What neither of us seemed to want to acknowledge was that those dreams would rip us apart.
After the game wrapped up—another impressive win by the Devils—I went to wait for Soren outside of the locker room. He must have taken the world’s fastest shower in the history of locker rooms, because I’d only been waiting for a minute before the locker room door threw open and out he came. Or out he ran.
His gear bag over his shoulder, he wrangled me under his other arm and turned to leave the park. His lips met mine as we moved.
“Kissing and walking can be dangerous.”
His arm rung around my neck deeper. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Good game, Soren!” someone shouted from behind us.
When I glanced over my shoulder, I found her—waving and smiling and focusing on him.
My man. Mine.
Because I clearly didn’t have a possessiveness issue or anything.
“Thanks! Catch you later,” he called back before weaving us through the park fences. “Now, where were we . . .” When his head turned to kiss me again, he didn’t miss the look on my face. “We weren’t there. Definitely weren’t there.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Who’s who?”
My eyes lifted. “That girl who just called for you in a crowd full of people when you were kissing your girlfriend.”
He had to clear his throat and look away because he was about to smile. Glad my jealous streak amused him. “That’s Alex. She’s a PT student, so she gives the team a hand if anyone’s injured or anything like that.”
“So, what? She gives you deep-tissue massages?”
“Is the follow-up to that question going to involve something about candles, oil, and nudity? Because you seem a little . . .”—when he noticed my eyebrows raising, he cleared his throat—“sensitive on the subject.”
“I’m just asking a question.”
Soren wound my braid up in his hand as we moved onto the sidewalk. “No deep-tissue massages. Bags of ice, heat packs, stretching us out, that kind of thing.”
“Stretching you out?” I repeated, although not in the same innocent tone.
“I am not going to be able to say anything right when it comes to this topic, so can we stop talking about Alex now, please? She helps out the team and is a total science nerd.”
“How do you know that?”
The corners of his eyes creased. He took a few moments before answering. “Because she’s my lab partner.”
I stopped moving down the sidewalk. “She’s your lab partner? So she’s not just on your team, icing and heating and stretching you guys out, she’s also buddied up with you every week in lab?” His arm fell away when I moved in front of him. “The lab partner you’ve been spending hours with over the past couple of months?”
I moved a step back and crossed my arms. It wasn’t really him I was upset with; it was our situation. Soren and I had had a small handful of hours together over the past month, while some other girl had gotten loads more. I hated that. I hated that I hated that to begin with.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
His head was tipped as he watched me, his hair still dripping from the shower he’d rushed through to get to me sooner. I felt like an idiot for having this conversation on a busy sidewalk, but I also knew I couldn’t let it go without getting it out. Communication was what all of those relationship books said was the key to making a relationship work. Sometimes I wondered if they needed to add a preface to that, like constructive communication.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered.”
“You didn’t think it mattered that some woman who looks like a playmate is a part of your team and also your lab partner?”
Soren’s hand reached for me. Like a magnet, mine reached back. “No,” he stated.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t see her like that.”
“You don’t see her as being Miss December if this whole science nerd thing doesn’t work out?”
A corner of his mouth jerked up. “No, I don’t see her. I don’t see anyone else.” Soren stepped toward me, his eyes on fire. “I see you. Only you.” Each word was slow, its own statement. “Everyone else blurs into a kind of homogenous stew.”
I let him pull me tight against him, my anger already melting away. “We’re not a melting pot anymore apparently. We’re a tossed salad—that’s the PC way to describe Americans now.”
He slid my ball cap so the bill was backward, just like his. “I’m not talking about Americans. I’m talking about what you brought up—other girls.” He pulled me to the side of the sidewalk to give us some privacy. “And I didn’t say melting pot. I said stew. Homogenous stew.”
“How’s that different?”
“Every bite looks the same.” His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist. “Inedible.”
“Inedible?” I smiled. “I don’t think that’s the word you’re looking for. You don’t eat girls.”
His eyes flashed, a challenge in them. “I’m planning on eating the one standing in front of me as soon as I get her behind a locked door.”
My gaze moved around us, making sure no one overheard. “Behind a locked door and on top of our bed?”
Soren’s mouth dropped to my neck. He gave a slight yank on my braid, arching my neck back to give him better access. When his lips touched me, a jolt shot down my spine. When he started to suck at my skin, his tongue breaking through every few pulses, it felt like he was between my legs right then from the way my body started to spiral out of control.
“Up against the wall,” he whispered against the throbbing patch of skin. “I want to be on my knees in front of you right now.” His hand tugged my braid hard, his mouth sucking at my skin once more. “That’s the way a real man worships his woman.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to get drafted in June. Coach has been hearing things.” Soren’s hand hadn’t stopped moving up and down my back as we lay in bed after . . .
After lots of things—sweaty, noisy, great things.
“With the way you play?” I replied, glancing up from where my head was resting on his chest. “Any team in the country would be stupid not to want you to play for them.”
He smiled, staring at the ceiling. “It’s really happening.”
It really was. I wanted this so badly for him—I just wished time would slow down or our circumstances were different. I wished it wouldn’t mean the end. “You’ll probably get signed to some team in California or somewhere far away.”
His hand stopped moving. “I’m not your dad. You know that, right?” He tipped my chin up just enough I was able to look at him. “If I get drafted—”
“When,” I said.