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WATCH ME

Tyler

It’s a little like playing hooky in my house.

I pull Sabrina close to me on the couch one afternoon in early January when we’re both free in the middle of the day. She’s heading to pick up the kids from school in twenty minutes, right around when I’ll leave for a game. For a little while, though, it’s just us.

This feels like a new kind of lesson—in living together, maybe. In quiet, lazy moments. In togetherness when we can get it.

“Tell me something, Snow,” I say, fiddling absently with the silver snowflake that snuggles against the soft skin of her chest. I love to touch it. To steal kisses on it when I can. To run my finger across it when no one’s looking.

“Something,” she says saucily.

I slide my hand down her belly. I am undeterred by her sass. “What else is on your sex list? ”

She rolls her eyes and looks up at me. “Don’t you have to go to work any minute?”

“I do. But I’m still asking.”

“And you still get sex off-list with me,” she says, then gestures to the kitchen counter, which I bent her over minutes ago—at her request—for an afternoon quickie. Well, we had a free hour. Of course, we made use of it. “You just did.”

“But I love off-list sex and on-list sex. Can you blame me?”

She taps her chin, then flashes me a naughty smile. “I guess I can’t.”

“And I still want to work my way through your list.”

We made it through those four lessons before the holidays, but finding alone time for extended romps through her checklist has been challenging since then.

Shortly after we returned from New York, I had to hit the ground running and take off for a long road trip, including over to Toronto to play the Terror and to Tampa Bay to play the Ospreys.

A week and a half later, I returned. But we didn’t even crack open the tiny sex diary when I slipped into her room the night I landed back in town and showed her exactly how much I’d missed her.

But still, I’m dying to know what else is in that little book. “Just tell me,” I whisper in her ear, then lick the shell since that always gets her. She shivers against me.

“You’re trying to weaken my resolve,” she says.

I flick my tongue against her again. “You like it when I weaken your resolve,” I say.

“I do. But I thought you liked surprises.”

“I like giving you what you want more.”

She sighs heavily, but not like she’s annoyed. More like she’s…breaking, and I love it when Sabrina breaks. She turns around and fixes me with a serious stare. “Remember the ni ght outside your room? When I was getting my laundry from the dryer?”

Heat flares in me. I remember it perfectly. “When you almost came in?”

She licks her lips. “Yes. You were watching the video of me,” she says a little breathily. Like that turns her on. Well, it fucking turns me on too.

“And I was getting off,” I add, owning it completely. My bones buzz from the memory.

“I wanted to walk in on you,” she says softly.

I groan, thread a hand through her hair, and tug her face toward me. “Baby, you should have come in.”

“I was so tempted, Tyler.”

“Then do it sometime. It’s fucking hot, the idea of you watching me. Is that really what you want?”

She nods several times, her eyes glittering with desire. Her gaze drifts down to my lap. “Wow, you really do like the idea of me walking in on you.”

I grab her hand and slide it over my growing erection. I breathe out hard. “So much. Like I told you, I’ll give you everything you want.”

But before either of us can say another word or do another thing, her phone buzzes on the coffee table. “It might be Everly,” she says, with hope in her tone. “She said they want me to do another intermission performance at an upcoming game. That could be good for business.”

“I hope it’s her then. Or Little Friends,” I say, tempted to grab it myself. The rescue told her we’d have another foster kitten any day, and I can’t wait.

“You are too cute, Cat Daddy,” she says.

“Meow,” I hum, and I adjust myself as she slides a thumb across the screen.

Then she breathes out hard and mutters, “My father.”

It’s like a bucket of ice water. Instant deflation. “Has he even contacted you since the day you went to get your skating costumes?” I bite out, trying to hold in my venom, but it’s no use.

“No. Not at all,” she says heavily. Then she takes another breath but doesn’t move to open the message.

I rub a hand across her shoulder. “You don’t have to open it if you don’t want to,” I tell her.

Her eyes are hard. Determined. “It’s okay. I want to know what he has to say to me.”

I drop a kiss to her cheek, letting her know I’m right here with her. Then she slides it open, her jaw ticking. “He wants to know where the final accounting report is that I worked on last summer. The one I emailed to him then.”

What a prick. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I swear, Sabrina, if I ever see him...”

She turns to me, lips quirked up, like this delights her. “What would you do?”

“I’d let him know that he missed out on the most incredible person ever,” I say, in no uncertain terms.

She smiles. “I almost wish you could give him a piece of your mind over text message. I think I’d like that.”

“I’d go to battle for you, baby.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“Yeah?”

She lowers her voice, like she’s sharing a secret. “It kind of excites me when you play rough—hockey, that is. So yes, I would.”

Nothing would thrill me more. “You have no idea how much I love giving you what you want.”

With soft eyes and softer lips, she gives me another kiss. But then she checks the time again and says, “I need to get the kids, and you need to go to the arena.”

I stand, but before we leave, something nags at me. “Are you going to answer him? ”

“No. Let him search his email for that report instead.”

I drop a kiss to her forehead. “You’re a legend.”

I’m not the only one who likes her videos though.

The next night at dinner—we all sit down together around the kitchen island to build tacos and warble the Frozen soundtrack off-tune—Luna clears her throat while making a snowman out of beans. “I have an idea for this weekend,” she says.

“Do tell,” Sabrina says, and I love how easily she fits in.

It’s no surprise, of course. She takes care of the kids, but she’s been spending more time with us post-New York when she’s off-duty too. And each time we hang out—no touching of course—I think we’re closer to telling them we’re…together.

The thought worries me though. They’ve already had to adjust to so much—new routines, new places, new people coming and going. I don’t want to create another change they have to brace for. I want them to feel stable. Certain.

“I’ve been watching some skating videos, and I want us to shoot one together—of Sabrina.

Outside. It’s so pretty when the sun is rising, and we can shoot a clip of her at an outdoor rink doing a beautiful free skate.

I love those so much. The sun will reflect off the ice, and, Dad, wouldn’t that be cool? ”

“Did you know that ice is slippery because your skate creates a thin layer of water, which reduces friction?” Parker interjects as he builds a spaceship from shredded cheese.

“I didn’t know that,” I answer, then look to Sabrina, picturing her skating at dawn—the sun shining brightly as she glides across the ice, the mountains and hills framing her, the trees witnessing her glory.

She’s weightless, effortless, like she belongs there spinning on blades, flying through air, landing on one foot.

Yes, I love watching her videos alone at night.

But I love watching them, period.

I’ve always crushed on figure skating. Maybe it was because I was always waiting for her . “I’ll be your videographer,” I offer.

Sabrina’s never been shy. She’s never backed down. She’s always gone for it, so I’m not shocked when she says, “Let’s do it.”

And it feels like we’re not just planning for the weekend. We’re building something bigger.