Page 83 of Pucking Strong

His curiosity gets the better of him, so he rustles through the tissue paper, pulls out the puffy WAG jacket, and holds it up. “What is this?”

“Another manifestation of your ownership of me.”

He glances around the jacket. “What?”

I huff, crossing my arms. “It’s a WAG jacket, Henrik. I was forced to attend a WAG induction party tonight on pain of Caleb Price’s foot up my ass. I showed up, they shoved me in that jacket, then Colton fucking Morrow, my literal hockey hero, hugged me and told me how proud he was that there was another queer Black man in the Rays’ Wives and Guys Club.”

“Wives and Guys?”

“Well, they can’t still call us the ‘wives and girlfriends,’ can they? Not when four of us have big, swinging dicks.”

He turns the jacket around, reading the back. “What’s Tedrik?”

I lean against the counter with my hip. “It’s our ship name. You know, Teddy plus Henrik equals Tedrik. It’s just a silly nickname. Most of the WAGs have something like that on their jackets. Caleb’s says “CAKE” for Caleb and Jake.”

He lowers the jacket to the island, his thumbs brushing over therhinestone-covered number seventeens on the shoulders. “You think this jacket represents ownership?”

I just shrug. “It’s a pretty big freaking deal in your world, Hen. There’s only one way to get a jacket like this: a player has to claim you. And the WAGs expect me to wear this. Maybe not all the time. But for game one, they want us in them. And for the playoffs and stuff like that.”

He drops his hands away from the jacket. “You don’t have to wear it. If anyone has anything to say about it, you send them to me. Agreed?”

I consider for a moment, arms still crossed. “And if I want to wear it? If Ichooseto wear my ‘if found, please return to Henrik Karlsson’ jacket?”

A ghost of a smile flits across his lips, and I have my answer. He wants me to wear it. Fuck me, in that case, I’ll never take it off. “I would respect your wishes,” he says, his tone measured. “Whatever you want, Teddy. You can have whatever you want from me.”

Someday I’m gonna replay those exact words on a loop in my mind while I jerk myself off in the shower. Not tonight, obviously. But soon.

For now, we’ve had enough of an emotional roller coaster. Any more thrills, and I’ll be performing CPR on this overwrought Swede. This level of emotionality is still so new for him, so raw and unfiltered. Heck, for me it’s a boring Thursday night. Banal, even. But for Henrik, I get the feeling this has been the equivalent of pulling some hard G’s. He needs a cooldown. And a reset.

“Come on.” I slip the container of potatoes off the counter and return them to the fridge.

“What?”

“Come with me.”

Curious, he leaves the jacket on the island and follows me down the hallway and into my bedroom. “What’s wrong?”

“Get in the bed.”

He stiffens, glancing from the bed back to me. “Teddy, we have rules. You require your own room, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I’m breaking my rule.”

“Teddy …”

“Hey, it’s mine to break. And I get whatever I want from you, remember? Your words, not mine.”

He crosses his arms. “What exactly do you want?”

“I want you close in case I have to wake you from another nightmare. And I want you further away from Karro so you don’t wake her up and scare her again.”

He groans, dragging a hand through his already-mussed hair. “I’ll go see Doctor Tyler this week. I’ll get a prescription for a sleep aid.”

“Sounds good. But that can’t help us tonight. Get in the bed, Henrik.”

Too tired to fight me, he shuffles around to the far side of the bed and crawls under the covers. I excuse myself to the bathroom and get ready for bed, not coming out until my teeth are brushed, face is washed, locs are moisturized, and head scarf is wrapped snugly around my head. As I come out, I strip off my T-shirt, dropping it to the floor.

Henrik is stretched out on the bed, quiet and deadly as a fucking mountain lion. His eyes are open, those denim blue irises swallowed up by the black of his pupils as he tracks my every movement. Even this man’s casual attention sets my every nerve on fire. Now, feeling his possessive stare? Let’s just say I’m about to release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

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