Page 61 of Replay
He grins and kisses my nose. “You can bet on it, sweets.”
“I’d take that bet, Sheppard,” I tease and take off to our room to grab the rest of my warm-up gear. Hawke follows me and I watch while he peels off his shirt, my eyes hungrily eating up his rippling chest and abs, my heart beating wildly when I see those tattoos. I love seeing myself marked all over his skin. That should be proof enough of his feelings and his obsession with me, that it won’t fade because of social media trolls.
And then I see him slide on a Michigan hockey jersey. My brain stutters and my mouth drops open. “What is that? What are you doing?”
He shoots me a wink. “A jersey. I’m going to my hot-as-fuck girlfriend’s game.”
“No, you’re not,” I gasp, my hands running over my face. “Hawke, the post is brand new. Everyone will be paying attention.”
“Good.” He shrugs. “I want them too. I’m going to support you, Em, just like you do when you come watch me play and wear my number. I love seeing it, knowing that I chose it with you in mind.”
My cheeks heat and I break eye contact. He hasn’t seen our new jerseys yet, the ones gifted by Reign. I haven’t told him I also chose a number because of him. I open my mouth to argue, but Hawke beats me to it.
“How about a bet, Emmarys?”
“For what now?” I scoff. “How many bets can we have going?”
He laughs and reaches for my hand. “I’m going. I’m wearing the jersey. I’m cheering on my incredible girlfriend. I’ll bet you that no one will say anything negative.”
“What do you want if you win?” I raise my brow and stuff my hands into the pocket of my hoodie.
Hawke smirks and moves closer. “You’ll meet me in the penalty box after the game?”
I can feel my blush move down my neck to the tips of my ears. “And if I win?”
“If someone says anything, we’ll leave right after the game and I’ll have Falcon do damage control.”
“Deal, QB. I’ll take the bet,” I rush to answer, hoping that he will take even the smallest negativity seriously. Mostly because I know people, I know jealous girls and I’m expecting backlash. We shake on it and then Hawke is driving me to the arena for my pre-game warm-ups.
Trying not to focus on Hawke in the crowd is more difficult than I thought it would be. It's not other students or spectators that I should be worried about causing a scene, it's me. My boyfriend is incredibly supportive, and he looks gorgeous sitting there, wearing a hockey jersey and holding a sign in the shape of a puck with red hearts all over it that saysI pucking love you. Everyone notices and everyone sees. I about had an aneurysm when I first skated on the ice and saw him sitting with Riggs and a few other of his teammates among the student section. So much for lowkey. So much for not drawing attention. For some reason my heart hurt a little knowing for sure that I’ll win the bet we just made tonight. Someone will see Hawke’s display and it won’t take long for there to be a bad comment made. I want to believe him, and part of me does in a way that he thinks it’s not a big deal. I vowed to be stronger when it came to the attention that Hawke and I would garnish and I haven’t been keeping the promise to myself.
Skating down the ice, I push myself a little harder. I want to be the badass version of myself that took revenge for her boyfriend. I don’t need Hawke to fight my battles; I need to prove to myself that I can handle them. For the rest of the game, I play with an edge I haven’t felt in weeks. The other team can’t get past me, and I catch every pass from Riley and try to help set her up for a goal as well.
Once we’re in the third period and have a sustaining lead of a 5-1 score, I take the chance to breathe. My forehead is glistening with sweat and I can feel it trickling down my back under all the pads and gear. Only then do I let myself glance once again to the stands and instantly find Hawke. He’s already watching me; hiseyes are dark and his face is tense. A tension I recognize as the one he usually has when he’s insistent that I come for him again after already giving me two orgasms. My body shudders, and he smirks in response. It's nerve-wracking with how in tune he is with my body, knowing what one look from him can cause.
“Behave,” I mouth to him and see his eyes glitter back at me with smug possession. His eyes drop to the front of my jersey and I follow his gaze to the giant gold number on the front of my chest. A number I never told him about. A number that is new and recently changed from my previous one. A number I chose with him in mind. Our eyes meet and I raise my brow. Hawke doesn’t smile; he doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t mouth to me what he’s thinking. His hand lands over his heart instead and he taps it twice. The gesture is simple and small, but the meaning is significant. He sees me. He sees the way I’m showing my love for him, claiming him.
The team takes the win, and as I skate off the ice, I’m finally calm. A peace I didn’t have earlier today settles over me. I change quickly and head out of the locker room, wanting to find Hawke. Turning to head to the athlete parking lot, I’m stopped suddenly when a large arm wraps around my waist and my body is yanked backward into a hard chest. My skin tingles and I feel instantly warm, even in the chilly air of the arena.
“Not so fast, sugar. You owe me for losing our bet.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “How can you possibly know that already?”
Hawke grabs his phone and shows me the screen. My eyes catch on his personal media account and there’s an image of him at the game, cheering me on. “We’re going to talk later, Em, about the jersey and the new number, I haven’t forgotten, but look at this first, sweets.”
He scrolls down, past the caption, to the comments. There’s already two thousand of them.
“This one is all heart eye emojis, red hearts, purple hearts, this one saysso adorable,and I personally like this one the most,I hope this kind of love finds me.”
My heart lurches. “It's only been up for an hour,” I try to argue but the excuse sounds weak even to me. And why do I care? Who cares if some petty girl hates me for being with him. Who cares if jealous, lonely people have anything negative to say about our relationship? At the end of the day our relationship belongs to Hawke and me. As long as he loves me and wants me, that's all that should matter. We know the truth about our relationship and how much we mean to each other. Hawke has shown me time and again that he’s all in, that he isn’t leaving, and that nothing about me and him reflects how he plays. He’s eased my fears; he has plans to protect me, to protect us in the worst case scenario. My heart eases and I put my hand over his phone lowering it. I don’t need to see the post or the comments. The man I love, the one who never stops showing me how much he loves me, is all that matters. I know that now. It took me a long time to get it, but I finally do.
“Can we go home now?” I mutter the words and feel Hawke’s arm tighten on me.
He dips his head, letting his lips run down the side of my neck. “Not a chance, sweetheart. You owe me payment and there’s nothing I can think of that would be better than taking you right here. This is where you finally get it. This is when we let go of the worries and the doubts and we focus on us, yeah?”
Hawke’s hand slides under my sweater and he palms my breast through my bra. My head falls back against his shoulder. His fingers tease and pinch my nipples into hard peaks until I’m a moaning mess in his hands.
“I love these,” he murmurs. “I need to see these perfect fucking tits, Em.”
