Page 145 of Fake Out Hearts

She sighs, biting her bottom lip. “I’m just worrying about nothing, as usual.”

“Don’t downplay your feelings. What are you worried about?”

“I’m nervous, that’s all. Like… what if the school flops? What if no students show up? What if none of it works out?” she asks as she finishes tying my tie for me, and when her hands stop moving, I take them in mine, resting them on my chest.

“What if itdoeswork out?” I ask, then lift her hands to my mouth to kiss both of her palms. “Have you allowed yourself to think about it like that? Because I have, and you know what I think? It’s going to be incredible, just like you are.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but they don’t fall.

“I mean it. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, and the fact that you want to help kids by giving them an outlet in dance the way that you had when you were younger? That’s amazing. You’re going to make the world an even brighter place than you already do just by being in it.”

Becca chuckles through her tears and dabs her eyes with the back of her hands, careful not to smudge her makeup. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Because I know you. And I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too,” she says, and leans in to kiss me, so I meet her. It’s gentle and sweet at first, but when she swipes her tongue across my lower lip, desire catches fire inside me. My hands find her waist and work their way upward, my fingertips dancing lightly across her delicate ribs like piano keys.

I take her cheeks in my hands and intensify the kiss, parting her lips with my tongue. She whimpers into my mouth as she surrenders herself, wilting into me, and I spin us both to the nearby wall. She’s pinned with her back to the wall now, but she doesn’t resist. Her hands find my belt buckle, and she starts fumbling with it, trying to unfasten it. I fondle her breast, giving it a lustful squeeze, and she yelps and pulls back from me.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I rush. That was a different kind of gasp than she normally makes—and I’ve made her do it enough to know the difference.

“I’m fine,” she says, but the look on her face still makes her seem a little uncomfortable. I flash her a worried look, and aftera second, she bites her lower lip shyly. Deviousness dances in her eyes.

“What is it?”

“Well, I was going to surprise you with it later, but I guess I might as well show you now,” she says and reaches for the left strap of her dress. She tugs it downward, exposing her shoulder and breast, and there on the soft, tender outer edge sits a fresh, red-and-inflamed tattoo. It’s a small, elegant illustration of an ice skate and a ballet shoe with their laces tied together.

My heart swells at the sight, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out for it. Very gently, I run my fingertip alongside it, careful not to touch the tattoo itself. “When did you get this?” I ask hoarsely.

“Earlier today. Callie took me,” she says, her eyes slowly moving from the tattoo back to mine. “It hurt like hell so I’m probably not going to get one for every major event in my life, but I wanted to get one for the best thing that ever happened to me: marrying you.”

My love for her overwhelms me, and I kiss her again, letting it pour out of me through my lips. She responds in kind, again tugging at my belt buckle, and it takes everything I have not to tear her dress off and take her right here and now. But there are people outside waiting for us, for her, and the last thing I want is to distract her from her big moment.

I pull back, keeping her upper lip between mine. “We should save this for later,” I whisper, and she moans like a kid being told they can’t have candy.

“I know you’re right, but I hate it.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for this later. Think of it as your reward.”

Her eyes flame as she stares into mine. “Like I said, you always know exactly what to say.” She gives my crotch a lustygrope, and I swipe my thumb across her lower lip to fix the lipstick I smeared, then tap her affectionately on the nose.

“Let’s go, Mrs. Camden.”

She beams and loops her arm through mine, and we walk out of the backstage dressing room together into the main studio space. The renovations are even better than I thought they’d be when the contractors showed me their proposal drafts.

There were already plenty of windows in the building, but they installed more. Now, floor-to-ceiling windows line the front of the building, offering anyone who walks by a view into whatever the class of the day is working on—its own bit of genius self-advertising—and plenty of light for the dancers inside. Becca insisted on keeping the original hardwood flooring, which I was happy about because it’s beautiful, so I had the reno crew re-stain and finish it, making it look brand new.

We also installed a series of sliding dividers built into the floor and ceiling so, if necessary, Becca or whoever is instructing the class that day can create separate practice spaces. And of course, no dance studio would be complete without a killer sound system, so I made sure Becca got the best of the best with that too. A full wireless speaker array is built into the ceiling so that anyone can connect to the system and play whatever music they want.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, which is already connected to the sound system, and cue up some easy listening jazz. Soft, twinkling piano fills the room with rich sound, and Becca looks around lovingly at all the preparations.

I hired a catering company for her grand opening event, and they’ve done an amazing job decorating. Two long tables line the far wall, each basically buckling under the weight of the food, drinks, and deserts they’ve prepared, and gold-and-silver balloon displays are tastefully littered throughout.

“Are you ready?” I ask as we walk through the space toward the front door to unlock it. There are already at least two dozen people outside, all dressed up and waiting for the main event. With Margo’s incredible PR skills and social media know-how, we put together an online marketing campaign for Becca’s launch, so while I’m sure at least some of them are here because of my ties to the NHL, I’m not the real star.

She is, and rightfully so.

We open the doors together, and people start streaming inside. Surprising no one, the entire team of Aces and their families are here, and they file in and give us both hugs one-by-one. By the time Becca’s finished hugging them all, she’s in tears.

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