Page 51 of Playing for Keeps

I drop to my knees, still wearing sneakers, and am immediately swarmed by a group of mutts. A golden retriever mix plants her paws on my shoulders and licks my entire face while some sort of terrier yaps at me, chewing my shoelaces.

“The internet is going to love you,” Emerson laughs as she records on her phone. I bite back my response about me loving her because we haven’t had that conversation yet. I don’t know why I keep stalling on that. I don’t want to overwhelm her while she’s working on freeing herself from her father’s influence. A big lick right on my eyeball pulls me from those thoughts.

“Take a pic of me,” I manage to say between face-washings. “Then come get your own puppy therapy.”

Even Grentley seems to enjoy himself, actually smiling as he tosses a puck for a border collie to chase across the carpet. The dog brings it back to him every time, tail wagging furiously.

“That’s quite the save percentage,” I hear Coach remark, and Grentley actually laughs. I resist the urge to make a fart sound at him.

While I give belly scratches and nose rubs, I notice Cam, Essence, and Emerson huddled near the boards, checking their phones. Banksy slides across the ice near me, and the dog on his chest swaps places with the one on my face. Cam yells, “Our lease definitely allows pets, babe.”

“Same!” Essence sighs, seeming less enthused.

Banksy and Cappy look at one another, and both dive for the golden, trying to lay claim on the friendliest dog out there.

I notice Alder looking cozy with a chunky boy draped across his lap. “I’m in love,” he announces. “Look at this face.” The dog immediately rolls to face me, tongue lolling.

“That dog is cross-eyed,” I observe.

Tucker squeals. “You’re getting him, right?”

Alder beams and ruffles the dog’s ears. “Already texted the landlord, bro. His new name is Gordon.”

The next hour is a blur of photos, autographs, and interviews. Brian orchestrates everything perfectly—players with puppies, kids meeting their heroes, and shelter staff explaining the adoption processes. Emerson even brings some of her music kiddos around and shows them how to pet the dogs, and I catch her chatting with the shelter staff about kids playing music for the pups to help socialize the dogs while the kids practice for their upcoming concert.

A reporter pauses and asks Emerson if she and I will be adopting today, and she smiles. “We’re still settling into our routine at home,” she explains diplomatically. “But we’re so excited to be Aunt and Uncle to Alder’s boy, Gordie.”

By the time the animal folks declare that the pups need to return, I’m a strange combination of exhaustion, delight, and energy. Above all, I’m eager to get home and shower with my wife.

CHAPTER 34

EMERSON

Steam fillsthe bathroom as I run my fingers through Gunnar's beard, feeling each coarse hair against my fingertips. "Getting scruffy," I murmur, tracing his jaw. Water droplets cling to the golden strands, and I'm struck by how different he looks from the clean-cut athlete in his milk commercial.

"Can't shave during a win streak." He presses me against the cool tile, his calloused hands sliding down my sides, leaving trails of heat in their wake. "Bad luck."

"Mmm. Very superstitious." I love these quiet moments- just us, no drama. Our apartment has become a haven for us in the past few weeks. I know I need to confront my family eventually, that I can’t hide behind a changed phone number forever. But for now, I have exactly what I need. I officially moved into Gunnar’s bedroom …our bedroom. I also transferred all my stuff into this bathroom, and I enjoy seeing the shelves with both our products blended together. United.

Zara has been very encouraging in helping me notice these small pleasures. We’ve been meeting twice a week, partly because I have the time and partly because she believes I can benefit from a lot from practical skills, such as settingboundaries. I haven’t spoken to my parents or any symphony personnel in weeks, which feels great.

And I’m learning to lower my boundaries with Gunnar, which feels even better. He’s been so amazing, sitting with me for therapy sessions and taking notes. He jokes that physical intimacy is the only homework assignment he’s ever enjoyed. And my goodness, am I learning to love physical intimacy. I don’t know if my body was waiting for Gunnar or if he just sets me free from whatever pressures were bottling up my sex drive, but I’m ravenous for his body and the things it can do with mine.

The shower feels warm and comforting as Gunnar’s hands cup my backside, and I gasp, arching into him. Our wet skin slides together, creating delicious friction. "Careful. I'm still tender from this morning."

He grins, that cocky smile that first drew me to him in Vegas. "You weren't complaining then."

"Never." I stretch up to kiss him, savoring his taste and touch. Everything about him feels like home—the solid warmth of his chest against mine, the gentle way he holds me despite his tremendous strength, the familiar scent of his soap mixing with the steam. I feel safe here, protected, and loved.

"God, I love you." The words slip out before I can catch them, carried on a wave of pure emotion.

Gunnar freezes, water running in rivulets down his face. For a terrifying moment, I worry I've ruined everything. Then his face breaks into the most brilliant smile I've ever seen, brighter than after any shutout victory.

"Say it again, Salty.”

My heart swells. "I love you."

He lifts me, pressing me harder against the wall. I love how he can haul me around despite my substantial weight. His beard scratches my neck, and his erection digs into my stomach as he whispers, "I love you too, Salty. So fucking much."

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