Page 8

Stone

S unlight creeps across my bedroom floor, painting golden stripes on discarded human clothes and one sparkly pink dog tutu.

Barb must have wiggled out of it sometime in the night. I would check—I can hear my baby girl snoring some very cute Chihuahua snores from her spot at the foot of the bed—but I’m currently incapacitated.

The most beautiful woman in Portland is using my chest as her personal drool collection device, and I have zero urge to remove her.

I like her drool.

Love it, even.

I just love her .

Not that I’d be dumb enough to say that out loud.

Well, not dumb enough…yet. But by the time Remy came on my cock for the third time last night, I was getting close. Close to telling her that I have zero interest in coming inside of or anywhere close to another woman.

It’s Bossy for me. Just Bossy now and maybe…forever.

I study her face, softer and more relaxed in sleep than she ever allows herself to be when she’s awake. A lock of hair has fallen across her cheek, scarlet against her pale skin. It’s pretty, but I know how much she hates hair in her face.

I’m debating the wisdom of brushing it away and risking waking her when she mutters, “Stop staring at me, creep.”

“I’m not staring.” I skim my fingers down the hollow of her spine, grinning when she shivers. “I was admiring. Totally different.”

“Ew, gross, did I…” She wrinkles her nose as she lifts her cheek, but I’m already there with a tissue from the bedside table before she can finish her sentence.

“Drool again? Yes,” I supply, wiping the damp spot away before tossing the tissue back onto the table. “All better. Now get back here, I need five more minutes of snuggles.”

“Thank you for being cool about my drool,” she says, letting me cuddle her close again. “I swear, I’ve never drooled on anyone else. You just…make me too relaxed or something.”

“Hush,” I whisper in a softly dramatic voice. “I know I’m special. You don’t have to say it out loud.”

She exhales a snort of laughter as her eyes slide closed again. “What time is it?”

“Still early. Especially for a Sunday. The good pastry place that delivers isn’t open for another hour.” I drop a kiss to the top of her head. “But like I said last night, I could make vanilla protein pancakes with strawberries. I have all the stuff if you don’t want to wait for pastries.”

“Sounds yummy,” she says. “Am I allowed to tackle my email while I eat them? My computer’s in my purse. I’d just need your WIFI password again.”

I pout. “I mean, yeah, if you really need to. But can’t it wait until this afternoon? When you leave me here alone with nothing to do but be sad that the pool is closed for the season and your pussy is all the way across town?”

“Actually, I was thinking…” She props up on one elbow, a glint of mischief in her gaze. “If I can get my email and game tape study done this morning, maybe we could do something fun this afternoon.”

“What? Fun?” I exaggerate my shocked expression. “Who are you? And what have you done with All Work and No Play Remy?”

She gives my chest a teasing shove. “Oh, hush. I’m still mostly work. I just happen to have a relatively chill workload today.” She shrugs. “And I had a fun idea I thought you might like. But if you’re not interested, I can?—”

“I’m interested,” I cut in, not caring that I sound ridiculously eager. “I’m very interested. Where are we going?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. It’s a surprise. Now, get up. I’m hungry, and I’m sure poor Barb needs to pee.” She rolls off my chest, sitting up as she scoots toward the edge of the bed. When she reaches Barb’s cushion, she pauses to deliver some pets as my pup blinks sleepy eyes her way. “Isn’t that right, buddy? I know. You’ve got a tiny little bladder.”

Remy casts a questioning glance over her shoulder. “If you think it’s safe, I could take her out for a little walk while you cook. I mean, I don’t think anyone we know lives close by, do they?”

I sigh, momentarily deflated by her continued determination to keep us a secret, even from friends and teammates who I’m positive would keep our relationship confidential if we asked them to, but I push the feeling away. We’ve come a long way since even last week. I just have to be patient.

Remy will come around.

Or she won’t, and my heart will end up in more pieces than that Bucky the Badger stuffy I bought Barb last month, forgetting that she hates toys with teeth.

“Why don’t you just take her to the puppy pad on my balcony? Faster and zero chance of discovery,” I say, swinging out from under the covers on the other side of the bed. “And I’ll get started on coffee and pancakes.”

Remy hums happily. “Yay. Coffee. You hear that, Barb? It’s almost coffee time. I know we love coffee time. I’ll have coffee, and you can have a little whipped cream in an espresso cup.” She scoops my happily wiggling Chihuahua into her arms, continuing their chat as she carries Barb out of the bedroom.

The sight of her in nothing but one of my t-shirts hanging just past her ass, wild bed head, and a smile on her face as she coos to my fur baby does something to me.

She just looks so right here. So cozy and relaxed and at home.

I certainly wouldn’t mind coming home to Remy, building a home, a life with her. It’s not something I’ve allowed myself to even fantasize about before, but something is changing between us, a fact she proves a few minutes later by pressing an affectionate kiss to my shoulder as she sneaks past me to grab coffee.

She seals the kiss with a pat on my ass before reaching for a mug, and my chest fills with a warm, wistful ache.

In yoga, Steph always says to live in the moment, reminding the class that the past is just a memory and the future is a story yet to be told. Only the present is real. Intelligible. Livable.

I know she’s right, and I’m trying to stay in the present, to be grateful for it, but damn…it’s hard. The more “present” I get with Remy, the more I want a future with her in it.

Because right now, that future is looking pretty fucking bright…

An hour later, I’m riding shotgun in Remy’s car as she zooms down the highway. Barb is nestled in my lap, sporting her “Smash the Pup-triarchy” t-shirt and a matching hair bow.

Remy still refuses to tell me where we’re headed, but apparently, it’s dog-friendly, and Barb couldn’t be more thrilled. My little girl loves a field trip. She prefers it when we go for a spin with Tank on his Harley, and she gets to ride in the sidecar with her disco ball helmet, but a car ride with the window cracked is baller, too.

I watch the city fade into countryside, grateful to be on my way to an adventure, even if I don’t know what it is, yet. The late morning sun makes the whole world look warm and hopeful. The sky is bright blue, the cool air carries a hint of autumn leaves, and my sexy redhead is humming along to the radio, something soft and indie that I don’t recognize, but that clearly makes her happy.

She’s been smiling almost continuously since the moment we woke up, in fact.

She catches me watching her and exhales an embarrassed laugh. “What? I know I can’t sing, I just love Bright Eyes, okay? Super underrated band.”

“I can’t even hear you,” I assure her. “I was just thinking you look happy and relaxed.” I exhale a dramatic sigh. “Guess that means I’m probably the best fun coach ever.”

She laughs. “Possibly. Or maybe I’m just the best student ever.”

“Also, quite possible.” I scratch behind Barb’s ears, earning a grateful snuffle from my princess. “You are annoyingly good at almost everything. Math, office shit, networking, hockey, meetings, figure skating, sock puppet crafting, coaching, looking foxy in spandex… But not singing, apparently?” I grunt. “Guess I’ll need to plan a karaoke night for next week. Take you down a notch or two.”

Remy snorts. “More like scar your ears for life. I didn’t say I don’t like singing. I’m just bad at it. I actually love karaoke.” She grins. “It’s everyone else who has to suffer while I belt out ‘Part of Your World’ from The Little Mermaid.”

I laugh. “The Little Mermaid? Like, the cartoon?”

She lifts her chin. “Yes. As a redheaded girl child, I was obligated to love Ariel. I also loved the Scottish girl from the other Disney movie, but I was older when I watched that one, and she didn’t do any singing, so…”

“Merida from Brave?” I supply, earning a surprised brow lift from Remy. “Barb loves cartoons,” I explain, stroking my movie buddy. “We’ve watched all the good ones. But don’t even try to put on one of those Angry Bird movies or she’ll cut a bitch.”

“As she should, those look terrible.” Glancing down at Barb, she adds, “You have excellent taste, buddy.”

“She does,” I agree. “You’re the only woman she’s ever liked, by the way. She used to pee in both my ex’s shoes.”

Remy’s expression softens. “Aw, well, thanks, Barb. Maybe she can tell that we’re just friends.”

“No, we aren’t,” I say, the words out before I can stop them.

For a moment, the air in the car grows tense, awkward. I’m about to backtrack, to make a joke and give us both an out, when Remy surprises me.

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s valid.” She’s actually smiling as she adds, “Guess you’re right, and she just has excellent taste in women and movies. We’re almost there, by the way.”

“I’m excited,” I say, feeling better about this day with every passing second. “And I have to pee. Too much coffee.”

Remy laughs. “Hold on. Like…five minutes. Maybe a little less.”

Exactly four minutes later, we pull into a gravel lot in front of an old converted barn. The faded sign above the door reads “QUARTER KINGDOM” in peeling letters, and through the open windows I see the familiar glow of arcade cabinets.

“No way.” I turn to Remy, grinning. “Old school arcade?”

“Yep.” She kills the engine, looking pleased with herself. “And the best pizza in the county. Allegedly. Ready to work up an appetite?”

“Hell, yes.” I pass Barb over as I nod toward the restroom signs on the right side of the building. “Hold the baby, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, but then my turn,” she calls after me as I bolt. “I had too much coffee, too.”

Inside, post pee break, we discover a time capsule of neon and nostalgia. Classic arcade games line the walls, their screens painting the dim space in electric blues and pinks. The air smells like pizza and fried mushrooms, people mill around with their dogs happily trailing behind them, and a cool, early autumn breeze drifts in through the open doors and windows.

Something in my chest expands as I take it all in.

It’s exactly the kind of place I used to love as a kid, back when my sisters would let me tag along to the mall with them on weekends, even though I was the bratty little brother. Sometimes, when their friends didn’t show, we’d end up playing at our local arcade together for hours.

Those are still some of my favorite family memories.

And now, I get to make more memories with Rem.

“Wow,” she murmurs once we’ve purchased a giant cup of quarters each. Her eyes widen as she scans the space. “They really do have everything. Where should we start?”

“Basketball first. Always good for a warm-up.” I take her hand, pulling her toward the collection of hoops at the back, while Barb gambols after us, already having a fabulous time. “First one to fifty points wins, and the loser buys lunch?”

She arches a brow, studying me with those sharp green eyes that see too much. “As long as you don’t have plans to let me win.”

I fake a wounded expression as we stop beside the basketball section. “Would I do that?”

“You absolutely would.” She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that goes straight to my groin as she adds, “But here’s the thing, Stone…fake wins don’t turn me on.”

My mouth goes dry. “No?”

“No.” Her fingers trail down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I need real, healthy, intense competition. The kind that works up an appetite for...” Her tongue sweeps across her lips. “Pizza.”

The way she says ‘pizza’ makes it clear she’s not talking about food.

Not at all.

Just when I thought I couldn’t love her more…

“Well then,” I manage, my voice rougher than it was before. “I guess it’s game on, Bossy.”

The next half hour passes in a cacophony of trash talk, rattling nets, and enthusiastic cheerleading from Barb. Remy’s good—scary good—and watching her sink three-pointers with a look of fierce concentration on her pretty face does things to me.

Things that make it hard to focus on actually beating her fine ass…

Which really is looking extra fine in those skin-tight leggings she pulled from her back seat this morning.

“Eyes up here, Stone,” she taunts after making a particularly impressive shot. “Staring at my butt isn’t going to help you catch up before it’s too late.”

I grin as I grab the ball, dribbling it with precision. “You don’t know that. Maybe butt-gazing helps me focus. Maybe it’s my secret weapon.”

Her brows lift. “Really? Okay, I’ll try it while you shoot, then.” Her gaze drops to my butt and damn it, if it doesn’t make me thicker.

Just a look, that’s all it takes.

I know I’m beaten right then, at least five minutes before she sinks her final shot, hitting fifty points with a soft “yes!” of triumph. Her arms surge up into a V of victory as Barb dances around her feet in celebration.

“Not cool, Barb,” I say. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Nah, Barb’s a girl’s girl, especially when it comes to sports,” Remy says, her eyes bright with triumph as she scoops my puppy into her arms, accepting Barb’s enthusiastic face kisses. “I know, buddy. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without your help. You’re a great cheerleader.” To me, she adds, “Ready to get your ass kicked at Mario Kart, next?”

Too gone on this woman to care how often my ass is kicked, I nod. “Let’s do it.”

We work our way through the classics, having a blast. Barb trots along beside us, patient in the wake of sniffs from the other dogs and fawning from the players. Being the center of attention is nothing new to my girl. She’s accustomed to being the most adorable dog in any room, and handles herself with her usual grace.

Still, I’m careful to keep an eye on her. She’s a tiny thing, easily crushed beneath a boot or a large purse, and her safety is always top of mind.

When a little girl with blond pigtails makes a beeline for us, squealing in excitement just as Remy slips quarters into the Tetris machine, I’m ready, and smoothly insert myself between kid and pup.

“Hey there, you look like you love dogs,” I say, crouching down to the girl’s level. She can’t be more than four or five and is clearly a huge animal fan. She’s practically trembling with excitement, which has Barb looking skittish.

“Yes. Is that your puppy?” she says, still at a decibel way too loud for sensitive dog ears. “She’s so cute!”

“Yeah, that’s Barb,” I say, modeling a soft, soothing voice. “She likes making new friends, but she does get a little nervous around loud noise. Can you whisper while you pet her? I bet she’d like that.”

The girl nods solemnly, before adding in an exaggerated whisper, “Yes, I can.”

“Maddie!” A woman with slightly darker blond hair hurries over, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry. She just bolted. She loves chihuahuas. She must have seen your dog and?—”

“No worries, it’s fine.” I pull one of Barb’s organic chicken treats from my pocket and hand it to Maddie. “Can you tell her to sit? Once she does, you can give her this treat and pet her if you want.” To her mother, I add in a softer voice, “She’s good with kids.”

As soon as her mom nods the go-ahead, Maddie takes the treat. “Barb, sit please,” she whispers. “Can you sit, Barb?”

Barb, ever the show-off, executes a perfect sit, adding a charming head tilt for good measure. Maddie beams as she offers the treat, and Barb plucks it from her open palm. She then proceeds to pet my pup with a reverence that’s very sweet.

“Aw, she likes you,” I say, knowing it’s what every dog lover wants to hear.

“Thank you so much,” Maddie’s mom says, casting a grateful glance Remy’s way before she and Maddie move on to play more games.

I turn to find Remy watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Nothing.” She smiles, but something lingers in her eyes. “Want to take a break and get some pizza? I’m starving all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, sure,” I agree. “You know me, I can always eat.”

Over thick-crust pepperoni that lives up to the hype, Remy devours two pieces with barely a word before beginning to pick at her leftover crust. She tears it into pieces that she arranges in neat rows on her plate, playing with her food the way she always does when she has something to say, but isn’t ready to say it.

I wait her out, knowing better than to push.

Finally, she looks up, meeting my gaze with a wary expression I don’t understand until she says. “So…you’re really good with kids.”

Ah, so that’s what happened…

“So are you,” I remind her. “You coach rugrats way more often than I do.”

“It’s not the same,” she says. “That’s a structured environment with rules, not just…being a grown-up around random small people. I mean, I’m getting better with that kind of thing, but it took me a while.” She sucks in a breath, bobbing a stiff shoulder. “I think it’s because I was never really a kid myself. Not a normal one, anyway.” She nods toward the gaming area. “Like that little girl. My dad would have read me the riot act if I’d run off like that and started chatting up some stranger with a dog. Or made loud noises in public.” She exhales a soft laugh. “Or in private. Our house was very quiet.”

My heart aches. I want to gather her close; to tell her it sounds like her dad was kind of a shit parent and that she deserved better. He probably didn’t mean to be—Coach Lauder isn’t a bad guy, just a hard ass—but a man shouldn’t hold a kid to the same standards as a pro athlete. Little Remy deserved patience, gentleness, and the freedom to be a loud, messy kid.

But I know she’s not ready to hear any of that. Not yet.

For good or for ill, her dad is the only family she’s got left, and he’s not the kind of man who’s going to go to therapy to work through their issues. Accepting him, as is, has clearly been her only option, thus far.

“I get it. But you don’t have to play by those rules anymore,” I say, instead. “You get to call the shots now. That’s one of the only cool parts about being an adult. Taxes and cleaning the toilet sure as hell aren’t any fun.”

Her lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t form. “I know. And like I said, I’m getting there. I just…” She tears off another piece of crust, aligning it with mathematical precision. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever not feel a little awkward around kids. And someone who feels awkward around children shouldn’t have them, you know? That’s part of why I keep things casual with men.” She rolls her eyes. “You’d be surprised how many guys our age want kids. Or think they do, anyway.”

The admission costs her. I can see it in the tight line of her shoulders, the way she won’t quite meet my eyes.

This time, I do reach for her, covering her hand with mine.

“Hey.” I wait until she looks up at me. “For what it’s worth, I think you can do anything you set your mind to. You’ve got a big heart, and any kid would be lucky to be in your orbit.” I take a breath before proceeding with caution. “But… if I were a guy around our age, I would be open to not having kids. If that really didn’t feel right for my partner. It’s not a dealbreaker for everyone, you know.”

Her lips twitch again. “ If you were a guy around our age?”

I smile. “I mean, I am almost six years older than your young ass self.”

“Practically a geriatric,” she agrees, tossing a piece of crust playfully my way. “Want to head out? There’s supposed to be a little town not far from here, with shopping and glass blowing and cutesy shit to look at.”

I widen my eyes, playing up my excitement. “Glass blowing and cutesy shit to look at? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Let’s go.”

She giggles. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Yep.” I grin and reach for where Barb’s been napping at our feet, happy that she’s smiling again.

About fifteen minutes later, we arrive at an adorable old Main Street, where we take Barb for a walk while window shopping and sharing an ice cream cone. We find another killer t-shirt for Barb’s collection at the pet boutique, then head to the glass blowing studio just in time to catch the afternoon demonstration.

I’m having so much fun, I don’t even resent being asked to share my mint chocolate chip.

I really am in love.

The knowledge should still give me pause, I guess, but Remy and I basically just had the “do you want kids?” talk. And you don’t have the kid talk or anything even remotely adjacent to the kid talk with someone you don’t have feelings for.

Maybe her feelings aren’t where mine are just yet, but maybe they’re not that far off, either…

On the way back to the city, we grab burgers at a dive by the highway, laughing as Barb begs for little pieces of meat all the way home. By the time we make it to my place, we’re both exhausted, but in a good way.

“Shower?” I suggest, already imagining Remy wet and warm in my arms.

She answers by pulling me down for a kiss that starts slow and builds until we’re stumbling toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing in our wake.

Barb huffs her disapproval at our lack of dignity before retreating to her princess bed in the living room to recover from her big adventure.

Under the spray, I worship every inch of Remy. No rush, no urgency—just the slide of skin on skin and the soft sounds she makes when I make her want me, need me. When I finally sink into her, her legs wrapped around my waist and her back against the tile, it’s like coming home.

Later, we fall asleep tangled together on the couch while a mindless cooking show plays in the background. At some point, I register Remy mumbling something about setting the alarm and agreeing that I should go do that…as soon as I worked up the energy.

That’s the last thing I remember until my phone’s ring jolts me awake hours later. Enough hours that the sun is already streaming through the blinds on the other side of the room…

“Dude, where are you?” Tank’s hushed voice is concerned. “Coach is on the warpath. Team meeting started ten minutes ago.”

I bolt upright, accidentally dumping Remy, who’s still asleep on my chest, onto the floor. “Fuck me.”

“Ow!” She glares up at me, rubbing her hip. Then she spots the clock on the cable box under the TV, and her eyes go wide with horror. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” I agree. To Tank, I say, “Be right there, man. Thanks for the heads up.”

I end the call, tossing my cell on the coffee table as I jog into my room to throw on clothes. Behind me, Remy, who is apparently an Olympic-level dresser, shouts, “I’m ready. I’m going to head in now. See you at the arena.”

“Okay!” I call back, shoving my feet into fresh socks.

This is bad, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not when last night was so damned good.

But I’m sure Coach Lauder will bring me around to feeling plenty of regret, starting the second I breeze into the Monday meeting thirty minutes late. Even if I hit every green light on the way to the arena, I’m still screwed.

So. Very. Screwed.