Page 98 of At First Smile
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Face-Off
Rowan
Midday sunshine halos Pen’s hair as it streams in through CN Tower’s panoramic windows. Rich strands of bronzy-red and warm brown spark in the waves on her head. She squints from behind her red-framed glasses against the glare. I fight the urge to just stand here and drink in the sight of her or slip my cap atop her head, shielding her from the brightness.
She really is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And she loves me. It still feels unreal. Even this morning, buried to the hilt inside her, our gazes tethered, and her murmured, “Rowan, I love you,” as she slumped against me sated and spent, I clung to her as if she was a dream that I’d wake from at any moment.
It’s like the moment the fog dissipates and reveals a velvet sky full of stars. I always knew stars existed, but the moment the gray disappears, and they twinkle above, you look up and realize how breathtaking they truly are. Loving Pen is like that.
“Here—” I take my hat off and place it atop her head. “—it’s extra bright up here.”
She bites her lower lip. “What about you?”
Looping my arms around her middle, I nestle her into me. “I got everything I need right here.”
“Smooth, Iverson,” she teases with a breathy laugh. “But aren’t you nervous someone will recognize you without it?”
In L.A. I mostly fly under the radar during the off-season. This summer I haven’t been as incognito, but the media fascination with punch-gate has waned over the last few weeks, especially with the world’s biggest popstar now dating a pitcher for one of L.A.’s Major League baseball teams. Landon and I are old news.
Toronto is different. Hockey is a big deal year-round. It’s also where I’m originally from, so I get recognized way more. Three people stopped me for selfies and a few Toronto fans shouted, “You suck, Iverson!” as we walked to Tim Hortons this morning.
“I’ve had the hat on all morning, and it’s proven a terrible disguise.” I chuckle, resting my chin at the crook of her neck.
She spins in my arms and presses her big smile against mine. “You’re kind of a big deal here. Do you ever think about moving here?”
“Like playing for Toronto?”
“Yeah. Your contract is up at the end of the season. Punch-gate aside, you have some of the best stats when it comes to avoiding chances allowed, shot attempts, and goal generation in the league.”
“Luv, how much research are you doing on hockey?” Smiling, I swipe my fingers along her chin and take in her pleased grin.
“So much that after the CN Tower, I want you to take me to the Hockey Hall of Fame, so I can see where my boyfriend will be inducted one day.”
Pleasure and pride surge in my chest.
“Seriously though, do you think about playing for Toronto? It’s a hockey city. Your family is here. It’s home,” she says, her gaze dropping.
“You’re my home.” I cup her cheek. “I’m planning on staying in Los Angeles… Staying with you.”
“What if…” She swallows thickly. “What if the team doesn’t offer you a new contract?”
It’s the risk I took when I signed my contract three years ago with the Bobcats. Most players with my stats and age wouldn’t have signed a short-term contract, especially one that didn’t include a no-trade clause. I did it to play under Stefan Carlson again, and it was the stipulation of the organization which was weary of my reputation as a little too aggressive while they were rebranding as a family-friendly NHL team. Thankfully, Madeline Jacobson, the new owner, seems to only care about me helping her win.
I band my arms around her, holding her tight. “If the Bobcats let me go at the end of the season, I’m staying in L.A. I have plenty of money to retire early. Axel’s is just one of the many businesses I’ve invested in over the years.”
She tips her head up. “I’m not worried about your earning potential. I can always be your sugar mama.”
Laughter barks out of me.
“But I know how much you love hockey. I wouldn’t want you to give that up to stay in the L.A. area for me.”
“For us,” I murmur, pressing a slow kiss on her lips. “I don’t have to play in the NHL to have hockey in my life. There are local leagues. Hell, I’ve got a girlfriend with a brilliant hockey strategy brain; perhaps she and I will start a team for Axel’s.”
“You love me that much?” she whispers, her voice tentative.
“Yes.” Certainty punctuates my words.
