Page 84 of Goal Line
“Maybe?” she says, and I’m actually a little choked up that I’m getting to experience this with her. “The other night at my parents’ house, something similar happened, but I thought I was just nervous. It happened again at practice yesterday.”
“A lot of times, the first movements just feel like normal rumblings of your digestive system.”
Her eyebrows dip as she tilts her head to stare at me. “You know this, why?”
“That app I told you about is very informative.” I don’t mention how much time I’ve spent doing additional research. If I’m going through this with her, I want to be as informed and supportive as possible.
With the circumstances of her pregnancy, I’m not shocked that she hasn’t jumped feet first into learning everything she can about being pregnant. Which is why I’m happy to pick up that slack for her, the same way I picked up some prenatal vitamins and iron supplements when I noticed she wasn’t taking them, and I started making her a nutrition-packed smoothie every morning.
“My stomach has been doing these flips a lot lately, and I thought I was just nervous about all these changes in my life.”
There’s so much I want to ask her about those nerves, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. So instead, I focus on the small, fluttery movements pressing against my palm as I lean down and tell the baby, “You’re doing such a good job in there.”
Eva laughs as I pat her belly, and then we both feel the movement again, and she says, “I think the baby likes you.”
“I’m averylikable guy,” I say, glancing from her belly up to meet her eyes.
Eva stares back at me, and several different emotions move across her face. That lust I saw in the elevator? Gone. And it’s replaced by...worry?
Maybe she’s as confused as I am about the ways our relationship is changing? I need her to want this change as much as I do, because if she tells me that we need to walk ourselves back over that line and remain firmly in the friendship zone, that’s going to be an enormous problem for me at this point.
I was done being her friend the moment I slid that ring on her finger, though I was still lying to myself, trying to convince myself that I was only doing this because I was a good friend. And while that might have been my initial intention, that’s not what I want with her—it’s not what I’veeverwanted and it’s certainly not what I want now that we’re married.
“Youarevery likable, Luke,” she says, and I hear thebutcoming like a fucking freight train. I let the silence extend and feel like I’m bracing for impact while also needing to understand where her head and her heart are at. Finally, she says, “That’s part of what has me worried about how we keep crossing that line together.”
Me being a likable guy has her worried about our relationship shifting? That makes no sense. “How is me being a likable guy abadthing?”
She tilts her chin down, staring at my chest instead of looking me in the eye. “Because women love you, Luke. And from what I’ve seen, there’s a constant rotation of them in your life. I can’t be just another woman you sleep with.”
“Whoa, hold up.” It’s my own fault she’s confused about my reputation, and it’s time to set the record straight. I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me. “First of all, you’re not just another woman, you’re my wife. And second, I’m not sure what you think my sex life looks like, but I can assure you, it’s nothing like what you just described.”
“Yeah?” she says dubiously, one eyebrow raised.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so how many womenhaveyou slept with?” She looks like she’s steeling herself against my answer, while simultaneously hoping the number isn’t as high as she’s prepared to hear.
My sigh is deep and long, and the force of it ruffles her hair. I drop my chin to rest against the crown of her head, because I don't think I can handle seeing her face when I give her my answer.
“Zero,” I admit as my heart races.
She gasps as her hand flies to my chest and she pushes me away slightly, giving her enough room to look up at me with those dark eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, what? You’ve...never?”
Aside from the obvious shock, I can’t quite tell how she feels about that. “No.”
“But you’re in the NHL.”
A small chuckle escapes from the back of my throat. “Believe it or not, that’s not a draft requirement.”
She lets out a small laugh too, before her eyebrows pinch. “But...back in LA, and the other night on this counter...” As she nods her chin over her shoulder, and then she looks back at me, her face showcases her confusion perfectly. “How did you seem so experienced?”
“I said I’ve never had sex, not that I’ve never touched a woman.”
“But...” she repeats, clearly struggling to grasp how this can be true.
Iknowmy reputation, and she obviously does too. However, I’ve never felt the need to make any kind of a statement, publicly or privately, about my sex life. If there are women out there who want to say they slept with me, that’s kind of bizarre, but it’s also not a conversation I want to engage in. As far as I’m concerned, people can believe what they want about my sex life.
“Why?” she asks simply, searching my eyes.
