Page 57 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)

Somnolence slowly drizzles over our naked bodies, amplified by the ever-darkening sky that enshrines our multi-million-dollar penthouse.

Moonlight razoring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stars twinkle like Swarovski crystals suspended in the greater unknown, and we’re so high up that the rest of the city looks like miniature-scale models as thousands of lights coruscate from beyond the ridiculously tall walls of our very own microcosm.

“I’m dead. Gone. Your pussy killed me,” Crew breathes, resting his hand over the grid of his abs.

I snort. “My pussy killed you?”

“Are you really that surprised?”

Suddenly, he grabs my furthermost leg and drapes it over his lower half, bending down to lick the arousal pasted to the inside of my thigh. His tongue slurps up every salty dreg with devotion, inciting an ambush of shivers down my spine.

“She’s fucking incredible.”

Four years later, and Crew still manages to make me blush like I’m just another boy-crazy teenager. I snuggle closer to him, taking in the unmatched sight of New York City at night.

Dragon’s breath cradles our home like the seamless movement in a rococo painting—all delicate brushwork and curvaceous linework.

Love smolders in my heart, and I mindlessly trace swirls on his chest. “Shouldn’t you be getting to practice?”

A perfunctory shrug. “They can wait. You’re more important. You’re always going to be more important.”

“More important than the New York Rangers?”

Crew grabs my wandering hand, bringing it to his lips before littering kisses on my knuckles. “Is that even a question?”

After graduation, Crew was approached by an agent who had been attending his games for quite a while, and with Crew’s statistics, it barely took any time before his free agency came to a close.

Classified negotiation and a dotted line later, the New York Night Howlers welcomed Crew as their rookie of the year.

Of course, since the facility was located in New York, I agreed to follow him all the way to the eastside.

It was the perfect opportunity to live on my own without having my parents within a ten-mile radius.

It also allowed me the chance to pursue dance as a profession, since New York is known to be the epicenter of dance.

The initial move was pretty seamless. Thankfully, Crew’s signing bonus and my family’s contribution had us living pretty comfortably in a brownstone. Once hockey season started up and I got accepted on a scholarship program to The Ailey School, things started to pick up pace.

As for my heart condition, it’s been a lot more manageable.

I still have tiny flare-ups here and there, but I haven’t experienced any embarrassing losses of consciousness in front of a public crowd.

With Crew having access to my heart monitor app, I can always count on him to remind me to take things easy.

And I’ve gotten a lot better at knowing my limits.

After weeks of convincing, my parents agreed to fall back on using the app as a way to monitor me.

Now, they only reach out to make sure that I’m okay if there’s a noticeable spike in my heart rate.

No interrogation, no judgment, no end-of-the-world dramatics.

I’ve been excelling at keeping my stress levels down and staying on top of my medication, which means that my chances of living until I’m seventy are at an all-time high.

Crew’s mom is doing really well. With Crew’s salary, she’s been able to quit her job and finally travel the world. Even got herself a nice little townhouse like she’s always wanted.

My relationship with my parents has never been better. Crew still keeps in touch with my father on a regular basis—more often than I’d like, honestly. Those two can talk about hockey for hours.

Harlan and Irelyn couldn’t have a more opposite life from ours, which is strange, because I swore that girl was destined for the silver screen.

They decided to settle down in the deep, untamed wilderness of North Carolina, living in a cottage amongst daisy-crowned fairy rings and an acreage of dense woodland.

Harlan didn’t end up pursuing a career in the NHL, but he did follow another dream of his—providing mental health counseling for those who are underprivileged.

Irelyn settled on a job behind the camera lens, and now she’s a renowned photographer that’s made a name for herself on social media.

We plan to always meet with them once a month.

As for the rest of the crew, they’re all spread out over the map.

Sutton has an incredible fiancée with a baby on the way, Foster is living up the single life in Atlanta, Axel has moved back to Puerto Rico to be a youth hockey coach for his childhood team—having turned down his father’s technology business for the benefit of his own happiness—and Knox was signed to the Colorado Cyclones. It’s crazy how much we’ve all grown.

Pulse like a machine gun, I look up at the man who’s become my sole reason for existing, counting the freckles on his face that I’ve already memorized a thousand times over.

I never believed that I could live a normal life like this, but if it wasn’t for Irelyn dragging me to Dusky’s that lonely night in August, I never would’ve found my peace.

And life is so much easier when you stop fighting yourself.

“I love you,” I say, wrapping my arms around Crew’s torso and not caring about the furnace-like heat emanating off his damp body. Getting to lie with him in bed like this, with little care in the world, is something I’ll never take for granted.

His lips swerve into a smile. “I love you more, Princess. So much that it hurts. I feel like there’s a Xenomorph trying to burst out of my chest.”

Crew sprawls over the mattress, clutching at his sternum in an Oscar-worthy performance.

“I didn’t realize I had that effect on you,” I laugh.

“Oh, yeah. In fact, I think it’s—” His words cut away rather suspiciously—as if he’s laying down a snare and waiting for unsuspecting prey—and I, of course, make the mistake of stepping on the detritus-camouflaged trap.

He pretends to play dead, and when I go to peer over him, a tickle assault ensues.

“Coming!”

I giggle and squeal and squirm, resorting to an ineffective fetal position that definitely doesn’t defend against tricky fingers. It feels like someone has filled up a measuring cup of happiness and poured it down my esophagus.

“I’m”—“going”—“to”—“kill”—“you!” I wheeze in between pokes, just as Crew relents and yanks me into his side, nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck.

His lips whisper over my jawline. “Promise to kiss me first?”

I angle my head so that I’m one move away from breaching the silk of his mouth. “Only if you promise me this is forever.”

Expunged of any hesitation, doubt, or worry, he caresses the side of my face with his hand. “I can do you one better.”

I don’t register what’s happening before Crew reaches for the drawer in his nightstand, rifles around for something, and then pulls out a velvet box. He flips the lid open to reveal a twenty-carat diamond ring perched between two cushions.

“How about a ring instead?”