Page 106 of Heartbreak Hockey

He’s not done. “One more thing. My original idea.”

Something tells me he would have won with whatever I’m about to pull … a bottle of lube …? “We run out or something?” Because that’s entirely possible with our libidos, but not with how neurotic we are about keeping stocked up. We ran out the first week of us fucking and tried using something stupid like shampoo. Well, I’ve got news for everyone, that shit only works in romance novels. It was a nightmare in real life, and we remain traumatized by the event.

He takes a breath. “No. That’s symbolic. I’m giving you my …” he trails off and his cheeks flush. He exhales with purpose. “My ass virginity.”

That takes a minute to compute. I should absolutely not laugh about that, but with the number of times we’ve fucked on this sofa alone, that’s fricking hilarious. I double over with laughter until I’m crying for a different reason. He’s become a watery blur. I wipe my eyes until I can see him again. “Sorry. This is fucking sweet, Merc. It’s also hard to believe.”

“Whatever, Leslie. It’s the gift of the fucking century and I win. Nothing in that bag will top my ass’s virginity.”

He’s right. Nothing will even if I take off five points for the help he got with the ticket thing, which I am. “Here, you might as well open it. I lost big time, but I still think you’ll like it.”

Hesitantly, he accepts the bag. He loses his winning smile, running on a new spark of intuition once it’s in his hand. Digging into the bag, he pulls them both out at once by their ears and I cringe at my ridiculous idea. It was dumb. I’m bad at this.

“Your dad’s linen dolls?”

He inspects them. They’re the rabbit versions and I had Dad make special outfits for them. One of the rabbits is wearing a The Matrix-style leather jacket. He sewed dark hair onto it. The other is wearing a hockey jersey. Once he flips it over, he sees what’s written on the back. It’s my number with “Meyer” in bold font.

His eyebrows press together, and a deep crease forms between them. Time for me to explain.

“It’s not what it probably looks like. I’m not proposing to you after a couple of weeks as boyfriends—that would be crazy—but it’s my way of saying thatwhileI’m yours, I’m all yours. For however long that is, whether it’s one more day or thousands more days.” He stares at the Jack doll without speaking. My nerves burn. “And I dunno, if we do end up together, I can see you wanting to make me a Meyer. You’re just that type.”

Still gazing at the Jack doll, a predatory smile forms at the mention of making me a Meyer. “Yeah, I fucking would. C’mere, baby.”

Finally. I catapult all my two hundred and thirty pounds at him and kiss his face everywhere. “Jesus, Mercy. Those were some nerve-racking minutes. I was prepared to lose the Valentine’s Gift Wars, but not for you to hate my gift.”

“No chance of that. I love this gift. It’s too bad I still have to take off five points for the help you got with this.”

I gasp. “What? Not so. There was no rule saying we couldn’t buy something. I went online and purchased those from Dad’s Etsy shop.”

When he got the order, he thought I’d lost my mind because he wasn’t charging me for dolls, and why wouldn’t I just text him my order? When I explained the situation, he accepted the money, but I’m pretty sure it’ll end up in the bank account they have set up for me that I’m allowed to withdraw from while I’m away for hockey. I won’t tell Mercy that part.

“I dunno.”

“If you don’t take five points from me, I won’t from you. Even the tickets are sus since technically pulling strings is getting help—”

“Okay, we don’t take the points,” Merc says.

“Deal. And I suppose we should declare you the winner.”

“Me? No way. All I gave you was more hockey and my ass. These dolls are really special.”

“I’m not even dignifying that with a response. Everything you gave me is special as hell. I declare you the winner.”

“No. You win. There’s no way I came close to winning.”

We argue about it for five solid minutes and then declare it a tie. “Until next Valentine’s Day then,” he says, kissing me.

“Now wegottabe together next Valentine’s Day. Got to break this tie somehow,” I say between kisses. “Merc?”

“Yeah?”

“Do I get to fuck you however I want?”

“However you want.”

I get up off his lap and swipe up the jersey from the couch and hand it to him. “Then here. I wanna see you wearing this when I slide into you for the first time.”

Chapter21