself.

Knowing he wants kids is one thing; seeing how great he is with them is a whole new level. I long ago reconciled myself to not having children, but even before that, I’d never been as gung-ho as he is. Now I find myself wishing I could have them, so I could stay with him.

Alarm bells clang in my head, sounding remarkably like the buzzer signaling the end of a period. I cannot have children, not without a lot of pain and possibly surgery. Even then it’s unlikely and I could end up needing a hysterectomy if the endometriosis returns. However, my need to review all that again is not what prompts the warning bells. I’ve fallen in love with Cam—with his powerful dance moves and guarantees he won’t drop me, with that lopsided grin, dimple popping, with his consideration and gentlemanliness in and out of the bedroom, and with his mature life goals. And I’m only going to get more hurt if I spend more time with him. Better to break it now, with this evidence of his future in front of me.