Kissing Micky (Washington Guardians Hockey Book 1)

by Ellen Devlin

  “Really.” She looked at him. “That was a confident move, McCullin.”

  “No.” He laughed, and she looked confused. “Actually, I figured the odds were that you would leave. After that I was going to go to the hotel bar and drink until I couldn’t stand. The room was for me. I was trying to be responsible. I figured even my roommates wouldn’t want me home at that point. Better to sleep it off here.”

  She winced. “Oh.”

  He kissed the top of her head and whispered into her hair, “I’m so glad you stayed.”

  She smiled at him, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  Steering him toward the elevator, Liz said, “Okay, then, let’s go get you into clean clothes. I can’t say from experience, but I imagine that’s just gotta feel weird.”

  Tom laughed, put his arm around her, and walked her to his room.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Liz curled up in the room’s one comfortable chair, tucking one leg under her and propping her other foot on the seat, and called Paige, who picked up almost before the phone rang.

  “Please don’t be mad. How did it go? Are you mad? Are you still there? Is he still there? Did you leave? Where are you? Are you all right? Did you listen to him? Did he tell you? About everything? I’m so sorry, Liz! I’m dying! Please tell me what happened!”

  “Oh my God, Paige, breathe.”

  “I’m breathing.”

  “You weren’t.”

  “Tell me!”

  “I’m still here. He’s still here. And I’m very, very not mad at you.” Liz heard her friend exhale in relief.

  “Thank you. I’m still really angry at him on your behalf, just to be clear.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, let me talk to Micky for a second.”

  “He’s just taking a quick shower; he should be out in a minute,” Liz said without thinking. Shit.

  “What? Liz, where are you? Exactly?”

  “Um, someplace with a shower?”

  “Are you kidding me, Liz? Are you in a room at the hotel?”

  “…maybe?”

  “I don’t know whether to laugh or yell at you.”

  Liz laughed at her friend and said, “Well, to be fair, he…” She trailed off. Tom walked out of the bathroom, wet hair slightly tousled, one small towel over his shoulder, another towel tucked around his hips. Liz stared and whispered in a small voice, “Holy crap.”

  Paige was talking on the other end, “Liz. Liz! What’s going…wait. Did he just get out of the shower? He did, didn’t he? Damn it.”

  Tom looked over and smiled, asking, “Is that Paige?”

  Liz just kept staring, letting her eyes flow over Tom’s body as he walked over to her. They lingered on his broad chest, small water droplets still clinging to some of the soft hair, and tracing down to his toned abs, and the angles of his hips, lingering again on the trail of hair that dipped down underneath the towel.

  Tom took the phone out of her hand, looked at it briefly, and said, “Hi, Paige, and thank you.”

  “Let me guess: You’re standing there in a towel, and she has lost the power of speech. Do I need to send more nametags?”

  He laughed and said, “No, don’t send extra nametags. I’m kinda liking her at a loss for words. This is new.” He took a step to the side to dodge a half-hearted swat from Liz.

  Paige said, “Micky?”

  “Yeah?”

  She hesitated a moment and then said quietly, “Tom?”

  He blinked, surprised, not sure he had ever heard Paige use his given name before. Pausing a moment in understanding, he replied, “I promise, Paige. I swear.” He heard the call disconnect and tossed the phone on the bed.

  Liz uncurled from the chair, stood up, and stretched. “You need to get dressed, handsome. And not out here, much as I would love that view.”

  “You sure about that?” Tom asked playfully, with a hand poised at the knot of the towel.

  She gave him a small smile. “I’m sure. As much as I enjoyed our rooftop interlude,” she closed her eyes for a moment, “and I cannot stress enough how much I enjoyed that,” she looked back at him again, “this is going to take me some time. The last few months have been rough. The last few days have been…” Her voice wavered slightly, and her brows creased together for a moment.

  She took a deep breath, opened her eyes too wide, blinked a few too many times, and said quickly with a half laugh, “Well, they’ve just sucked ass.” And then added, “Fuck,” under her breath, wiping away the stray tears that had snuck out.

  Tom had an aching knot in his chest that felt too large to fit in his body. He was next to her in one stride, wrapped his arms around her, kissed her on the top of her head, murmuring, “I’m so sorry.”

  She pushed at his chest. “Clothes first. Then comforting.”

  He grabbed his duffle bag and headed to the bathroom to get changed. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to look at her, his face suddenly anxious. “Please be here when I get out.”

  She smiled, looking tired. “I will be here. I promise.”

  He came out from the bathroom less than two minutes later, wearing jeans and just finishing pulling a t-shirt over his head. “Okay to comfort now?” he asked.

  “Definitely.”

  Liz walked over and leaned against his chest with a sigh, wrapping her arms around his back. Tom put his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin, stroking her hair and back. “I am so sorry, Liz,” he said.

  “I know,” she mumbled against his chest.

  “I have to keep saying it. I don’t want you to think I’m taking this second chance for granted. Not for a minute. I don’t deserve this.” His arms tightened around her, and it was his turn to blink a few too many times.

  He heard, “Well, you are a bastard,” from somewhere around the middle of his chest.

  He kissed the top of her head and said, “Yes, definitely. And an idiot.”

  She pulled her head back and looked up at him. “Yes.”

  Loosening his arms from around her, he cupped her face with both of his large hands, looked into her blue eyes, slightly brighter than usual from tears, and said, “And I love you, Liz.” He kissed her very gently on the lips, then on the forehead, and pulled her back into his chest to hold her for a few more minutes.

  After a while, she sighed and stepped back from him. He loosened his arms and asked, “Can I drive you home? I know you took a cab here.” He started gathering his things, getting ready to leave.

  “I’d like that. You may even walk me to my door,” she said with a smile.

  He stopped to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear and gave her a little lopsided grin. “Would a good night kiss be pushing my luck?”

  “You may kiss me goodnight on my doorstep,” she replied with a small smile. “I believe that will be safe.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Do you not remember our first kiss? I felt like I was eighteen and about to lose my mind, and I had barely touched you.”

  “Of course I remember. That’s why I said on my doorstep. Under no circumstances are you to come inside my apartment tonight. In fact, I might have to institute some sort of ‘six inches of space between us’ rule.”

  He grinned and turned to follow her out the door. As she got to the hallway, he bent his head down to say quietly into her ear, “Six inches wouldn’t be enough.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Throughout the rest of July and most of August, they dated. Really dated. He came to her office and they went to lunch. He met her friends. Tom picked her up at her apartment and they went out—to the movies, to dinner, to look at the monuments, to a concert at Wolf Trap, to museums. And of course, out with Chris and Paige for double dates. For real.

  And they talked, finally, about everything. All the topics they had instinctively avoided, or mostly avoided, as being too personal during the entire first year they had known each other. There were so many things Liz would have naturally talked a
bout with any of her other friends that just…hadn’t seemed to ever come up in conversation with Tom before, either because they felt somehow out of place in their relationship or because they were too busy doing other things with their time together to worry about talking.

  And after their dates, Tom walked her to her apartment door, and they kissed goodnight. They only kissed. They stood slightly apart, one of his hands tangled in her hair, the other on her hip, one of her hands on his chest, the other around his back, or maybe touching the hair at the back of his neck, and they kissed. A lot. Long, slow, deep kisses that neither one wanted to end, that left both of them with racing pulses and bodies flooded with desire.

  Liz hadn’t been ready for him to be back in her bed, not yet, no matter how much her body would protest otherwise, and Tom was not going to push her. He spent a great deal of time in those weeks becoming intimately reacquainted with his right hand.

  They were nearing the end of the summer off-season and the beginning of training camp. Tom walked Liz to her door, helping her finish the last of the ice cream cone they had shared while walking in one of the local parks. The sharing of the cone had become messy, and flirty, with licking involved, and they were both laughing. Tom grabbed her hand, held it still, stole the last bite of cone, and licked the ice cream from her palm, then placed a kiss in the middle of her palm and looked at her.

  Her eyes were dancing with laughter, and she said, “Seriously? The very last bite of cone? You’re a creep.”

  He licked her finger. “I like ice cream.” He licked another finger. “Always have. I can’t believe we haven’t had this conversation before.” He licked a third finger more slowly, becoming less playful. “I can’t be trusted around ice cream.”

  Looking at her hand for a moment, he turned it over palm side down and then moved his thumb to gently press apart her middle and ring fingers. With a sexy little half smile on his face, and the most enticing bedroom eyes she could imagine, he kissed her on the side of her ring finger, by her nail, and slowly and gently ran his tongue up between her fingers until his tongue was nestled where her fingers joined her hand. He kissed her there, with a tiny bit of suction, and a completely unnecessary flick of his tongue that made her jump and gasp.

  “Your hands are sticky.” Her voice sounded distant even to her.

  He kissed the inside of her wrist, where he felt her pulse with his lips and tongue. “Yes.”

  “You could come in and wash up.”

  Tom looked up from her wrist with surprise and said, “Are you sure, Liz?” He could suddenly feel hear his own pulse thundering in his ears. He was pushing the teasing and playing tonight but hadn’t even hoped that she would invite him in. They both knew where things would end up once he walked through that door.

  She stepped closer to him, got up on her toes, put her arms around his shoulders, pressed her face into his neck, and breathed him in. “God, you smell so good. Did I ever tell you, that very first night, when we were on my couch, and you were going to ‘not take advantage of me,’ all I could think was if I don’t have sex with this guy I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life? Come inside, Tom.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The players came off the ice and back into the locker room after practice, sweaty and joking around. They had just finished the first full week of training camp. It was good to be back to work again after the off season, and spirits were high. All was well in Tom’s world; this did not go unnoticed by his teammates.

  “Hey, Mick,” he heard from across the room. It was one of their centers. “I noticed that you tied your skates and used the right end of the stick today. You must be getting laid.”

  “Fuck you too!” he yelled back as he took off his skates.

  The team’s top goalie swatted him in the back of the head as he walked toward the showers. “You actually look like you remember how to skate again. Definitely getting laid. Finally get your head out of your ass?”

  “Seriously?” Tom said, getting up to stow his gear and head for the showers. “Are there no rookies around here for you guys to screw with?”

  A heavy Russian accent from the other side of him called out, “Don’t mess with him too much. He’s back together with Liz.”

  Tom turned around and looked at the big right-winger, who was also team captain. “Out of curiosity, what would make you say that?” A chorus of good-natured ah-ha’s, see-I-told-you’s, and a few whistles followed his question.

  The big Russian said, “You are better with her. Better player. Better person. You are skating good, you are smiling, you are with her.” He shrugged and walked past Tom.

  Chris briefly caught Tom’s eye, grinning. Tom shook his head, grabbed his phone, and sent a quick text.

  Tom: B at playr door

  ***

  As requested, Liz was waiting for Tom outside the players’ entrance after practice. His request had been surprising—she had been waiting at her car. Tom had ridden to practice with Chris so Liz and Tom could go out.

  When the players started coming out, a few of them nudged each other and laughed after waving and saying hi. The waving and greeting was normal, as she knew a lot of them; the nudging not so much. When Tom came out, he dropped his gear bag, put his hands on either side of her face, and began to kiss her quite thoroughly.

  Enthusiastic cheers, whistles, and catcalls came from his teammates. He moved his arms around her waist and picked her up, and she put her arms around his neck. He put her back down on her feet but continued the kiss. The cheers turned to laughter and shouts of “Get a room!” with a few calls of things like “You can do better, Liz!” thrown in. By the time he had put her feet back on the ground, Tom had stopped listening to his teammates, lost in his inability to kiss her enough.

  She laughed and smiled when he finally let her go. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?”

  “You’re not a secret. We are not a secret. I didn’t intend for us to be, but in a fascinating turn of events, my teammates all decided that we must be together because, apparently, if I’m happy and skating well, it means I’m getting laid. By you.”

  Her eyes got wide. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I believe the exact quote was, ‘You are skating good, you are smiling, you are with her,’” he said in his best Russian imitation.

  “I could pretend I’m not pleased, but that would be such a lie,” she said as they walked hand in hand to her car. There was still an occasional hoot as a latecomer filtered out of the practice rink. “But I’m glad you’re skating well. And I’m glad we get a little time tonight. It’s going to be hard to give you back to the team for the season.”

  “Whoa, whoa, not so fast. According to my teammates, I’m going to have to get laid on a very regular basis to keep up my on-ice performance. This is important for my career, Liz.”

  “Oh, well, that’s different, of course. Anything for your career, sweetheart.” They got to her car, and she turned to face him, stepped close, pressed her hand firmly into his crotch, and whispered, “You know how much I love watching you play.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tom had a sudden thought. “What are you going to wear?”

  “Gotta ‘Rock the Red!’” she said cheerfully, grabbing him around the waist and looking up at him. “I’m so excited, hon. God, I can’t wait for this game. Freaking Pittsburgh.” It was the first game of the year against their arch-rivals, at home, and Tom had gotten her a ticket to sit with the other wives and girlfriends. He knew she would love being there, and it would be the first time for her to be his “official” date.

  “Yes, but what exactly?”

  She said, “Well, my home jersey is one of Chris’s.” Tom’s jaw set. “Sorry,” she said, smiling, remembering his family traditions. “‘Sweater.’”

  “No,” he said. “God damn it.” Liz was taken aback by the vehemence of his response. “Becks’ wife can wear his fucking sweater. I don’t want you wearing anyone else’s sweater, ever
.”

  She was surprised by how upset he was.

  “I have an away sweater with no number or name. I can wear that one.”

  “No! Fuck. You can’t sit with the other WAGs and not be wearing my number!” He started pacing around her apartment.

  “Tom.” She caught up with him. “Tom.” She put her hand on his arm. “Tom!” He finally stopped and looked at her. “It’s okay. There’s a couple of things we can do about this. I’m going to list them. You tell me what works, all right? Because you’re kind of freaking me out, so I need to figure this out in my head before we go any further. I will handle this however you want.”

  Tom looked at her, blue eyes stormy.

  Her heart skipped and not in a good way. He wasn’t just upset, he was angry, and she didn’t understand. This felt like a fight. She had been to home games before while he had been playing in DC, but since their relationship had been a secret, she had never been sitting with the wives and girlfriends. And he had certainly never asked her what she was wearing to the game; he never saw her while she was there.

  Tom looked pissed, and anxiety flooded her system. There was no way she was going to let him leave for the rink like this. She took a deep breath.

  “Here are options. Whatever choice helps you play tonight, Tom. This is your job. I will be fine. Got it?”

  He met her eyes, scowled, but agreed.

  “Choice one, I stay home—shut up while I run through the choices,” she interrupted his angry protest. “Choice two, I go to the game, no sweater. Choice three, and here’s where you are reminded that you are dating a genius,” she said, trying to sound a little lighter, “I just go a little early and hit the team store and get one of yours to wear…shit, why are you still looking angry?” She had really hoped she could diffuse the situation by giving him a way out and then using humor. But if anything, he looked more pissed off than before.