Page 114 of Play Along With Me
"It would certainly distract from the stress," she argues. "No one can worry about power play percentages when confronting the fundamental meaninglessness of existence."
I laugh, once again struck by how perfectly Audrey's particular brand of chaos complements my structured approach to life. We shouldn't work—the professional athlete with his regimented routines and the free-spirited writer who considers "on time" to mean "within thirty minutes of the agreed meeting time." Yet somehow, we balance each other in ways I never could have anticipated.
"Come here," I say, tugging her onto my lap despite Mr. Darcy's disgruntled meow at being displaced. I frame her face with my hands, taking a moment to simply look at her—the woman who started as a fake girlfriend and somehow became the most real thing in my life.
"I am ridiculously in love with you," I tell her. "And I am ridiculously happy right now. With hockey, with us, with everything."
"Even with Mr. Darcy's fur all over your precious pre-game ritual clothes?" she asks, because she can never let a moment get too serious without interjecting humor.
"Even with that," I confirm. "I love our life. The one we're building together."
Something shifts in her expression then, the protective layer of humor falling away completely to reveal the depth of feeling she usually keeps carefully guarded.
"Me too," she says simply. "More than I ever thought possible."
I kiss her then, pouring everything I can't quite put into words into the connection between us—gratitude, joy, love, a promise of all the days to come. She responds with equal fervor, her fingers threading through my hair in that way that still sends electricity down my spine.
When we finally break apart, slightly breathless, Audrey rests her forehead against mine. "Congratulations, starting goalie. You did it."
"We did it," I correct her.
"Pretty sure I wasn't the one stopping pucks and signing contracts today."
"No," I agree. "But you're the reason it all matters beyond the game. You're home base, Audrey. The place I return to, win or lose."
Her eyes shine suspiciously bright as she leans in to kiss me again, softer this time but no less meaningful.
Outside our windows, Boston continues its evening rhythm—cars honking, people calling to each other, the distant wail of a siren. Inside, surrounded by the remnants of celebration and the woman I love, I feel a sense of completion that has nothing to do with professional achievements and everything to do with finding the perfect balance between the dream I've chased all my life and the one I never knew to look for until Audrey crashed into it.
Starting goaltender for the Boston Saints. Audrey's boyfriend. Both titles I wear with equal pride, equal gratitude, equal love.
Chapter 17
Five months. It's been five months since I walked into his life with a fictional diabetic cat and an elaborately improvised backstory. Five months of learning hockey terminology, adapting to road trips and game-day rituals, gradually intertwining my chaotic existence with his precisely ordered one. Five months of falling deeper into something I once would have run from but now can't imagine living without.
And today, seeing the culmination of his lifelong dream—was also my dream too. Somehow our hopes and desires have turned into one,mushed.
I reach for his hand and pulling him to his feet. Mr. Darcy cannot witness what we are about to do.
Jake's eyes darken as he stands, towering over me in that way that still makes my stomach flip, even after all these months. I rise onto my tiptoes, bringing my lips close to his but not quite touching.
"I thought we should have our own private celebration," I murmur against his mouth.
His hands find my waist, steadying me. "What did you have in mind?"
In answer, I close the gap between us, pressing my lips to his with urgency. There's nothing tentative about this kiss—it's all heat and purpose and barely contained desire. Jake responds immediately, his arms tightening around me, pulling me closer until I'm flush against him.
I've never been particularly shy about physical affection, but something about tonight—the magnitude of Jake's achievement, the certainty of our shared future, the sheer overwhelming rightness of us together—ignites a boldness that has me sliding my hands beneath his dress shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
"I am ridiculously proud of you," I whisper between kisses, my fingers working the buttons of his shirt. "And ridiculously turned on by your success. Is that weird?"
Jake laughs against my neck. "If it is, please continue being weird."
"It's just so hot." I push his shirt off his shoulders, taking a moment to appreciate the view—the broad chest and defined muscles that speak to years of athletic discipline, the small scars that tell stories of dedication and sacrifice. I press my lips to the surgical scar on his right side, tracing its path with feather-light kisses.
"I love your body," I tell him, enjoying the way his breath hitches when I move lower. "The physical evidence of everything you've worked for."
"Audrey," he groans, his hands tangling in my hair as I continue my exploration.
