Page 15

Remy

Two weeks later…

S ix days before my Seattle interview, I wake to the smell of Stone’s ridiculously expensive coffee and the feel of Barb’s cold nose pressed to my shoulder.

She usually stays down at the end of the bed on her pillow, but if she thinks I’m sleeping too late…

I crack a lid, glancing down to see bulbous chihuahua eyes fixed mournfully on my face and grin.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” I murmur, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. She responds with a whimper and a shiver that makes the big pink bow around her neck tremble. “What’s wrong, pumpkin? Did Daddy forget to give you breakfast?”

“Of course, not.” Stone’s voice drifts in from the kitchen. “But she won’t eat until you’re up and get coffee and a pup cup of whipped cream for everyone. She’s spoiled.”

At the words “pup cup,” Barb perks up, her ears going on high alert.

I laugh. “You poor thing, I’m so sorry. I’ll get up right now. Forgive me for keeping you waiting.” I sit up, gathering Barb under the belly with one hand as I swing out of bed. I set her on the ground, then tail her as she prances out of the bedroom.

She’s clearly pleased that our morning is back on track, and…so am I.

Stone and Barb time is the best way to start a day, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it.

In the sun-drenched kitchen, Stone is already dressed for practice in track pants and a Badgers hoodie that makes him look extra huggable. My man is sexy as hell, but he’s also delightfully snuggly. I’m starting to crave his hugs nearly as much as Stone-delivered orgasms. Even a couple of weeks ago, that might have concerned me.

Now, it just makes me smile. So far, the couple life is pretty damned sweet.

Speaking of sweet…

“Want to pass me the you-know-what?” I ask as I settle onto one of the bar stools by the coffee maker, pulling my bare feet beneath me. “And I’ll get coffee and puppy stuff ready?”

“Coming right up.” Stone grabs the whipped cream can from the fridge and passes it over, his eyes lighting up as they land on my face. “Good morning, sexy. Damn, woman, how do you look so fine straight out of bed?”

I arch a teasing brow. “Bed head and eye crust really do it for you, huh?”

“You bet your sweet ass they do.” He lets out an appreciative rumble as he leans across the island to kiss my cheek, an unseemly show of early morning affection that makes Barb yip from the ground beside me.

Laughing, I turn to her as Stone shifts back to his side of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Barb. I know, coffee before kisses.” I fill an espresso cup with whipped cream for her, setting it on the floor before climbing back onto the stool to pour a cup of French roast.

“You want half a ham and spinach omelet?” Stone asks, turning back to the stove behind him. “Just pulled it off the burner a couple of minutes ago, so it’s still warm. And I have grilled potatoes and strawberries.”

“Sounds incredible, thank you.” I prop my chin on my fist, enjoying the view from behind as he assembles our plates. “Thanks for feeding me. Again.”

“My pleasure,” he says. “You know I love to cook.”

“I do, but I think I’m getting as spoiled as Barb. At this rate, I’m going to forget how to make toast. I’ll go home and have to survive on raw oatmeal, straight out of the bag.”

“Or, you just never go home.” He turns, sliding a gorgeous plate of delicious-smelling yumminess in front of me. “It’s time to get real about this, Bossy. You haven’t been back to your place in more than two weeks.”

“Just one day more,” I say sheepishly, thanking him again for the fork and knife he passes over, along with a glass of water. He really does take excellent care of me. So excellent, I know it’s past time to step up my own “nurturing” game. But Stone needs different kinds of nurturing than I do.

Thankfully, I’ve been paying attention to his needs and have a few ideas about how to show him that I like giving as much as receiving.

Well, nearly as much…

Damn, his food smells good. I inhale the heavenly aroma of perfectly roasted potatoes, onions, and whatever fancy cheese he slipped into the omelet, along with the top-tier ham.

“It wasn’t a complaint,” he says, digging into his own meal, still standing across from me.

Stone likes to eat breakfast standing up. It’s another one of the hundred little facts I’ve been collecting about him since we basically moved in together the night after our disastrous dinner at my dad’s house.

“I just think we should embrace how good this is,” he continues. “Why maintain two households when one is so much more fun? And having you here would be a huge help once the season starts. I wouldn’t have to worry about getting a sitter for Barb every time I have an away game.” He grins as he adds, “Just the away games where you decide to come with me. Because we’re a couple and don’t care who knows it and want to have sex in a swanky hotel.”

I fight a grin, grateful my mouth is full of food, giving me time to compose my reply. I don’t want to shut him down completely, but I have my own plans, dammit.

And my own surprises that I refuse to have ruined…

“Why do you want to hide our love from the world, Bossy?” He leans forward, batting his lashes as he adds in a breathy, almost feminine voice, “Don’t you want to make an honest man of me? Think of my reputation.”

My eyes widen as I swallow. “Oh my God, that reminds me—did you know that half the team thinks you’re gay?”

He shrugs, unfazed. “Yeah. I told them I wasn’t, but locker room gossips are going to gossip.” Stone stands back up, shoveling one last massive bite of omelet into his mouth.

I cock my head. “But why? Just because of the flower arranging stuff?” I blink faster as he scrapes a few crumbs into the sink in the middle of the island. “How are you done already? Do you even chew?”

“I told you—four older sisters. Growing up, it was either eat fast or leave the table hungry. All those stories about girls eating less than boys are bullshit. It was every kid for themselves at our table. As for the other…” He shrugs again as he bends to load his plate into the dishwasher. “I don’t know. I’m sure the fact that I openly love crafting and flower arranging isn’t giving me any straight street cred, but they’ve also never seen me out with anyone. As far as they know, I haven’t been on a date, even a casual one, in the year and a half I’ve lived in Portland.”

I grunt around a sip of coffee. “That’s still ridiculous. Men should be allowed to like ‘feminine’ things or take a dating break without that putting their sexuality into question. It’s just more proof that the patriarchy is?—”

“Bad for everyone,” he finishes affectionately. “Yes, I know. That’s why I ordered Barb her smash the pup-triarchy shirt. And I’ll order a ‘Coach’s Favorite Puck Bunny’ shirt today for myself, so I can wear it to the next Bushtit’s game and turn all the gender roles upside down.”

“No,” I say, pointing a firm finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare. You are not my puck bunny.” I slide off my stool, circling around the island to join him beside the dishwasher. I push up on tiptoe, kissing his cheek before murmuring against his freshly shaven skin, “You’re my sexy boyfriend, who I’m so proud of. And we’ll come out to everyone soon, I promise. I just need a little more time to figure out the best way to break the news to my dad.”

“I get it. But you know, actually speaking to the man might be a good start.” He loops an arm around my waist, holding me close when I try to move away. “Come on, babe. The longer you wait to thaw the ice, the more awkward that first conversation is going to be. And I’m sure he wants to move past this, too. He’s texted you a few times…right?”

I sigh. “Yes, he has. And I know you’re right, I just…” I rest my hands on his chest, rubbing my palms lightly back and forth across the soft sweatshirt fabric and the rock-hard pecs beneath. “I just have a lot on my plate right now. I don’t need any more drama, at least not until after the interview.”

He gives my bottom a pat that’s more comforting than sexual, proving how far we’ve come. “I get it. Only six more days… Getting nervous yet?”

“No, actually.” I tip my head back to meet his gaze, a smile curving my lips. “I’m just…happy. That’s part of why I’ve been avoiding Dad, too, I think. I just want to enjoy how good this is. You know?”

“I do. I really, really do.” He drops his other hand to my ass, giving both cheeks a tight squeeze.

I bite my bottom lip as butterflies flutter to life between my hips. “You’re thinking about last night, aren’t you?”

He nods, his gaze hooded. “Yeah, I am. You look good bent over the couch with my handprint on your ass.”

“You’ll have to take a picture next time,” I say, my voice husky.

He arches a brow. “Yeah? I didn’t know you liked pictures.”

“I didn’t know I liked being spanked until we tried it either, so…”

“You know, I could skip meeting Grammercy for coffee before practice,” Stone says, drawing me closer to the erection swelling beneath his track pants. “He would understand if…something came up.”

“Oh, something’s definitely coming up,” I murmur, grinding lightly against his cock.

Barb lets out a sharp bark next to our feet, making us both laugh.

“You’re right, Barb,” Stone says with a heavy sigh. “It isn’t good to break a date at the last minute.”

“And I wanted to get to the office early and review some game tape before tonight,” I say, reluctantly stepping out of the warm circle of his arms. “The Devil Dolls kicked our asses last year. I want to be sure we’re ready to crush them tonight.”

“You will. Crush them and use their bones to make your bread,” he says as he crosses to let Barb out to her puppy pad on the deck. “The Bushtits are on fire this year. I’m excited to see you guys play again tonight. I’ll grab food by the arena after practice and head right over.”

“Cool, I’ll leave your ticket at will call like last time,” I say, draining my coffee before loading it into the dishwasher. “Oh, and Stone!” I call after him.

He sticks his head back through the sliding door. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” I say, giggling like a goober at the grin that splits his face in response. “We’re so gross,” I add, still laughing as I practically dance toward the bedroom to get dressed.

“So great , you mean,” Stone says, that shameless smile still stretched wide.

It makes me even more excited about my secret, more eager to prove to him that I’m not ashamed, either.

Not even a little bit.

Eleven hours later, after a day filled with non-stop crisis management and an angsty staff meeting about potential cuts to the billboard advertising budget to pad the digital advertising budget that made all the Gen X staffers deeply uncomfortable, I’m in one of my favorite places on earth.

The Bushtits’ locker room is a concrete block with peeling paint on the walls, battered old lockers, and an ominous damp spot on the ceiling that gets bigger with every passing season, but it’s ours. It’s home, and there’s no better place to be when facing off against your nemesis for the first time since they booty-slapped you on the ice last season.

As I sip my third coffee of the day, I silently rehearse my pep talk, watching my players mill around the space.

Looks like they might not need much “pepping,” though.

There’s an electric current in the air, crackling with potential, power, and confidence. This team is so locked in, so talented and connected.

I can’t wait to see what they do this season.

“All I’m saying is, Juanita’s smack talk last game was inspired ,” Kelly announces as she drops onto the bench beside Juanita Costa, our shy but fierce star center. “And the best part is, almost no one knows Portuguese, so Blind Ref can’t say shit about it.”

“ You know Portuguese,” Juanita says, blushing as she rolls her eyes. “So does my mom. If she’d heard me, she would have died. I just get so mad when that guy fouls us for every tiny thing, while letting the other team get away with murder.”

“Same.” Kelly wrinkles her nose as she adjusts her shoulder pads. “But that won’t happen tonight. I peeked a few minutes ago. It’s Moustache Ref and Cute Ref tonight, not Blind Ref.”

“Cute Ref can still be a dick sometimes, though,” Cecelia, Flo’s sister, warns.

“Yeah, Moustache Ref, too,” Hannah Murphy calls from her spot between her twin, Hailey, and Prisha, one of my best defenders. “He goes mental over anything he thinks is goaltender interference. So, watch out, Kelly.”

Kelly nods. “I will. I’m so fucking ready. We’re going to send the Devil Dolls back to hell, where they belong.”

Hannah laughs as she pumps a fist into the air. “Hell, yes, we are. This is our year, ladies. We’re going all the way to the championships and bringing that trophy home.”

Watching them, my chest fills with a pride that has nothing to do with wins or losses. This is what I love about this team. The way they look out for each other, hype each other up, and make our locker room such a warm, positive place to be.

Moved to begin my pep-talk, I cross to the center of the space, raising my voice to get their attention, “You know what I love about this team?”

“Our stunning good looks?” Cecelia asks with a flip of her long brown hair.

“Our colorful vocabulary?” Juanita says, blushing again.

“I mean, all of that. Obviously,” I say, with a smile, earning a laugh from the team. “But no, what I love most is that you’ve always got each other’s backs. You’re always thinking about how we can work better together , as a unit, and that’s what’s going to win this game. The trust you’ve earned and given is rare and powerful. And tonight, you’re going to show everyone exactly what that kind of power looks like in action.”

Their eyes spark with recognition, confirming that they feel it too. This special connection, this foundation of mutual respect and friendship, that makes every one of them stronger than they could ever be alone.

“Now,” I continue, sobering as I make eye contact with my key defenders, “let’s talk about shutting down their power play, because if Mason thinks she’s getting anywhere near our net today, she’s got another thing coming.”

We hit the ice for warm-ups ten minutes later, and from the moment my ladies skate into the rink, I just know this is going to be a night for the record books.

The game that follows proves me right in the best way possible.

From the first break, it’s clear that this year, the Bushtits are faster than the Devil Dolls. Also, smarter and more cohesive. When Mason tries to rattle Prisha with an early hit, Juanita’s right there to help her back to her feet, whispering something that makes them both grin. And when the twins get caught in a bad line change, Casey, our newest player, drops back to cover, sacrificing a scoring chance to protect our zone.

The first period ends scoreless, but we’re controlling the pace, dictating the flow. In the locker room, I don’t need to say much. My team knows what they’re capable of, and I’m so proud of them.

Five minutes into the second, Hannah draws a penalty, giving us the first power play of the game. We’ve been practicing this play for weeks, but seeing it come together in real time still takes my breath away.

Prisha wins the face-off clean, sending it back to Hailey at the point. She feeds it to her sister, who finds Juanita lurking in the high slot. But instead of taking the shot—like everyone in the arena expects—she threads an impossible pass-through traffic to Casey’s waiting stick.

The puck hits the back of the net before their goalie even moves.

The crowd erupts, and I swear I can hear Stone’s whoop above all the rest.

I’m tempted to look for him up there in the stands, but resist the urge. My sexy boyfriend is still too new, too distracting, and I can’t afford to be distracted right now.

Besides, he’ll be there when the game is over, ready to celebrate the win. (Or the loss, but I’m not letting thoughts like that into my head right now. I’m focused on victory.)

The Devil Dolls answer early in the third, but we don’t let it rattle us. These women have found their groove, their confidence, their joy in the game.

With two minutes left, we’re still tied, when Kelly makes a fantastic block, shutting out access to the net. Then, Juanita wins another crucial face-off in our defensive zone. She feeds it to Hannah, who sends it up the boards. Casey spots Cecilia streaking through center ice and makes the perfect tape-to-tape pass.

The crowd holds its breath as Cecilia dekes left, then right, then—in a move that would make her brother weep with pride—spins away from Mason’s desperate poke check. The puck leaves her stick like a bullet, finding the top corner, and that’s it.

Game over!

I jump off the bench, arms surging into the air as cheers erupt from the stands. The Bushtits have amassed quite a following over the past few years. Our home games are always packed, and it feels so good to share this win with our fans.

The celebration that follows in the locker room is as warm and wonderful as any I’ve ever been a part of. We share champagne and sparkling cider I brought along for the occasion, Cecelia blasts our victory mix from her speaker, and we all linger a little longer than we normally would.

But Stone doesn’t show…

He’s still taking our “laying low” policy seriously, proving he’s the most patient man on earth by giving us time and space to celebrate without texting or getting antsy.

But he won’t have to be patient much longer…

I text him the “all clear” as I’m gathering my things in the now-empty locker room, my stomach flipping with nerves and excitement.

“Hey there, congrats, Coach!” he cheers as he slips through the door with a proud smile and a giant bouquet that makes my chest feel even warmer. “That was some damned good hockey, woman! My taint was clenched for a while there, but once you whipped out the power play, it was over. They were against the boards the rest of the game.” He hands over the bouquet. “For you. And yes, I arranged it myself. Don’t brag on me too much, though. This is your night.”

I accept the flowers with a laugh. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.” I nod toward my bag. “I actually have a little something for you, too.”

His brows lift. “You do?”

“Sure, do,” I say, pulse picking up as I hand over the small bag, filled with tissue paper.

“Why am I getting a gift?” he asks, looking mystified. “I didn’t do anything special.”

“Just open it, already,” I say, flapping an impatient hand.

“Okay, okay.” He pulls out the tissue paper, tossing it to the floor before drawing out the carefully folded fabric. The bag also falls to the ground as he opens the shirt, his jaw dropping as he reads the words embroidered on the back. “Holy shit, Rem. You didn’t.”

“I did,” I say, watching wonder creep across his face as he takes in the custom Bushtits jersey with “COACH’S BOYFRIEND” emblazoned across the back. “I was thinking maybe you could wear it to our first game after I get back from Seattle. Once the interview is over...” I take a breath. “Well, I thought that would be a good time to come out. I’m tired of hiding, and it’s past time the team met their biggest fan.”

His smile could light up the arena all on its own. “Can I ask them to sign my jersey? Or would that be too cheesy?”

“That would be perfect. They would totally love that,” I say, grinning as he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a kiss.

“Thank you, darlin,” he rumbles against my lips. “This made my day. My year. You have no idea.”

“Maybe a little idea,” I murmur as I pull back, moving on to the second part of the surprise. “And speaking of Seattle... I was wondering if maybe you’d want to come with me? I mean, I know you have a game the day I leave, but maybe you could join me on Saturday morning? Give me the locals’ tour of Seattle before we head back Sunday night?”

Excitement sparks in his eyes. “Hell, yeah. I’d love that. I can take you out to a fancy dinner to celebrate landing the gig.”

I laugh and give his chest a playful smack. “Don’t jinx me. I won’t know for months after probably. Weeks, at least. But yeah…it would still be fun to celebrate together. If it’s not too much of a hassle. I know you might be worn out after the game, though, so if you needed to cancel, that wouldn’t be?—”

He cuts me off with a kiss that makes my toes curl.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathless.

“The only way I’m cancelling is if I lose a leg in a freak hockey accident,” he says. “Thanks again for my gift, Bossy. I really love it.”

“I’m so glad.” I trail my fingers through the soft hair at his nape.

“Yeah?” His grip tightens around me as he walks me backward toward the wall. “Want to show me how glad?”

Turns out, I do.

We christen the peeling paint the way we’ve christened nearly every wall in Stone’s apartment, the feel of him fucking me hard and deep the only thing that could have made this night even better.

Afterward, we sneak out of the locker room, giggling like guilty teenagers when we catch a hard look from the janitor emptying the trash down the hall. And even when we’re stuck in traffic for half an hour on the way home, I’m so happy.

So content.

This is what winning really feels like.

This right here. With Stone. And I suspect it would have felt nearly as good, even if the Bushtits had lost.

But I’m really glad they didn’t.