Page 122 of Penalty Shot

“Yes, sir,” I rasp seductively, just the way he likes it.

And I let the crashing of our bodies carry me to another height. Higher and higher as the pleasure becomes so acute, the knot of ecstasy so tightly bound, it’s almost painful.

Then, in a moment of joint ecstasy, the binding that separates need from satisfaction unravels. We come together, clinging desperately for the moment to last as long as possible.

After our simple dinner and another round of lovemaking, we hold each other in bed.

I tell myself I’m fully in the moment.

I tell myself I’mnotthinking about what happens two nights from now when we’re apart and the bed is cold and my heart is torn.

I tell myself I’mnotdevastated that Randall is leaving.

I’m not.

I’mnot.

From the moment I arrived in Vancouver, everyone wanted a piece of me. I barely had time to check into the hotel the Vancouver Dragons arranged before my days got swallowed up.

Management arranged an afternoon-long, brain-numbing meet and greet with the board and sponsors.

The coaches insisted on a review of their playbook that took hours.

The goalie coach booked me for a private session on the ice for most of the second day.

The press hounded my agent for interviews or parked outside the arena to badger me with questions.

Medical people demanded tests, PR managers took pictures, and fans stopped me everywhere I went.

Most of all, my new team needed assurance that I was here for them a hundred percent. I worked out beside them at the gym, stayed longer during the scrimmages and practices, and had dinner with teammates the three of the four nights since I arrived.

One dinner was reserved for my family where we had prime rib and missed Elise. The one time she was in my dad’s house imprinted her presence. Now, every Haughland is waiting for her to materialize. Or maybe that’s me projecting my unease.

Unfortunately, she’s been impossible to reach, too. I miss her so much, it’s a constant cloud of distraction I need to push through. And since I brought her to Vancouver and showed her the best parts of the city, I’m reminded of Elise every place, every minute, every day.

Our last text exchange was this morning. I don’t usually call at night because of the time difference, but I need her. Phone tag is a curse.

Are you awake?I text my girlfriend.

Elise:Hi! Another late dinner for you?

Randall:Yeah. Time difference sucks.

That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. I’m close to selling my soul in order to bend space and time, just so I can kiss her.

Elise:It does. Hey, did you get my email about the showings?

Elise has taken it upon herself to help my realtor sell the townhouse. We had a little argument about it because I’d like her to stay longer. For fuck’s sake, it hasn’t even been a week! But she’s determined to be helpful while she’s living there.

Randall:I don’t want to talk about showings.I need to see you.

Hearing her voice has made me goddamn desperate for a video call.

When she answers, she’s lying down with her hair spread on the pillow. Twenty pounds of air exit my lungs in relief. There she is, my girl, waiting for me in bed.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” she responds while muffling a yawn. “Did you just get home?”