Page 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

Rowan

The next couple of days are a blur.

The Phantoms win game four, so the series is tied at two games apiece and now we go back to Vegas. That’s a tough, energetic crowd, always hard to play in front of, so the boys will have to dig deep to keep the noise from getting into their heads.

We’re also dealing with a lot more bumps and bruises than usual, so I’ve had twelve-hour days trying to keep everyone as healthy as possible. Taping wrists, ankles and shoulders, icing almost every body part imaginable, massages, stitches—it’s been non-stop, and I’m exhausted.

It’s exhilarating, but now I understand why Gene needs someone like me; it’s a lot for one person. Sunny is great, anxious to learn everything, but that’s just it—she’s still learning and doesn’t know how to do a lot of the things that need to get done.

She can stock supplies and get ice packs and even do some of the massages, but she can’t give stitches and doesn’t know how to tape the way the guys like it. It takes a while to learn each guy’s needs and preferences, and while I appreciate her, I’ll need someone full-time if Gene doesn’t come back.

By the time we get to Vegas, I’m ready to drop.

My dad decides to hit the casinos, and I go straight to my room. I’m anxious to spend a little time with Blake, but honestly, I just want to relax.

“You look like you need some TLC,” he says when he arrives.

“I need sleep,” I admit. “I’m tired.”

“Then let’s go to bed,” he says immediately.

“I’m probably going to fall asleep on you,” I say apologetically.

He shakes his head. “That’s fine, baby. I’m tired too. Let’s sleep. We have all night and morning since there’s no skate tomorrow.”

“Oh. That sounds lovely.” I nestle into his arms and immediately drift off.

When I wake up, there’s a warm, lovely feeling between my legs, and I sigh happily. Waking up to Blake going down on me is probably my favorite thing in the world. I pry my lids apart, and seeing his gorgeous dark blond head between my thighs is glorious. Not to mention what his tongue is doing.

“Blake…” I breathe out his name in a sleep-addled voice, arching my hips into his face. “Fuck, that’s good…”

His lips are warm and firm, teasing and taunting, licking and sucking. He slides one thick finger inside of me and sucks my clit into his mouth.

“Fuck!” I gasp at the unexpected double assault.

But it feels so damn good.

He adds another finger, curving them up and finding the sweet spot that always makes me squirm.

“Blake!” My orgasm catches me off-guard, and I writhe and wiggle until I can catch my breath.

“That’s my girl.” He lifts his head with a wicked gleam.

“Damn, you are a master,” I sigh.

He crawls over me and lowers his mouth to mine. The taste is tangy and sweet as our tongues collide, and I whimper as he glides into me.

“Too much?” he asks softly.

“No…it feels perfect. I want more. Always.”

And as always, he gives me exactly what I need.

Rough and tender, sexy and erotic, romantic and dirty… all the disparities that turn me on. And him too apparently.

We come together, our bodies in perfect sync as we find nirvana, and then he kisses me again. Soft, playful, delicious kisses that make my toes curl and my heart flutter with giddiness.

Every damn time.

It’s been almost a month, and it’s still as wonderful as the very first time.

“You know how to say good morning,” I whisper, winding my arms around his neck.

“I try.” He doesn’t move for a while, pinning me in place in the most wonderful way.

Finally, he pulls out and we make our way into the bathroom to clean up.

When we’re back in bed I realize it’s only seven, so we still have time to lounge around. Eventually order breakfast. Maybe even make love again. We slept from about nine to six which is a good night’s sleep, so I feel better than I have in days.

“Can we talk about something?” he asks after a few minutes.

“We can talk about anything.”

“Well, it’s a little awkward, but I think we need to discuss the disparity in our salaries.”

“Okay.” We haven’t talked about our salaries at all, but he’s right that we probably should. Before things get any more serious than they already are.

“I make fifty grand a year. It’s not terrible but it’s not great, and I know you make more.” He pauses. “Right?”

“I make right around six figures,” I say. “It’s a little above average because Ms. Barrowman adjusts for the cost of living in L.A.”

“That’s quite a bit more than me… does it bother you?”

“We wouldn’t be here if it did. Your salary is public knowledge.”

“It’s going to take me a few years to get my feet under me financially if I don’t get picked up by the Phantoms,” he continues. “Like I’ve told you, unless I’m playing in the NHL, I’m only going to play one more season for the Rebels. Then I want to go back and finish my degree. But don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to think I’m going to mooch off of you. I’ll work at a gym or get a job waiting tables—whatever it takes to pay my share while I’m finishing my degree and stuff.”

“Oh geez. I wouldn’t think anything like that. I don’t care how much money you make. Yeah, you need to work, but I’m honestly more concerned that you seem convinced that you’re not going to be with the Phantoms next year.”

He doesn’t respond for a few minutes, staring up at nothing, as if there’s something on his mind.

“Blake?”

“Look what happened to Bodi,” he says finally. “That could be me. That’s always been me. So I’m trying to plan my future—and maybe our future—based on reality, not my dreams. I’m still planning to play my ass off to the very end, but in a few weeks this will be over, and I need a solid Plan B. Probably plans C and D too.”

“I’m proud of you,” I reply, “That’s mature and forward thinking. But you need to put all the positivity out into the universe. That you will make it to the Phantoms. That you will be playing in the NHL. Even if it’s just one season. One season at the league minimum is more than ten times what you make now. That’s enough for you to put away money for school so you don’t have to worry about working while you’re finishing your degree, and maybe even help you open that gym you talked about. If that’s still in your plans.”

“It is. I have options, which is why I want to finish my degree. It’s just… there’s so much going on right now. The playoffs, parents in town, the no fraternization clause… More than anything, I want us to find our footing as a couple before we make big decisions.”

“At some point, we’re going to have to. The no fraternization clause is going to be a problem.”

“What if we hired a lawyer to help us renegotiate your contract?”

I hesitate.

I don’t want to do anything to risk my job, but I also don’t want to lose him.

This is getting even more complicated than I anticipated, and there are no easy answers or solutions.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s possible.”

“Look, this is what I meant about Plans B, C, and D.”

“The general plan is one more year with the Rebels, then I move to L.A., finish my degree, and we figure out our future.”

I nod. “That makes sense, but living an eight-hour drive apart won’t be easy.”

“No, but Plan B is the Phantoms pick me up and we have to make even harder decisions. I could ask to be traded. We could keep things on the down low for a year or two while I bank as much money as possible because the money I’d be making will set up our future.”

“Okay.” I hate the idea of sneaking around, but he has a point. NHL money is a lot. In the million-dollar-a-year range. Possibly more. Which could change everything for us.

“Plan C is you think about taking another job—” He holds up a hand before I can protest. “I’m not saying you should , I’m just saying it’s an option. That’s what we’re doing here, right? Discussing options?”

I nod but my heart isn’t in it.

I love my job.

I love working for the Phantoms.

As much as I love him.

How the hell would I make a choice like that?

“And Plan D?” I ask wryly.

“I’m not there yet,” he admits. “I’m trying to figure it all out. That’s why I wanted to talk. So we can come up with a plan together.”

I want this so much—more than anything—but I’m starting to get an uneasy feeling about it. Sneaking around. My job. His future. Money.

It’s a lot, and it’s beginning to feel like the odds are stacked against us.

Especially since he hasn’t even told me he loves me.

And I’ll be damned if I say it first.

Not this time.

I took the lead when we were kids, but he has to be the one to step up this time.

It’s important to me in ways I can’t quite explain, I just know that it is.

Somehow, I have to make him understand that without saying the words.

“Blake, look.” I sit up and pull the sheet up around me. “We do need to have this conversation, but does it have to be now? I mean, we’ve been back together a few weeks… we don’t know how we feel about each other or what we want or?—”

“Wait. I know how I feel about you,” he interrupts, frowning slightly. “The only question is whether or not you feel the same. Do you want me to spell it out? Because I will, Rowan. I love you. I always have, and I’m pretty sure I always will.”