Page 189 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

One year later

My back was stiff.So stiff I might never walk upright again.

Slowly straightening, my foot slipping off the pedal, I rolled my shoulders back and then in a wide circle, moaning in the purest pleasure I had ever experienced.

No, that was a lie. The purest pleasure I had ever experienced had taken place last night when Paul had slid into me after a long day sewing. Our big soft bed had creaked when he’d rocked into me, but no one could hear a thing. His condo was incredibly well made, not like my old place in New Hampshire, where you could hear the mice farting in the walls. I had managed to stay awake long enough to experience nirvana before falling sound asleep in his arms.

Glancing at the freshly completed dress for my newest customer—the wife of the last Super Bowl’s handsome quarterback—pride swelled in my chest. Puppo Fam Pet Fashions had exploded over the past year. Something that I was over the moon about, but man was I worn out from doing it all myself.

Rising from my sewing chair, I gave my Juki a loving pat, touched my toes, and padded into the kitchen of our condo for a cup of coffee, leaving my sewing room behind. It was important to take breaks, and I wanted to see if I could spot the boys. My room had a nice view of the front of the high-rise but to see the beach I’d have to go into the living room and then out onto the patio of our spacious place.

Somehow over the past year, Paul’s homes had become mine. Truthfully, the move hadn’t been a hard one at all. There had been nothing back in New Hampshire to keep me there after Paul and I had committed ourselves to each other several months ago. He had been right. I could sew anywhere. And that wonderful, wild weekend in West Palm Beach had been the catalyst for my business taking off as well as the launching pad to the most wonderful romance ever. In my humble opinion, of course, and yes, I was extremely biased.

The winds off the lake were brisk today but warm. They rustled the vertical blinds on the sliding glass doors. The breeze flowed through the screen to tickle my bare toes as I made coffee. I liked the rush of wind under my old, yellow and black checkered summer dress. It was a worn out frock, not suitable to wear outside the house, but perfect to work in. Once my French vanilla cup of motivation was done, I made my way out onto the patio, stopping to check the flowers in the new pots to see if they were dry. Paul and I had decked out his patio just last week, making a mad run to the local garden supply center for plants, pots, and potting soil.

We spent most evenings out here now that hockey season was over, just sitting back with the boys while sipping iced tea way above the world where we could watch the lake. Paul adored the water. So much so that we had plans to fly to Florida for a week for our anniversary of one year of being us, then head to his cabin in Canada. Dee and Laura were joining us as were Marcus and Kris—who was heavily pregnant with their first child—for a Fourth of July blowout. If you could call six people and a few dogs a blowout. The small gathering of friends suited us. We’d faced enough crap over the past twelve months from the world. Lots of hate had flowed in after that awards ceremony. Some so vile it made me cry. Paul had shown his Viking more than once but only in private when he’d seen the nasty things people had said, some of the hate coming from his father. Paul had severed that relationship permanently after his sire had railed at him about me. I could tell it had hurt him to do so. I still ached inside as well, but sometimes we have to leave toxic people behind even if they are family.

We were gloriously happy with our little group of inclusive friends. Several of the Steelheads had stood beside Paul and me, something that neither of us would forget anytime soon. Those guys had been invited to the cabin over the summer to fish, but the Fourth was a special week for just us and our closest friends. I could barely wait. I just hoped I could catch up with my orders when I got back to Chicago. It might be time to look into hiring someone to help.

I smiled down at the bright pansies and marigolds in pots and then scanned the stretch of Lake Michigan. I could just make the three of them out as they wrapped up their morning run. Paul, Amadeus, and Sam, his golden retriever pup, were chugging closer. Sam was way ahead of Paul, who looked like he was slowing to pick up my Pomapoo. Amadeus was not into jogging like Paul and Sam were. He was like his daddy. I’d much rather stand up here, sip my coffee, and watch them run. Sam leaped and bounded, his energy levels off the charts. Amadeus and Sam were good friends despite the energy level differences. When Amadeus had enough of that puppy chaotic madness, he would let his displeasure be known with a nip to Sam’s backside.

The three of them drew closer, Paul eventually having to stop to pick up Amadeus, who had staged a sit-down strike. As I said, like daddy like son. When I exercised—which wasn’t often if ever—I would lie down when pushed to do more. Feel the burn. Pfft. The only burn I wanted to feel was when Paul was dicking me into the mattress.

Paul glanced up then. I waved my free hand in the air and he waved back. I thought to yell down to him, but the last time I did that the old man who lived under us got snippy. So instead of shouting that I loved him, I blew him a kiss. One that the gusts of the Windy City couldn’t blow away because Paul caught it and held it to his sweaty chest as he bowed gallantly.

My heart glowed with love.

Who knew that big, burly hockey players were so romantic?

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