Page 34 of My Puckin' Luck
“You sure you want to put so much faith in me? My mother never has. I guess I haven’t given many other women a chance to.”
“Maybe it’s time you do. And believe that this woman right here isn’t like your mom and all the rest.”
“No, you’re not. And that’s one of the many reasons I’m…” I work my throat, hardly believe what I’m about to say. “Falling for you, Anastasia.”
“You are?” Her face splits with a smile from ear to ear. I hadn’t planned this out, or thought of what I would say. The natural flow of our conversation brings out the honest truth.
“Yeah. But the years are creeping up on me. Occasionally, I think I could push myself harder and wind up on a national team.” I glance down at my bottom dresser drawer, where I keep the memory of a woman who didn’t have the luxury of enough time on this planet. “Time flies, and I’m getting older. The rookies these days are faster and better than I was at their age.”
“I’ve seen you play, Saint. I know firsthand what kind of condition you’re in. With more work, you could make it onto a pro team.” Her hand on my cheek, she gives me more hope with her eyes than I deserve credit for.
“Is that what you want? A boyfriend who plays professionally?” I scoff.
“I didn’t say that. To me, it doesn’t matter what level you play or if you join the coaching staff or go do something else with your life. I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy—with you. As long as you don’t mind your boyfriend playing for the Puckers and earning the league’s notoriety for the most ice time,” I snort.
She grins at me, sheepishly, “Well, if I was thegirlfriendof a guy like that, I’d be proud as heck.”
“Sounds like we’re more than roommates, angel.” I kiss her nose.
“It sure does, doesn’t it?” She quirks an eyebrow at me.
“In that case…” I drop her down onto the bed and fish a white box out of my closet. “This is for you. Open it.”
She giggles. “More lingerie, I presume?”
I bring a shoulder to my ear, not saying a word, waiting for her reaction. When she pulls the lid off, the first thing on top is a Puckers jersey. Mine.
She gasps loudly, almost a squeal, holding her heart, her jaw on the floor. Pulling it out, she turns it over to the back and sees my name, St. James, with my number 68 prominent in the shades of the Puckers, of light and dark blue.
She gasps again, setting it aside and retrieving the other item beneath it. A sweatshirt with the big logo in middle that reads,Property of the Puckers.
“These are for me?” She asks, her eyes wide as saucers.
“Yep. Wear them proudly, angel.”
“Does this mean…?”
“You’re mine? Hell yeah it does.”
She screams and launches herself at me. We tumble back onto the bed, and she smooches my face everywhere. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
The door suddenly bursts open, and Storm and Misty stand there. Her scream must have roused her best friend awake. All Anastasia does is upright herself, and stand in the middle of the room, holding up the two items with a goofy grin on her face. Misty knows exactly what’s happening.
The two of them hug and scream and jump around, causing a ruckus. Storm and I plug our ears until they’re done. When it’s safe, he holds out his fist again and I bump it.
“About time, dude,” he chuckles. Our manly celebration is more low key.
“What’s going on? Everyone okay?” Nana worries from the hall, peeking in.
“Yep. Saint and Anastasia just changed their relationship status.” Storm puts his arm around her and takes her back to the kitchen.
“What does that mean?” I hear her ask, and smile to myself, watching the ongoing celebration in the middle of the bedroom.
“It’s official. You’re a WAG,” Misty cries. I’ve heard of the Wives and Girlfriends club. Every team has one, whether official or not. “I know you’re looking at us like we’re crazy, Saint.”
“No, I’m not. I’m used to crazy by now with you two as friends.” I laugh.
