Page 25

25

Alana

L iam was wearing my sweater.

Technically, it was his and I had just been borrowing it for the last thirteen years. He gave it to me because I was cold on the drive back from one of his games and it was in the backseat of the car. I had planned on giving it back, like I usually did when he lent me clothes, but something about this one was different. It was the perfect sweater, so I kept it a little longer than I usually did. Then I kept on keeping it because he never asked for it back. I’m not sure he even remembered I had it.

I was going to leave it behind when I left for Michigan, but my subconscious had other plans. I found it at the bottom of my suitcase when I was unpacking in my dorm room. I told myself that I would send it to him but every time I picked it up, I convinced myself that it still smelled like him, and I couldn’t part with it. After a while, it became a physical reminder that Liam Mulligan, the NHL Golden Boy, had once been in my orbit. It was both a good and a bad reminder. Given that I still had it, clearly it was a mostly good one.

And he’d finally gotten it back .

It was tighter across the shoulders than it had been when he’d bought it, but other than that, it still fit perfectly.

“Nice sweater,” I commented as I pulled on my jacket and wrapped my scarf around my neck, partially covering the bottom of my face. Liam stepped into my personal space and kissed my forehead.

“Yeah, it’s the funniest thing. I thought I lost it and then it just…turned up,” he said into the skin at my temple and a full-body shiver went through me.

“The borrower must have given it back,” I whispered as he stepped away and pulled his coat on, an easy smile on his face as he then settled a baseball cap on his head and turned it backwards. As you do in December.

“Come on, Homily, let’s go get mad at Christmas tourists.”

“Babe, I think we might count as Christmas tourists. We don’t live here anymore.”

“Do you tell people you’re from Michigan?”

“No, I say I’m a New Yorker.”

“Exactly. It’s in your blood. Let’s go get mad at Christmas tourists.” He looped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me to his side as he opened the door and led us to the car.

I did a lot of my best thinking when on transport, and so this car ride was also providing the perfect opportunity for me to overthink whatever the hell this morning was. I now knew what Liam’s hands felt like when they grabbed my legs to pull me in closer to him. I had vivid details of what the stubble dusting his jaw felt like rubbing on the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I knew that he could use his tongue like a weapon, and he applied the same amount of focus he had on the ice to making sure I finished. It was too much.

It was everything.

I wanted more.

“What are you thinking about over there?” Liam asked as one of those hands wrapped themselves around my thigh and squeezed gently. I felt a low tug between my legs.

“I’m thinking that driving into the city this close to Christmas for a condom run feels excessive. I’m also thinking that it’s wild that we just had sex and even wilder that it doesn’t feel weird at all. Even though it is very weird.”

“You regret anything?” he asked warily.

“About this morning? No.” I could tell Liam wanted to press me further, but he simply squeezed my leg again.

“What about you?” I held my breath.

“Do I regret basically starting my day with my face buried between your legs? No. Can’t say I do. I feel like I should write a love letter to your vibrator for dying and granting me the opportunity to take its place.”

“How long were you standing there for?”

“No idea. Time lost all meaning the moment I opened the door and saw you writhing on the bed, trying to get yourself off. Then I just tried to think of a plan of action that would end with me getting you off. It wasn’t part of my original plan, but then again, none of this was part of my original plan.”

“I thought your original plan was ‘get my parents off my back’,” I joked.

“Which has actually gone swimmingly because your mother insisted that I sleep in your room.”

“The more I think about it, the more I am sure that Dad suggested that when he was bringing us back from the airport and Mom went along with it.”

“The same man who faux-threatened a whole hockey team to stay away from his daughter? That man suggested his daughter and the kid from next door share a room?”

I laughed, remembering how scared the team had been around me once Dad had given them a different kind of team talk.

“I asked him to tell his team that I was off limits because one of the keepers wasn’t quite taking a hint, and he was happy to oblige. Nothing like the fear of Coach to keep people away. Although, I still don’t know how it became a rumour that Coach Fitzpatrick was castrating hockey players and jocks alike who tried to date me. He’s never actually given a single shit about my dating life and is mature enough to acknowledge that I am a grown-ass woman who most likely has sex.”

“So why do you think he is the mastermind behind it all?”

“How much have you talked to your dad since you got home?” I replied. The fragile way he had asked me how I felt about his retirement, combined with the conversation I had overheard on the day we got home, told me that his dad still wasn’t quite on board with Liam’s decision to quit while he was ahead.

“On his own, hardly at all.”

“Exactly.” I tapped the hand on my leg twice .

“Always two steps ahead, that Coach,” he muttered.

“Almost like he’s one of the best high school coaches in the country.”

“Funny that. Where are we going?” he asked.

“The city?”

“No, I meant what shop?”

“Why do you assume that I have a preferred sex shop?”

“I think you prefer buying online. But I also know that you always have backups, which in this case, is a preferred physical shop. The city is a big place. You gotta give me some direction.”

“Go to the West Village,” I said.