Page 227 of The Blame Game

They were spending a whole week in Paris and Shea’s skin prickled with anticipation.

They had plans to visit several of the major tourist attractions but Shea was also looking forward to wandering and exploring the city.

He wanted to stroll along the River Seine and coax Dom into taking selfies. He’d grumble but indulge Shea, kissing his temple like he was so fond of Shea he couldn’t help himself.

Shea wanted to see Dom half-asleep in the mornings, sipping coffee across from him at a little café table, giving Shea a soft smile when he stole a bite of croissant or pain au chocolat.

Shea wanted to squabble with Dom about paying for their admission to the Louvre, because he’d promised him he would, damn it, and Dom had earned that A- in his art history course. He wanted to walk through the museum, the back of their hands occasionally brushing, Dom impressing him with little tidbits he’d learned.

He wanted to meet Audra after, for a cozy dinner at a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the three of them staying up late, laughing over bottles of wine as they talked about Audra’s new job and the ridiculous number of weddings Shea and Dom would be going to this summer.

Shea wanted a thousand other things. A thousand million more moments with his prickly, retired hockey player.

Enough to fill a lifetime together.

“What are you thinking about?” Dom asked softly.

Shea glanced over, shrugging. “Our trip. Our future together.”

Dom’s face grew soft and he reached out, twining their fingers together. “Me too.”

After the week in Paris was up, they’d take the train south to Burgundy. Dom had sounded a little nervous about visiting his mother and staying with her for another week but Shea had a good feeling about it.

Besides, she lived in a fucking chateau. If Dom needed some space, he should have no trouble finding it.

It turned out it wasn’t an old, crumbling ruin either.

Or at least, not anymore.

Dom’s rich French stepfather owned a winery and they’d spent over a decade painstakingly restoring the place. The pictures Shea had seen were magnificent.

The plane’s landing was smooth, and from there it was a quick trip through customs before they were whisked off to the hotel in a private car.

Shea had nearly swallowed his tongue when he heard Dom speaking French for the first time. Although to a native speaker’s ears he was probably clumsy and imperfect, to Shea, every word was thrilling.

This was going to be an amazing trip.

Shea spent most of the ride to the hotel staring out the windows, but at one point, Dom nudged him with his elbow.

“Hey, did you see this?” Dom frowned, flashing his phone screen at Shea. “They traded Webby yesterday.”

“Damn. I was hoping he’d stay in Toronto.” Shea took the phone. Jesse Webber had been traded to Boston, for one of their defensemen, a fourth-line forward, and a second-round pick. “He seems like a good kid, even if he got himself into a mess.”

It hadn’t taken insider information for there to be a huge spread in JockGossip about Jesse’s post-playoff debauchery. There were pictures and videos of it plastered all over social media.

The kid had drunk his weight in alcohol, made out with every available person in the greater Toronto area, and then stripped naked to swim in the fountain near city hall.

The team was not amused.

“He is a good kid, just … a little wild at the moment. I get the head office’s frustration though. They’ve had one too many scandals.”

“Well, now that Jesse is going to be Boston’s problem, they don’t have anything to worry about,” Shea pointed out, handing the phone back. “Pretty much everyone is settled down.”

Dom laughed. “Like us?”

“I think we were settled down before either of us knew it,” Shea admitted, brushing Dom’s hair out of the way so he could kiss his cheek.

Dom smiled and took his hand. “I think you might be right.”

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