Page 59 of Goalie Secrets
“Now it’s my turn to taste,” he declares confidently.
Instead of dipping the spoon for a taste, Jeremy kisses me. I’m surprised, at first. The delectable warmth of Jeremy’s taste mixes with the succulent herbs and caramelized onions in the sauce. He slides his tongue into my depths. The rush of pleasure overtakes my surprise.
We kiss passionately, my breasts rub against his sculpted chest. His hands wrap around to grab my bottom. His dick indents my stomach. Apparently, our time together can be sweet and friendly one moment, and fiery fervor the next.
Jeremy ends the kiss first, but his hands tighten around my hips. “I don’t want to stop, but I promised to feed you.”
“Technically you already did,” I say playfully.
His eyes flash with recognition of my joke. Before we throw all plans of dinner out with the empty can of tomatoes, I pull away.
“I’ll set the table while you bring the food over. Is that OK?”
He places a tender kiss on my nose before turning back to the stove. While grabbing the plates, I’m struck by how easy it is to be together.
Without constant reminders of my duties to my profession, my colleagues, my research agenda, it’s possible to focus on who is in front of me.
Jeremy. A man who takes my breath away and makes me laugh. With him, I exist in thenow.I don’t have to prove myself as a worthy daughter or an exceptional doctor or a successful woman.
He desires me as I am. And although that’s not a sentiment I should get used to, it’s one I’m not so willing to give up just yet.
We sit side by side. I’m glad she’s on my left, so I can use the fork in my right hand while laying my left hand on Vanya’s knee. The contact assures me she’s here.
We eat in silence for a few bites. The ordinary act seems extraordinary, somehow. Probably because, until now, our past moments alone were coincidental to other actions and expectations. But at the moment, we are nowhere near a massage table or fitness equipment. The view of the street indicates no chance of being snowed in. I didn’t have to compel her to invite me in to fix her basement furnace.
I am achingly aware that every time I’ve had Vanya to myself, it was never entirely her choice. That changes tonight.
We bothchoseto have this dinner together. Even cooked it together.
If nothing else happens except a pasta dish and my hand on her knee, this is still progress. It’s a simple dinner that took zero skill and imagination, yet the way she’s enjoying it and praising my improvisational efforts make my chest tight.
I want to cook for her every single time she’s hungry. And I want to touch her any time I feel like it. That’s a fair trade, if you ask me.
That makes me sound pathetic. I don’t care. My feelings for Vanya are so strong and yet so new, they push all the other preoccupations aside. Who needs things like pride or self-preservation when you have Vanya Kapur smiling up at you with those brown doe eyes and full, glistening lips.
“Why hockey? You’re athletic and could have taken on anysport. Maybe one that isn’t so taxing on your body.” She tilts her head up at me, exposing the pulse point at her neck.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked the question, though not with exactly her words. I have an automatic answer: Hockey is the best sport in the world! But that won’t do. Vanya doesn’t want an automatic answer.
“I came into the sport unexpectedly. A classmate’s birthday party was at a skating rink. We were, maybe ten? That’s late in the scheme of things.”
She holds my hand. Our linked fingers comfort me, compel me to share.
“The best skaters are on blades before they learn to sprint,” I explain.
“I grew up in Toronto, so I know what you mean.”
“Doyouskate?”
She nods quickly before stating, “Not well, but I manage. Don’t change the subject, Jeremy Lopez. What happened after that birthday party? How did you go from Bambi on ice to a star goaltender?”
“Did you just call me Bambi?”
“You know what I mean! Shaky and cute,” she chirps.
I snort because there’s no denying I was the weakest skater that day. “Believe it or not, I felt lighter. The gliding and standing on blades was more natural than walking across the street.”
“There might be something to that, anatomically. The stance shifts your weight.” Her brows knit closer as if something unpleasant occurs to her. “Jeremy, were you experiencing pain and discomfort from EDS even at a young age?”