Page 36 of Love Me (Charlotte Monarchs Hockey #1)

Luke

“ I ’m so happy you suggested this place. I’ve wanted to check it out since I got here,” Bree says as I pull my Jeep into a makeshift parking spot in a grassy field at the U.S. National Whitewater Center.

“You’re gonna love it. You can get your California on out here.”

Bree jumps out. “What does that mean?” she asks, slinging a bright orange tote bag over her shoulder.

I lift my shirt off over my head and shove it into her bag. “I know you’re all about being outdoors and hiking and eating tree bark. All that super healthy stuff.” I wink.

“Funny,” she says, bumping me with her shoulder.

I slide my hand into hers as if we’ve been together for years. She doesn’t pull away, which is slightly surprising since I know she still has reservations about moving our relationship from fuck buddies to dating.

My goal is to get her on the same wavelength as I am. Being with her feels natural. Her easy smile and peaceful spirit calm me as if tranquility flows through her fingers into me when we hold hands.

She’s nothing like any other girl I’ve dated. And I’m not talking about the stereotypical puck bunny with dollar signs in her eyes.

Bree loves being outdoors, which is evident in the golden glow of her tanned skin. Her blue eyes are bright, and her cheeks are rosy, but I don’t think she wears a lick of makeup. Her energy is off the charts, and she has quiet confidence.

The Whitewater Center immediately sprang to mind when I started thinking about a perfect place to take her.

Between hiking, biking, whitewater rafting, and paddle boarding, it’s an outdoorsy person’s paradise.

I planned to spend the entire day here and can’t wait to surprise her with craft beer and live music afterward.

I already have a season pass for activities, so when we get to the counter, I get Bree the All Access pass.

“Please don’t do that,” she says, patting my arm as I hand the guy behind the counter cash. “I can buy my own.”

“I picked the date. I get to pay. That’s the rule.”

“Thanks, Luke.” Bree squeezes my forearm. “I’ll remember that rule.”

The cashier hands me my change and Bree’s pass. “Ready?”

“Yes!” She nods eagerly. She looks so happy she might burst.

Which makes all sorts of things happen inside. I’m obviously attracted to her, but there’s more to it. All I want is to make her happy. I haven’t wanted anything so badly since hockey. She’s turning me into a sap, and I don’t even mind.

I grab her hand again and lead her down the stairs into the park. When we reach the bottom, I quickly turn around to witness her reaction.

Bree’s eyes light up when she sees the enormous facility. With over a thousand acres and tons of activities, it’s an outdoors lover’s dream. The main draw is the man-made whitewater rafting.

Though I’ve been here on multiple occasions, Bree’s excitement reminds me how amazing it is. For the past year, I’ve walked around seeing everything through dead, jaded eyes. Then, this gorgeous girl who’s not afraid to be herself or do what she wants comes into my life.

Bree is a reminder that life is amazing and beautiful even when things aren’t going exactly as planned.

“You up for some whitewater rafting?” I ask, walking toward a concrete wall that separates a small outdoor classroom equipped with rows of wooden benches and a screen from the rest of the park. This is where rafters go through an orientation before getting on the water.

“Absolutely!” Her eyes light up as we wait for the leader to let us into the orientation. “I’m so excited to get out there. Do you like rafting?”

“I was born whitewater rafting.”

“Really? Your poor mom,” Bree teases me. I know it’s just a reaction to my stupid macho comment, but the words still send a pang to my heart.

I haven’t told her everything that happened during my trip to Vancouver yet. I will because I need her to know that her confidence in me gives me strength and makes me want to be better, but I want to enjoy the day before we get that heavy.

Instead of sharing my feelings about it, I smile. “Every summer for as far back as I can remember, a few friends and I have met up at the Fraser River?—”

“In British Columbia?” Bree asks, finishing my sentence.

“Yeah. Do you know it?”

“Know it? I’ve rafted it,” she gushes. “My dad took my brother and me there when we were in high school. We met up with a friend he played college hockey with.”

“Your dad played hockey, too?”

“Yep. He even won a couple of national championships with Wisconsin in the eighties.”

Though Bree says it nonchalantly, her words make me come to a complete stop. “Wait? Who’s your dad?”

“Max Collins,” she says, then continues quickly. “You may not know him. He didn’t play after college. He coached a lot of youth hockey in Anaheim.”

I’ve never heard of him, but I didn’t follow college hockey when I was young.

We pass a row of lockers, which reminds me. “Hey, do you want to store your bag while we’re in the water?”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

Instead of handing me her bag, Bree drops it at her feet.

Then she grabs the hem of her tank top and pulls it over her head, revealing a hot-pink bikini top that resembles a thin sports bra.

Or maybe it is a sports bra, I don’t know.

I’m too busy staring at the tan skin covering her six-pack to worry about the correct name for the fabric over her gorgeous, full breasts.

My stomach contracts at the sight of her standing before me half-naked.

“Sorry,” she says, though I don’t hear any remorse in her flirty tone. “I guess whipping my shirt off was a little much.”

Shaking my head back to reality, I mumble, “I’m cool with it. Need help with your shorts?”

“I’ll keep my shorts on for now, but maybe later.” Bree winks then shoves her shirt into her tote before pushing the bag into the locker. I finally take my eyes off her and attach the locker key to the lanyard around my neck.

Before following her toward the rafting area, I lean in and press my chest against her back. “You know how much I want to fuck you right now, don’t you?”

“Yup,” she says with a sly smile.

“Wicked, wicked woman,” I say through a deep sigh then place my hand on her lower back and lead her forward.

We grab a seat on one of the wooden benches and wait for the rafting orientation to start. I’ve listened to it multiple times, which means I can focus on Bree and the fact that we’re sitting thigh to thigh and it’s making me want to pull her onto my lap and kiss her senseless.

As if on cue, a black Lab wanders up to Bree and starts sniffing between her legs.

I’m jealous of the dog. Fucker is right where I want to be.

Bree laughs, rubbing the dog behind the ears with both hands as she lifts its head away from her crotch. “Well, hello, sweetheart!” she says. The dog immediately jumps onto her lap and starts licking her face.

“Sadie!” someone yells. “Sadie! Get down!”

Bree and I turn to see the person yelling at the dog. Sadie doesn’t stop licking, and Bree doesn’t seem to care.

“I’m so sorry!” Sadie’s owner, a blond woman in a white tank top and cutoff jean shorts, says.

“It’s no problem,” Bree answers. “She’s so sweet,” she says, holding Sadie’s face in front of hers and giving her a kiss on the top of her furry head. “How old is she?”

“Almost two,” her owner tells us, nudging Sadie off Bree’s lap. “I really am sorry.” She holds up a collar attached to a leash. “She wiggled right out of her collar.”

“It’s completely okay,” Bree says. “She’s a sweetheart.”

“Thanks!” The girl slips the collar over Sadie’s head and pulls her away.

Bree is still smiling as she watches them walk off.

“You like dogs?” I ask, completely ignoring the fact that we’re still sitting in the rafter’s safety course.

“Love them,” she says, turning her focus to me. “I have a German Shepherd-Lab-mix back home. I miss my Stoney.”

“Stoney?” I ask. Bree must be a closet pothead. Who else would name their dog Stoney?

“I grew up with a dog named Rocky, so when I got my own, I wanted a dog exactly like him. But I also wanted him to have his own identity. That’s when I came up with Stoney.”

“Are y’all done?” the instructor asks impatiently.

Shit.

“Yeah, sorry. The friendly dog attack got us off track,” I respond.

Bree laughs, laces her fingers with mine, and rests our hands on top of her thigh. When she focuses on the rafting guide, who’s resumed the orientation spiel, I have a chance to look at her. Kindness glows from her as if it’s an aura.

She reminds me of Melissa Reid, my billet mom in Kamloops. Melissa was everything I’d wanted my own mom to be. I developed a respect and love for her even though I only lived with her for two years, during my WHL days with the Blazers.

Melissa was there when I woke up and when I went to bed.

She made breakfast and dinner every day and saved me a plate when I wasn’t around to eat with the family.

She and the kids attended almost every one of my games, missing them only when the kids had activities scheduled at the same time.

She made me call if I was going to be late, and she wanted to know where I was, which was something I had to get used to since I’d been taking care of myself for years.

She wanted to know what was happening in my life and who I was hanging out with.

She treated me like I was one of her own kids.

She showed me the same warmth and concern, and the same disappointment when I acted like an idiot.

Melissa passed away from breast cancer two years after I was drafted by Charlotte.

I’d flown her and the kids to Toronto, where I’d played my first NHL game for the Monarchs even though she was almost bedridden at that point.

I wanted her to be there because I wasn’t sure if she’d make it to see me playing full-time for the Monarchs. She didn’t.

“Luke,” Bree says, patting my thigh, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah?”