Page 86 of Mr. Swoony

“When I mentioned the pressure to be someone you aren’t, you sounded like maybe you understood what I was talking about.” She circles her head and grabs my hands, moving our joined fingers through the water.

I kiss her temple and gather my thoughts. “In a different way than you were referring to, but similar in a sense. There have been times in my life that I felt I had to be a certain type of person because I was an athlete. Or people thought certain things about me, and I was always trying to prove them wrong. Like the sign, the Nest, outside the condo and the women who hang around. They’re in love with someone I’m not.”

“What do you think they expect?”

“Most just want to say they slept with me. The sex could be shitty, and they’d still brag to their friends that I was the best lay they’ve ever had. It’s not me they want. It’s my reputation, my profession.”

Her fingers tighten in mine. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Most guys would love to be in my position. And I can’t say there wasn’t a time when I took advantage of it, but I’m not that guy anymore. Don’t ever tell Kyleigh this, but I think seeing her and Rowan together finally helped make that click for me.”

“They are happy.” She leans her body into mine and wraps our arms around her.

“Sickeningly so.”

She giggles.

“I never really thought I’d be able to have a relationship while I was playing. The schedule is grueling, the time away from home isn’t ideal, but they make it look so fucking easy. Henry struggled with it too, and I hate to say this because I love the guy, but I don’t want to end up like Tweetie.”

“A playboy?”

My head moves side to side. “Yeah, that for sure. But there’s more. He’s covering something up and dealing with it in a shitty way. He’s going to have to retire soon and what will he be retiring to? To sit around and talk about the good ol’ days in the league? Maybe he’ll get a coaching job, but…” It’s so hard to explain when she doesn’t know Tweetie that well. I don’t want to be trashing him—he’s a great guy. Fuck, he let me live with him when I first got to town and had nowhere to go. That’s, like, best friend shit.

“But what?”

I sigh. “Will that be satisfying? Hockey has been my entire life for as long as I can remember. The goals changed over the years, but it always had to do with hockey—get on the top travel team, get a scholarship at a top college, get into the league, get the best agent, get the endorsements, win the Cup. When it’s all over, I don’t want to walk away from the game to an empty house. I want to walk into the arms of the woman I love and have her whisper to me that we’re going to start the next chapter of our lives. Maybe we’ll have a few kids at our feet too.”

She sighs and kisses my jaw. “I like that vision.”

“Me too.”

I don’t say that I hope it’s her. That when I picture it, I see her with open arms and our kids hugging our legs. I don’t want to scare her, but fuck, I’m not sure I can slow down this train. I’m in deep when it comes to her and barreling headfirst into love.

Thirty-Five

Eloise

Conor and I come down the next morning and are the last to arrive in the lobby. Kyleigh and Jade are seated in two chairs by the windows and chatting, and they each give me a knowing smile as we walk toward the group holding hands.

“Our boy did good?” Tweetie waggles his eyebrows at me.

I could tell him that Conor’s the best I’ve ever had in more than just a sexual way, but I keep my thoughts to myself.

“Shut the fuck up,” Conor says.

“You missed a great fucking meal, but?—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Henry interrupts. He raises his eyebrows at Conor. “My car is ready to go.”

Tweetie pats Conor’s chest. “Leave our boy alone. He was getting laid.”

Conor shakes his head, and I catch him looking at me from the corner of his eye. I squeeze his hand to tell him he doesn’t have to worry about me being put off by Tweetie.

Last night, I could tell he was worried about me judging Tweetie when he was talking about not wanting to end up like him, but who am I to judge anyone? I just hope if Conor’s suspicions are right, and Tweetie is trying to push away his feelings over something that happened in the past, that he can eventually heal.

“I’ll go out to valet.” Conor tugs me toward him and presses his lips to mine. “Be right back.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.” Tweetie wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You were the belle of the ball last night.”

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