Page 104 of Forecheck
In one swift move, I was fully off my feet and swept into Brent’s arms as he moved us up the stairs to my room.
“I’ll show you promises,” he growled as he tossed me on the bed.
“Remember that comment about pulling me into a dark corner, tearing my dress open, and fucking me in it?”
Brent caught on without further explanation, and I quivered in anticipation as a predatory gleam spread across his eyes, hips lips tilting up into that wolfish, half-crazed smile I went feral for.
A moment later, the slit of my dress was ripped wider, the tatters of fabric pooling around my waist, and my man made good on his promise.
Mitch Smitch
In a few shortweeks, my law school graduation would serve as the culmination of my academic career. Everything I’d worked so hard to achieve over the last seven years was a diploma—and passing the Bar—away. Some days, I questioned whether this was the time to be in a serious relationship, especially with someone like Brent. Now that I was on the cusp of finally starting my own career, of becoming who I was meant to be, how much sense did it really make to be with someone who would always take the top spot in our relationship? I’d never imagined or wanted a life lived in the public eye. All I wanted was to help people, no public notoriety or recognition necessary, and Brent’s career and lifestyle was at odds with that.
But I loved him, and that kept me rooted in place. To walk away now would be to lose some intrinsic piece of myself, and I knew I wouldn’t survive it. I simply had to trust that, together, we could face anything and come out okay on the other side.
I smoothed my palms along the thighs of my jeans as I surveyed myself in the bedroom mirror. Maybe I was just having these thoughts because I was terrified of meeting his entirefamily tonight, who had come into town for game one of the playoffs.
With a deep breath that did nothing to steel my nerves, I headed downstairs to meet Lexie.
“Did someone go shopping in the big-kid section again?” she asked when she caught sight of my outfit. The jersey Brent had given me on Valentine’s Day hung to my knees, though I’d tucked in one side to hopefully lessen the impression that I was drowning in it. His number was on the chain around my neck and on my back. This jersey was armor for me. I felt most comfortable like this—safe, even—like I was wrapped in Brent’s arms.
“No,” I said, flipping her off. “Brent gave it to me. It’s game-worn.”
Lexie raised her eyebrows, then stepped closer and sniffed. “Really? Are you sure? It doesn’t smell like sweaty hockey equipment.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. He said he had it dry-cleaned.”
“Fair enough,” Lexie said. “Are you ready? We still have to walk to the People Mover.”
“Almost.”
In response to Lexie’s quizzical gaze, I walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of tequila from the freezer, holding it up to her. “Want one?”
Lexie laughed. “Have you met me?”
I chuckled with her. I had met her, and Lexie Monroe never said no to tequila.
I poured the shots and held mine up for a toast. “To surviving meeting the parents.”
“Here, here,” Lexie said, and we downed the alcohol.
“What do you think they’re going to be like?” I asked Lexie as we rode the elevator up to suite level at the arena, where Brent’s family awaited my arrival.
“His mother is probably going to hate you. You know, since you’re such a terrible person. And his dad is probably mean. But hey, at least Nate and Kenzie like you!”
I narrowed my eyes at my best friend. “You’re not helping. Plus I haven’t technically even met Kenzie.”
We’d FaceTimed a lot, though, mostly because she was shocked her big brother was in such a serious relationship, and she wanted to see me with her own eyes. After that…I’d taken a liking to the girl. She reminded me a lot of my little sister, and I secretly couldn’t wait for the day when those two met. I knew they’d be fast friends.
“Because you’re being insane!” Lexie exclaimed, turning me to face her and resting her hands on my shoulders. “You’re amazing, and there’s absolutely no reason why they won’t see that and adore you just like Brent does.”
“Well…I hope notquitelike Brent,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.
Lexie groaned. “You’re gross.”
“You love me.”
Lexie reached down and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I really do,” she told me. “And Brent’s family will, too.”
