Page 51 of Pucker Up
“Goldie?” I called again, hoping that I had somehow missed her. Of course, there was no response and I sauntered over to the door where she’d taken off her boots. The only evidence that she’d been there was a small bit of dried road salt on the floor.
I couldn’t believe she’d left without saying goodbye, but a snippet of our conversation played in my brain. We were keeping this thing between us a secret—for now.
My bedroom smelled like vanilla and sex. I tucked the corner of the sheet under the mattress and noticed a note on my nightstand. She printed in lowercase letters,
ace,
i didn’t want to wake you up. i have sessions all day today. for your game against miami, you will need to do the michigan.
xo goldie
p.s. morton will be jealous that i got to see you.
Wednesday wasour away game in Miami. Why was she telling me to practice the fucking Michigan? I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead.
The bet.
My heart sank. I wanted Goldie to be right so I could lose and bury face in her sweet pussy the next time we were together. The Michigan was a trick shot. A gimmick. It wasn’t something I would ever attempt in a game.
I set the note down on the nightstand and went into the bathroom to start the shower. Just thinking about eating Goldie had turned my morning semi into an oak tree—total hardwood. My thoughts ran to our night together and her eyes looking up at me from behind those cat-eye glasses.
Gripping my shaft, I shot my load onto the wall of my shower after only a few pulls. I used the hand-held showerhead torinse off the tiles. My stomach churned. The hangover from hell wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
I hoped that Goldie was feeling better than me. As I washed my hair, I wondered how her day was going. What players was she interviewing? Did she go home to walk Morton? Did she regret what we did last night?
I’d never been so into a woman before. I wished that I could be out in the cold, walking Morty with her. I wanted to strut down the street with my arm slung over her shoulder. I wanted the cameraman at the arena to zoom in on her while the onscreen text read,Ace Bailey’s girlfriend.
We had to keep this secret for now, but I didn’t like it.
My stomach cramped and I clamped my hand over my mouth. The hot water was making me nauseous. I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and turned the temperature to cold, while I tried to figure out how to convince one of my linesmen to do something totally stupid: practice the Michigan.
It wasn’t going to work, but I was going to do it—for her.
NINETEEN
GOLDIE
I wasn’t goingto be able to see Ace until after he got back from Miami. Keeping busy was the only way I could get through the day without thinking about the night we’d spent together. He had sent some cute texts, and relied heavily on the use of GIFs, which I thought was cute. Throughout the days we were apart, I found myself smiling at my phone. When I told him that I was compiling data from the studies, he sent a cat typing furiously on a keyboard.
Tuesday morning, Morton and I trekked through a foot of fresh snow to the main house to have breakfast with my dad before he left for Miami. “Good morning, Dad,” I shouted as we stepped inside.
Morton trotted over to the bowls that Dad kept in the kitchen, slurped some water, and then made himself comfy on the living room sofa. “Morty,” I hissed. “Get down off there. You’re wet.”
My dog looked at me like he didn’t understand a word I was saying.
Dad came down the stairs, his tie loose around his neck. “It’s okay. I put that blanket down just for him. The housekeeper washes it every time she comes, so it’s only medium stinky.”
“Dad.” I shook my head. “You were the one who said that dogs were not allowed on the couch.”
My father shrugged and had a guilty look on his face. “He’s getting older and needs someplace comfy to sit.”
“He’s five.” I put my hands on my hips. “Wait a minute…” I pushed my dad aside and ran up the stairs to his bedroom. A blanket that matched the one on the sofa was spread across the foot of his bed.
“When did you become such a softie?” I called down the stairs and then met him at the kitchen island. Our hockey namesake dogs had been treated well, but they were never allowed on the furniture and definitely were not permitted on the beds. I’m pretty sure that Gretzky used to sneak up onto the couch after everyone went to bed, but he was always smart enough to return to his own before anyone got up for the day.
“I guess that happens when you get old.” Dad kissed me on the cheek. “Are you going to be all right while I’m away? I’m going to leave the keys to my car. Please take it; the streets are going to be a mess with all of this snow.”
I was twenty-five years old and my dad was still nervous about going out of town. “I’ll be fine and I’ll keep an eye on the house for you.”
