Page 65 of Stick With Me
“Me? Never,” I mock. I’m my worst critic in most areas of my life, but in this one thing, I do feel pretty proud.
“Oh… do you need… you didn’t come,” she stammers.
“I did.” I shift to my side, showing her the mess I made of her comforter and my boxer briefs. “We’re going to have to clean your comforter.”
“Oh, you weren’t lying. You really do like it?”
“I’ll never lie to you, Sunshine. And yeah, with you, I love it.” I kiss her stomach before framing her body with mine, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss.
Last night was…fuck.
I look down at Hannah’s face, still relaxed in sleep. She’s cuddled up at my side. I’m not sure our bodies have separated since we got into bed last night—an arm draped over me or a foot tucked between my calves kept us connected throughout the night.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes deeply. Watching her sleep brings a small smile to my face. For a few minutes, I do nothing but admire her peaceful form before the panic sets in.What did last night mean? How can I make it happen again? Did she feel the same way I did?
The anxiety bubbling up now brings me back to the last time I had this feeling: when I first signed with the Saints. I’d spent years chasing my dream of playing professionally, facing rejection after rejection, and wondering if it would ever happen. When it finally did, I couldn’t fully trust it, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It’s all too familiar. The girl I fell for almost instantly six years ago, and have only fallen for more deeply as time has passed, is right here, closer than ever. She could finally be mine, and I’m willing to do anything not to lose her. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling of bracing for something to go wrong, as if I might not get what I want after all.
I could’ve eventually come to terms with not making it in hockey, but I really don’t think I can do the same with Hannah. Not again. Not when I’m this close.
But am I really close, or is this all still practice to her?I refuse to let my self-doubt fuck this up.
I drag myself out of Hannah’s bed and head for the kitchen. It’s too early for alcohol, so caffeine will have to do.
An hour later, after walking Fred and downing two cups of coffee, I’m still so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear Hannah enter the kitchen. When she comes up behind me and kisses my cheek, I nearly jump out of my seat.
“Hey, it’s just me. Why’re you so jumpy?”
I quickly recover, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her onto my lap, pressing a kiss to her exposed shoulder. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”
She laughs. “When are you not?”
I tickle her sides in retaliation, eliciting a burst of giggles as she wriggles.
As her laughter fades, so does pretending my world wasn’t completely upended last night.
She shifts off my lap and takes the stool next to me, her concern about last night slipping through her forced smile. “Should we talk about… the thing?”
“The thing?” I ask with humor to mask the storm of thoughts circling in my head. Is this when she tells me it shouldn’t have happened? Is she going to backpedal like she did the first time? My chest tightens, bracing for the inevitable, preparing for her to pull away again.
Her eyes narrow slightly, and the look she’s giving me says,cut the shit.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I’m too scared to voice the question that’s really on my mind: Do you regret it?
“We probably should, right?”
I nod, silently hoping she’ll take the lead, sparing me from facing truths I’m not ready to confront.Does she regret it?The question surfaces again, unhelpfully.
“Should we chalk it up to practice?” Her voice is steady but her eyes betraying a hint of uncertainty. I can’t quite read what she wants the answer to be.
Should we? It implies we can keep doing this, but it also makes it clear that it doesn’t have to mean anything. And it does mean something to me. But is she ready to hear that? I’m not sure, so I err on the side of caution.
“Sure, practice I wouldn’t mind repeating,” I joke, but the truth of the statement comes through in my tone.
She crosses her legs, her knees brushing against the side of my thigh.
“We were caught up in the moment,” she states.
