Page 57 of Goalie Secrets
Thank you, Vanya, for being the best doctor Jeremy could have.
The words echo in my head even after she walks away. I glance at Jeremy who is watching me intently. That familiar stab of guilt, however, barely registers. Because at the moment we aren’t a doctor and a patient, we’re two people who can’t seem to stop wanting to be together.
Would it be so bad to indulge that desire for one night? Would my ability to help him as his doctor suffer if we get this persistent attraction out of our system? Maybe it might even improve my ability to help him, right?
“You look like you need a drink. Or a cookie.” Jeremy expresses concern about my expression.
“No more cookies, thank you.”
He places a hand on my elbow to lead me to the back door that connects directly to the community center’s parking lot.
“Then let me take you out to a real dinner. We were too, um, busy to grab food earlier.”
“We were,” I agree, warming to the idea of spending time with Jeremy without fully facing the consequences of what we did in the locker room.
Consequences, Vanya? Is that what we call blow jobs now?
He walks me to my car.
“We could order food, or I could cook you something,” he offers and waits patiently for my response.
As if to answer for me, my stomach growls. With a tap on my car’s hood and a gorgeous smile, Jeremy acts like the decision is made. I nod because he’s right. I don’t want our time to end.Stomach growling aside, going home alone is unthinkable at the moment.
In his own car, Jeremy follows me to our street. The drive gives me time and privacy to reflect on the afternoon. This truly was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. The setting was unexpectedly warm for a simple community center. The people—the kids most of all—made me feel welcome. Like I belonged, instead of a person passing through Columbus for a one-and-done year. And then there’s Jeremy, so caring and thoughtful.
And so unbelievably hot.
I lick my lower lip, relishing the phantom taste of Jeremy’s orgasm, rich and manly. The memory of him caressing my head and daring me to take all of him ticks my heartbeat to sprint levels. To be on my knees for a man was not on today’s agenda, but should I even be surprised at this point?
I want to do things with Jeremy. Things like volunteer at a community center on Christmas Day or suck him dry in a locker room while Santa trousers pool over his feet.
You did both, Vanya.
Oh my god, where is my self-control? Minutes with Jeremy is all it takes to lose decency and sense. And now we agreed to dinner. Does he expect more after what we did in the locker room? DoI?
As soon as he parks in his driveway, Jeremy jogs across the street where I’m still waiting for the garage door to open.
It should feel odd for Jeremy to open my door once I’m parked. It should be awkward to walk into the house together, like itsours. Yet there’s no weirdness. No hesitation. It’s the most natural thing in the world to spend time with a man who preoccupies my thoughts and seems to know my body better than I do.
I don’t realize my mistake until it’s too late.
In fact, I don’t realize my mistake until Jeremy’s jaw slackens. Following the path of his stare, I see the boudoir album opened at a photo of me looking at the camera while my arms are over my head. My full breasts are encased in red lace, dark hair strewn over silky cream sheets. It isn’t the most revealing picture in the book because you don’t see the curve of my hips or a deep cleavage, but my face reveals the playful sexiness I felt that day.
Ashley and I agreed to send each other one picture from our books. This is the one I sent her via text before I left the house.
I lunge to close the album, but there’s no beating the speed of an NHL goalie. He has it pressed against his chest, eyes bright with mischief.
“You weren’t supposed to see that!” I say while tugging at his forearms.
“I know, I know! For the record, I’m not looking at it unless you let me,” he promises. “But you’ve got to hear me out, Vanya.”
“Hear you out?” Laughter accompanies my question.
There’s something playful and intimate about Jeremy seeing my favorite picture. Not that I’m any kind of supermodel, but the photographer made me feel beautiful and free.
It occurs to me that’s exactly how Jeremy makes me feel. Beautiful and free.
“Christmas is a day of charity and goodwill. Letting me see these pictures is definitely a good deed.” The ridiculousness of his line of argument feeds my giddiness.