“What does that have to do with you sabotaging the Strip Scrabble game?”
“Stop avoiding the question. Do you think you’ll get sick of me?” His hands roam up the outside of my legs.
“No. Of course not.”
“Then what?”
“It’s a little premature, don’t you think?” I like the idea, but it’s too soon. We haven’t even dropped the L-bomb, although I’m starting to suspect these fluttery feelings mean that’s exactly where I’m at now.
“Who cares? I’m gone half the time with away games and practice. It’s a big house. There’s lots of space.” He flicks the clasp on my bra. “By the time the season’s over, we’ll have been dating for the better part of four months—maybe even five, depending on how far we make it in the playoffs.”
“I think six months should be the cut-off for moving in.”
“Is that an arbitrary number you’re throwing around?” He traces the delicate lace ruffle on my panties with a fingertip.
I close my eyes, absorbing the sensation for a moment before I work on forming a response. “I read an article about it.” I won’t tell him it was from some silly girl magazine.
“What’s the significance of six months?” He places a wet kiss below my navel.
“By that time all the fairy dust has settled. You’ll know all my weird quirks, and maybe then you’ll decide you can’t live with the way I brush my teeth, or how my hair clogs up your shower drain, or my obsession with Swedish Fish.”
“I like all your weird quirks.” He pulls his shirt over his head.
“I like your naked body,” I say, running my hands over his chest.
“Then you should move in with it.”
“Ask me again after playoffs.”
“I don’t think I can wait until then.”
“They’re only weeks away.” I pull his mouth to mine. All my paranoia seems to have been for nothing. Alex wouldn’t ask me to move in with him if our relationship wasn’t important.
We don’t even attempt to make it to his bedroom. We have sex on the floor. It’s intense and charged, and I want it to stay like this between us. I want to want him with this kind of insatiable need forever. But passion fades eventually, and the warm, soft balm of love is what keeps the fire burning.
The Hawks keep winning games, which should be a positive. Instead of being excited, Alex gets moodier the closer they get to securing a place in the playoffs. Whenever Dick calls—which is frequently—he gets tense and leaves the room. I hate Dick. Alex is always pissy after they talk. He’s also always horny which is the only upside. After the calls, I find myself promptly carried up the stairs and loved into oblivion.
While the orgasms are stellar as usual, I feel like I’m missing something important.
I notice the pattern and call him on it. “What’s going on with Dick?”
He tenses, staring up at the ceiling. “We’re not seeing eye-to-eye on how to handle some of my endorsements.”
“Which endorsements?”
“The ones for Bachelor of the Year.”
He mentioned this in passing a few weeks ago and hasn’t brought it up since. “What’s the issue?” Silence stretches out so long I prop up on an elbow. “Alex?”
He shifts his gaze from the ceiling to me. “Dick thinks it’s better for me to appear available until it’s over.”
“Available?”
“Unattached.” He swallows.
My stomach bottoms out. “There are pictures of us together everywhere.”
“I know. So does he. It’s stupid.” Alex sighs. “It could help me secure that big endorsement campaign, Violet. I have to start thinking about my career outside of being on the ice.”
I know this. Hockey careers are short. It’s the reason I have my job and also the reason I have to do it well. It doesn’t mean I have to like what he’s telling me, though. “Is this why we’ve been staying in the past few weeks?”
“I’m trying to fly under the radar. I don’t want you caught up in all my crap.”
It’s another evasive answer. I try a different angle. “Does Dick know you’ve asked me to move in with you?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think you should tell him if you’re serious about being with me?”
Alex skims my cheek with his knuckles. “You’re right. I should. I will. I’ll talk to him this week.”
“Promise?”
“Promise, baby.” He holds out his arms. “Come snuggle with me.”
I settle with my cheek on his chest. His arms wind tight around me, his heart beating hard beneath the cage of flesh and bone. Our conversation should make me feel better. Instead I worry about what else he might be keeping from me.
Instead of things settling down when the Hawks make the first round of playoff games, Alex is more stressed. Needier. I stay at his place almost every night leading up to the first playoff game.
“I’m going home tonight,” I say while Alex inhales a heaping plate of pasta.