Page 111 of Lucky Shot
His cheeks flush and I nearly swoon; I love when he gets shy. “I love you,” he says. “It’s like I feel… more like me when I’m with you, and it gives me the confidence to wear what I want to wear.”
He drags my hand to his pants and shoves them down. I laugh, but then groan when I feel the lace covering his ass. Pretty grins.
“You have no idea how much I love to dress for you,” he says quietly. “The way you look at me… Like I’m the only thing that exists.”
“Because you are,” I say, hugging him tightly to me. Not that I take my hand off his glorious ass cheek. That’s just sacrilege. “The world falls away and you’re the only other person I see.”
“I’m nervous,” he says, and I blink at him. Not sure where that came from. Or how it fits into this conversation. Pretty seemingly sees my confusion because he laughs. “I just mean… in a month, we’re going to be apart for ages. What if… you don’t want me when we next get together?”
“What if you don’t want me?” I counter.
Pretty rolls his eyes. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. It’s just as likely that you won’t want me as it is the other way around.”
“It’s not though. It’s impossible. You’re—I see what you just did there.”
I grin and kiss him. A peck that turns into something longer. “You want to talk about it now?”
“We’re just sitting at the train station, so… yeah. Kind of.”
Nodding, I bring him to the couch and pull him into my lap when I sit. “Tell me your concerns.”
“I think that there’s going to be a lot of pressure on us, and I don’t want it to get between us. We’re on rival teams.”
“Hockey is our job. It doesn’t affect our relationship,” I say.
“But what if it does?”
“We’ve been around each other a lot over the years, haven’t we?” Pretty nods. “And have the games we’ve faced off in ever affected the way we interact?”
Pretty shakes his head and sighs. “I guess… maybe I’m just unsure about the future. I know what I want, but I’m afraid that it’s all going to slip away.”
I lace my fingers with his and then wait until he’s looking at me. “Want to know what I plan?” He nods. “We’re going to play this year. You in Florida and me in Edmonton. Unless one of us gets traded, which I suppose could happen, though I don’t anticipate I’ll be traded.”
Pretty shakes his head. “Same. But who really knows?”
“Then I’m going to retire at the end of the year.”
His eyes widen and he shakes his head emphatically. “No. No, no, no. You can’t do that.”
I laugh. “Why can’t I do that?”
“Because I don’t want you to give up hockey for me. It could lead to resentment. It could—You’re still at the top of your game!”
“Shh,” I say, chuckling and pressing my lips to his to stop his rambling. “Do you know how old I am?”
Pretty’s eyebrows knit together. “Umm… Is this a trick question?”
“No. Do you know?”
He thinks about it and then shrugs. “Thirty?”
“I’m thirty-four.”
He nods, still not catching onto what I’m getting at. “I’m already old for this sport, Pretty. And I’d rather go out on my own terms instead of after my game starts to slacken. When I begin to get too slow to keep up with the younger guys.” I tug gently on a strand of his hair and he smirks. “I don’t want to be forced into retirement because of an injury either. I’ve had a good run. Including two Stanley Cups under my belt—"
“Wait. With who? Chicago, right?” Pretty asks.
