Page 14

“This is surreal,” I comment as I look around the first class cabin. We’ve reached our cruising altitude, and I’ve yet to stop taking in every detail. How Jacob managed to procure two first-class tickets only yesterday is beyond me.

“Marriage?” Jacob asks.

“No, this,” I say, gesturing around us. “Why is there this much space?”

“It’s not that much, actually. International flights have insane business and first class cabins. The seats fold flat to make beds.”

My mouth drops open. “Isn’t that ridiculously expensive, though? I mean, I knew those kinds of seats existed, but I guess I figured only Hollywood celebrities and millionaires could afford them.”

Jacob looks at me, cocking an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me you haven’t Googled my net worth yet, Spitfire. I may not fall under the former category, but I definitely fall into the latter one.”

I feel heat rush to my cheeks. “I have Googled you, yes. Does it make sense if I say that you seem normal, and that I don’t really see you as a millionaire?”

He chuckles lightly. “I don’t go around splurging on things. I know guys who live in houses worth millions, and have so many cars they need their own parking garages. I know this career isn’t going to last forever. I’d rather make sure I can live comfortably for my entire life instead of lavishly for a few years.”

“How many cars do you have?” I blurt out.

“Two. Plus a motorcycle, but I rarely ride that anymore. People started recognizing me, and I couldn’t take the chance of someone trying to jump on at a stop light.”

“People would do that?”

He nods. “Happened twice, and that’s twice too many. Plus it’s cold in Denver. I’m a wimp with the wind.”

I giggle. “The wind is something else. I love to hike, and on sunny winter days, I can still get out there. But if it’s windy, it freezes me to the bone.”

“I like to hike, too. Does your dog go with you?” Jacob asks.

“He does, although our hikes take twice as long because he has to greet everyone.”

“That sounds about right for a golden retriever,” Jacob comments.

“I don’t remember telling you he’s a golden,” I say warily, making Jacob give me a sheepish smile.

“I may have done a little Googling on my own,” he says quietly. He reaches over and gently picks up my left hand, sliding it into his palm. His fingers rub carefully against my wedding band and engagement ring, making butterflies erupt in my stomach. “I felt a connection from the first moment you ran into me, Becca. Once I recognized who you were, I needed to know more. I saw a pic of you and a golden, but didn’t know if it was a current photo until you mentioned having a dog.”

“I’m glad you aren’t anti-dog, because we’re a package deal,” I joke lightly. “I guess I should have asked if you have any pets. Thunder is pro-animal, so I doubt you’ll have something he doesn’t want to befriend.”

Jacob lets out a nervous laugh. “I do have pets, actually.”

“Pets?” I inquire. “Plural?”

“Yeah.”

I wait for more information, but Jacob stays tight-lipped. “Are you going to tell me about them, or do I need to start a guessing game?”

“I highly doubt you’d be able to guess,” he chuckles.

“Alright,” I say giddily, swiping my hands together in excitement. “I love games. I bet people associate you with big dogs, so I’m guessing three long-haired dachshunds.”

He lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Not even close. Well, the size isn’t too far off, but definitely not dachshunds.”

“But it’s three?”

“No.” He smiles innocently at me, not giving me any kind of clue as to the correct number.

“You really don’t seem like a cat person,” I murmur, and he shrugs. “Hmm. Interesting. Maybe it’s something incredibly off-the-wall like a Savannah cat.”

“Honestly I don’t know what that is, so I can confidently say I don’t own a Savannah cat.”

“A reporter for my station did a report on exotic animals that can be legally owned in Colorado. Did you know you can own a wallaby?”

“What the fuck is a wallaby?” he asks.

“They look like small kangaroos. Which, on the topic of kangaroos, the red kangaroo is also legal in Colorado.”

“That must not be the size I’m thinking of, then,” he says.

“Oh, I bet it is. They get to be about a hundred pounds as an adult.”

“God,” he says, laughing, “I can see it now, walking down Colfax with my giant kangaroo.”

“I guess it’s safe to say you are not currently tending to any Australian wildlife in your home. If I ask you some yes or no questions, will you answer?” I ask.

“Shoot your shot, Spitfire. But I’m only allowing five questions.”

Tapping my finger to my lip, I watch as Jacob’s eyes drift to zero in on my mouth. He subconsciously licks his lower lip, drawing my own attention. When his eyes focus on mine, I find his pupils dilated and full of restrained lust. He reaches toward me, grabbing the lip I didn’t know I was biting, and pulling it from between my teeth. He drags a finger along my lips, and my panties are immediately soaked.

Goodness. I think the temperature jumped twenty degrees in here.

“Ask your questions, Becca,” he commands quietly.

“Oh. Sorry.” I shake my head to remove the NSFW images currently carousing through my mind. “Do you have three or less animals?”

He smiles. “No.”

“Do your pets bark or meow?” I have a gut feeling that he’s harboring some unique animals.

“No.”

“Do you have more than five pets?”

Jacob’s grin gets bigger. “Yes.”

“Are your pets the size of your hand or smaller?” I ask.

He holds up a hand, noting its size. “That doesn’t really help you out much, baby, but yes, they’re the size of my hand or smaller. One last question.”

The size of his fingers — focus, Becca. Jeez. “Do your pets have tails?”

His eyes widen dramatically. “No.”

I smile triumphantly. “Guinea pigs.”

“How the hell did you do that?” he asks incredulously.

“I read a lot as a kid. My parents never let me have any of the science kits that I wanted, but they didn’t put a limit on books I could read. We only lived a half mile from the local library, so I’d walk there almost every day in the summer. I’d borrow full encyclopedias, and I loved reading about animals.”

“What would you have guessed if I said they did have tails?”

“Rats.”

“Why a rat?” he laughs.

“Well, you don’t seem like a guy that would keep gerbils or mice. Rats are actually quite intelligent, and I imagine you’d teach them to do tricks.”

He nods. “Now I kinda want to get some rats.”

“No,” I say sternly. “I don’t do rats.”

“You’ll learn about them, but you won’t interact with them?”

“Alright, smart-ass. What are you scared of?” I ask.

“Not too much. I’m not a huge fan of spiders, I guess.”

“What if I said I loved tarantulas, and I wanted to bring my five different species of tarantula into your apartment?”

He shudders. “Point taken. No rats, and no tarantulas.”

I smile sweetly at him. “Now tell me about your guinea pigs.”

“I will, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. They aren’t exactly a secret, but I don’t go out and publicize that I have six of them.”

“Six? Why six?” I ask, intrigued.

“I like even numbers. Originally I had five, because that’s how many the kid at the farm suckered me into buying when I went a year or so ago with a buddy’s family,” he says sheepishly. He then tells me all about his harem of flower-named guinea pigs, their favorite foods, and the setup he has in his apartment. “But, like I said, I’ve got this thing with even numbers. Grabbed the sixth one a month or two later.”

I figure now isn’t a good time to tell him that Thunder will probably try to eat at least one of them.

Two and a half hours later, Jacob shakes my knee. “We’re about to land, Spitfire. Didn’t want the landing to jar you.”

Lifting my head, I realize I fell asleep on Jacob’s shoulder. I frantically wipe at the drool spot on his shirt, then wipe my mouth. Lovely. I look through my lashes to find Jacob struggling to withhold a smile, but I’m thankful he doesn’t tease me about my drooling. As the wheels touch down on the runway, I ask, “Where are we again?”

“Cleveland,” he says dryly. “A city famous for having a river filled with so much debris and oil that it actually caught fire.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. I remember a teammate in college talking about it. Michigan and Ohio have a hate-hate relationship, and since I went to the University of Michigan for college, I learned all about the ridiculous Ohio facts I could throw around when needed.”

“The river catching on fire changed how we view pollution and the city’s industrial landscape. There’s a lot more to Cleveland than just one detail about a fire,” the man sitting across from us states loudly.

Jacob leans forward to stare at the guy. “Let’s just ignore the fact that you were so blatantly eavesdropping on my conversation with my wife, and chat about that one detail, shall we?”

I find myself reaching to rest my hand on Jacob’s. Not only to support him, but he just called me his wife — in public — and my body is reacting pretty quickly to it. I need to touch him.

“How many times did the Cuyahoga River catch fire?” Jacob asks sternly.

The man’s face pales. “Uh, I’m not sure, but so many changes have been made to benefit the environment and the city since then, so does it really matter?”

“The answer is thirteen. It’s caught fire thirteen times.”

“Over the last century.”

“That doesn’t make it any better, my guy,” Jacob chuckles. “It’s great that your city has made improvements. Doesn’t change the past, though.”

“True. Would you like me to comment on all of your faults, hockey boy?” the man asks aggressively.

“Sure,” Jacob answers nonchalantly. “Go ahead.”

“What?”

“You’re welcome to it. Yeah, this is a sport, but it’s also my job. I don’t do it perfectly, but I’m paid a hell of a lot of money to be the best. Two years ago I had a shitty season. Too many penalties, well below my average for both shots on goal and points. So if you’d like to discuss that, have at it.”

The man stares aghast at Jacob. “I really didn’t expect you to be so open to taking criticism.”

Jacob shrugs. “You’re talking about my job. You start to come after me as a person? How I treat people? Then we’ll have a problem.”

The man nods gruffly before reaching for his belongings. Jacob catches my eyes and gives me a soft smile. “You okay, Spitfire?”

“You really don’t care if someone gets mad about your hockey stats?”

“No. I know I have value. I wouldn’t be playing where I am, or be the captain, if I didn’t. I devote my life to hockey, and I’m damn good at it. Yeah, I have off games. Or, like I mentioned, an off year. But I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in my career so far. Most of the people who come at me spouting off nonsense are fans from rival teams, and they’re just trying to get in my head. I’ve learned to just ignore the chirping.”

“When you had an off year, did you lose your focus? Or your confidence?” I ask. The ding letting us know we can remove our seatbelts interrupts our conversation, but as soon as we’ve gathered our things and exited onto the jetway, Jacob continues.

“I did briefly. I wondered if I should think about retirement. A buddy of mine recently retired from the Wolves, and he was at the top of his game. The difference was this: he didn’t find it fun anymore. He didn’t look forward to practice. He hated leaving his girl. He wanted to put down roots, not spend half the year gallivanting around North America. I still love hockey. I get off on the smell of the ice every fucking time I step onto it. I feed off the roar of the crowd, whether they’re rooting for or against me. It’s in my soul.”

“What’s the normal age of retirement?” I wonder aloud.

“There’s no set number. Many guys get forced out due to injury or poor performance. I know I’m nearing the end of my career. I have two more years on my contract, and I’m not gonna take anything else. I want to retire here. I’ve spent the majority of my career with the Wolves, and I hope to end it here, too.”

I find myself letting out a loud exhale of relief, and Jacob looks at me with amusement. “Worried about me moving, darlin’?”

I attempt a nonplussed look, but fail miserably. “I don’t like spontaneity. I’m very Type-A. I know things are … new with us, but you suddenly telling me you’re moving wouldn’t sit well with me.”

Jacob grabs my hand, pulling me off to the side, near an empty gate. “Why?”

I shrug. “I’d like to be prepared for it. That’s all. If the end is coming, I don’t want the bottom to drop out unexpectedly. I’ll need to prepare. Put my game face on.”

Jacob’s eyes search mine, flitting between them as he squeezes my hand. “You wouldn’t want to go with me?”

“What?” I ask, stupefied. What the hell does that mean?

“Let’s just say I got traded next week. Nothing I could control. It can happen, Becca, but I’m fairly confident it won’t happen to me. But if it happened, that’s it? We’re done?”

“I’m not even sure what we are, Jacob,” I answer with an irritated tone. “A faux spouse does not a husband make.”

He steps closer to me, so close our noses almost touch, and pushes one hand into my hair. Holding my head, he latches into my waves to tilt me back, waiting until my eyes meet his. “Let’s get something straight here, Spitfire. Nothing about this is fake to me. Nothing. You are my wife. Not a pretend one. Or a momentary one. You are it. You can deny all you want, but this is happening. We’ve got the marriage license and these rings to prove it. In case that wasn’t specific enough for you, let me say it this way. If I get traded, I want you with me. End of story.”

Jacob leans down to press a harsh kiss against my lips before turning to march toward baggage claim. Stunned into silence, I follow.