The Good Luck Charm

by Helena Hunting

“So much.” He flips me over, edging his way between my thighs. “But I do think I need some heat therapy.”

  I snort a laugh that quickly turns into a groan as he rolls his hips.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, we’re stretched out on the couch again, mostly undressed and covered in a blanket, watching a replay of Ethan’s last game against New York, which they lost.

  Ethan rewinds a play for the third time so he can pick apart where he went wrong.

  “You don’t have to be perfect, Ethan. It’s okay to make mistakes.”

  He kisses my forehead. “I know. I prefer when I learn from them and don’t make them again. I don’t like that my game isn’t as good when we don’t have home ice advantage.”

  He plays best in Minnesota, and it gets to him when he makes what he considers rookie mistakes. “What do you think the difference is?”

  He fiddles with the charm on my bracelet. “I don’t know. Comfort maybe? Confidence?”

  I push up off his chest so I can look at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you think maybe you expect not to do as well, so you don’t?”

  He sighs. “I’ve considered that, yeah.”

  I pull the blanket around my shoulders, shivering at the loss of direct body heat. “And what are your thoughts?”

  “That there has to be some truth to it.”

  “And you think picking apart your mistakes will make you play better?”

  “Probably not.” He nabs the remote from the coffee table and shuts the TV off. “I need this to be a good season.”

  “It’s turning out to be your best since you played for LA,” I remind him.

  “So far.”

  I poke him in the chest. “Stop doing that to yourself.”

  He grabs my hand and threads his fingers through mine. “Christ. I’m exactly like my dad, aren’t I? Always looking for a black cloud to stand under.”

  I laugh. “Hardly. I think you get nervous about away games and then you get all up inside your head and start picking things apart.”

  “It’d be great if you could come with me.” He lifts my knuckles to his lips.

  “I have this thing called a job.” I try to make light of it, worried about the heaviness seeping into this conversation and weighing down his mood.

  “I know, but you make everything so much easier.”

  “It’s not like I can be out there on the ice with you.”

  “But you’d be with me. You could come to the practice, the game, and then you’d be there after.”

  “When would I get studying in?”

  “You could do it during practice. Or whenever you need the time. It’d just be nice to know I’m starting and ending my day with you.”

  “Don’t you have a roommate? How awkward would that be?”

  Ethan’s eyes darken. “I’d get us our own room.”

  “That would probably be for the best. You’re not great at quiet sex.” I’m teasing now, mostly to lighten up his somber mood.

  His eyebrows rise. “Me? You give Merk an anxiety attack every time I go down on you.”

  I grin. “You love the praise.”

  “Damn right I do.” He shifts around, until he can move me to straddle his lap.

  “It’s only five days—you can handle it.”

  “Five days is nothing.” Ethan wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a tight hug, lips against my temple. I sink into the embrace, aware this simple affection is soon going to grow heated again.

  Away series mess with Ethan’s pregame routines, which have come to very much include me. When he’s home, he stays over the night before his games. If he has a chance before he leaves for the pregame skate, he’ll stop by my work and steal a few good luck kisses and a butt squeeze. At times I wonder if I’m contributing to his anxiety by encouraging this, but it’s nice to feel so necessary and needed.

  When he’s on the road, we’re forced to communicate through text messages and occasional video chats, but those are rare since a roommate is often around.

  His away games allow me to balance the demands of work and school. I do the bulk of my course work when he’s out of town, and as much as I miss him, I need the time. Even still, my marks aren’t where I’d like them to be, since I’m also trying to catch up on missed sleep in his absence. But when he’s home, it’s hard to say no to him. It often feels like we’re making up for not only the time he’s away, but the past eight years, too.

  Regardless of his apparent devotion to me, the shadows of past insecurities breed anxiety, especially with how relentless the puck bunnies are now that he’s getting so much more ice time and drawing media attention. It doesn’t matter that I’m very clearly his girlfriend. Even when he plays in Minnesota and I’m with him, they’re always on him, looking to take selfies and fawn.

  I see now, in a way I never would’ve been able to back when he was first drafted, how difficult this would’ve been for us. Especially with him being in LA that first year.

  Martin was right, even if inadvertently. Breaking up was the only logical answer. So I try not to think about the end of this season and the uncertainty that brings.

  Eventually Ethan murmurs, “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

  I don’t argue. It’s late. He has to be up early. More than that, bed means more closeness and connection—the kind he needs from me to get him through the coming days. The kind I need, too.

  At five in the morning I’m woken by Ethan hovering over me, dragging my boxers down my legs—well, they’re actually his boxers, and his plan is to take them with him. It’s an odd quirk leftover from his high school days. I writhe as his fingers tickle my ribs while pushing up the shirt. “I’m taking this with me, too.”

  “Figured,” I mumble, still half-asleep—at least until his head disappears under the shirt and his lips cover a bare nipple. He kisses his way across my chest, pushing the shirt over my head so he can continue the path up my neck, his body stretched out over mine.

  “I want to love you before I go.” He fits himself between my legs.

  “I like it when you love me.”

  So he does, with soft reverence that fills my heart. I wish that feeling wouldn’t disappear as soon as he walks out the door.

  * * *

  We survive the next five days and the five after that. Days bleed into each other and turn into weeks. Finals for my first course come and go. The holidays sneak up on us, and I spend Christmas Eve with Ethan’s family and volunteer at a women’s shelter with my sister on Christmas Day, something we’ve done for years. Ethan leaves early the following day for an away series and doesn’t come back until New Year’s Day. Not that it matters—I work New Year’s Eve in the pediatric unit.

  My final grade for my course comes in early January. I pass, but not with the kind of marks I’m accustomed to, or what I used to receive during nursing school. It’s been four years since I’ve taken college classes, and stats aren’t exactly my best subject. I have a full-time job and a life. But I know those are not excuses. I didn’t put the time in the way I should have; I was too focused on Ethan and our relationship. We feel stable, so I promise myself I’ll do better in second semester.

  But as January dissolves into February and my second stats course is well under way, I’m not so sure I’m keeping that promise, considering the grades on my last two assignments have been mediocre at best. I’m currently lying on Ethan’s couch when I probably should be studying.

  “Come with me this weekend,” he says suddenly.

  I laugh and push my fingers through his hair, trying to keep it from tickling my chest and neck.

  He lifts his head. “I’m serious. Fly out to Chicago with me. Just two days. It’ll make the time pass quicker. Ten days is too long to go without you.”

  “I have a midterm on Tuesday that I need to study for.”

  “You can study on the plane. And in the hotel room when I’m at practice. Come on, Lilah, please?” He rests his chin between my breasts a
nd blinks his wide, sad eyes. His hair is a mess, lips dark and full from so much kissing.

  I cover his face with my spread fingers so I can’t see his puppy dog eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “I want you with me. It’s one weekend. You’ve never been to an away game. We hardly had any time together over the holidays. Finals will be coming up before long and we’re playing well. My dad is way better. Mom will be okay on her own with him for a couple of days.”

  He’s right. In the past few months, Martin’s speech has improved significantly, the words coming faster and smoother, although never as smooth as they were. And he’s walking with the assistance of a cane, rather than a walker.

  I don’t want to say no to Ethan. I want to be there with him, because I love being able to support him, and I miss him when he’s gone. But on the other hand, I can’t just drop everything. I have a job and I’m legitimately concerned about this course. The midterm is worth 30 percent of the final grade. If I don’t do well on this, it could hurt my chances at making it into the master’s program, and then it would be another year before I could apply again. Ethan’s already succeeded at his dream—he’s living it. This is mine and it’s what I’m good at. I don’t want to lose that.

  When my silence drags on, no commitment either way, his eyes go soft and pleading. “This game is important. Please.” He plays with my bracelet, fingering the hockey stick charm, symbolic of so much more than just his love of the game. He’s almost obsessive about me wearing it.

  “If I come, you have to respect that I’ll need time to study. This course is important to me like hockey is important to you.”

  “I know that. I want you to do well. I promise I’ll give you whatever time you need—just come with me.”

  The look on his face and his pleading break me down and make me give in to him, even though I know I shouldn’t. “Okay. But only for the weekend. I can’t take time off work.”

  The smile that lights up his face is so stunningly beautiful, I’m convinced this is the best idea in the world.

  * * *

  Two nights later I’m standing in the middle of the crowded hotel bar among Ethan and his teammates, celebrating their win against Chicago.

  “Shots!” his teammate Josh yells and passes one over his shoulder to Ethan. “You, too, princess.” He hands me one as well.

  Ethan throws a glare his way and I laugh. “What is this?” I sniff the amber liquid.

  “Just drink it.” Josh clinks his shot glass against mine and then Ethan’s before tipping his head back and draining it in a single gulp. He follows it up with wide eyes and a violent shake of his head. “I need another one of those!”

  Josh turns back to the bar and Ethan’s slightly glassy gaze finds mine, a small smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. “You want me to do it for you?”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea if you’re planning on scoring goals off the ice tonight.”

  His grin widens. He scored twice tonight—on the ice. It’s his best away-game performance so far, and against his former teammates, at that, so he’s riding a serious high, and people keep feeding him shots. He tips back his glass and drains the liquid, then wraps an arm around my waist. He’s wearing a suit and a tie with his team logo on it. He looks incredibly sexy and he’s cocky as hell tonight. He dips his head, nose skimming along the edge of my jaw, lips following until they’re at my ear. “Oh, I plan to score, all right.”

  He flattens his palm against my low back, bringing me flush against him so I can feel what his suit jacket is hiding. “I can’t wait to get you back to the room.”

  “You think you’ll be able to perform by then?”

  His hand eases lower, giving my bottom a squeeze. “You questioning my stamina, baby? I think we both know I’m more than capable of taking care of you.”

  “Stop manhandling your girl, Kase.” Josh elbows him in the side and hands him another shot. “Drink up, princess.” He passes me another, too, and gives me a conspiratorial wink with a head nod to Ethan. “Pisses him off when I call you that, doesn’t it?”

  “Seems that way.” I down one shot and then the other, coughing on the back end. Those were definitely not broken-down golf carts. “What the hell was that?”

  “Liquid cocaine.”

  “What?” My panic over the nonsense idea that they legitimately serve cocaine in liquid form at a bar is short-lived.

  “Jägermeister, Goldschläger, and peppermint schnapps—heavy on the Jäger, though.” Josh laughs and slaps Ethan on the back. “You’re gonna be a mess tomorrow morning, my man.”

  He pulls me into his side. “I plan to work it off later.”

  “Oh my God.” I duck out from under his arm, my cheeks flushing. “I need to use the bathroom. Please give him some water before you feed him more shots,” I say to Josh.

  “Wait.” Ethan grabs my hand and yanks me back into him. Taking my face between his palms, he tips my head back and covers my mouth with his. He tastes like cinnamon as his tongue sweeps my mouth. He’s on such a high from the win. I can only imagine how voracious he’s going to be when we get back to the room. I can hardly wait. He breaks the kiss, eyes hot. “Don’t be gone long.”

  “I’ll just be a minute.” I’m actually several minutes because there’s a line for the bathroom.

  Women in tight dresses and team gear primp in front of the mirror, talking players and who they want to hook up with. Someone mentions Ethan’s name and another woman says something about him having his girlfriend with him while I’m hidden in the stall. They make a joke I miss because of a flushing toilet, but their bitchy laughter fades as they leave.

  I check out my own appearance. I’m in a pair of jeans and a Minnesota T-shirt. I’m not particularly sexy. I didn’t have Carmen to help me with my hair or makeup. And I’m definitely a little drunk. Or maybe more than a little. Those shots are hitting me and so is the insecurity, all of a sudden. Ethan has eight more days on the road after this. Without me.

  I leave the bathroom and make my way through the crowd, back to the bar and Ethan. I finally spot him, talking to some dark-haired exotic-looking woman. She’s wearing a slinky black dress and sky-high heels that accentuate her ample curves and long, toned legs. She looks like a goddamn swimsuit model.

  I mutter excuse me and push through the crowd, slipping my arm around his waist and tucking myself into his side. “Hey, baby, sorry I took so long.”

  Tall and Exotic glances at me, a small smirk curving her very-full lips. One of her perfectly plucked and shaped eyebrows lifts and her nose crinkles. “Is this a fan of yours, Ethan?”

  I mirror the raised brow and the condescending smirk. “His biggest.” I look up at Ethan, whose expression is slightly panicked. Oh, this should be interesting. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Ethan?” I ask sweetly.

  He wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes—maybe a warning, maybe a reassurance; I have no idea—but I don’t like the way she’s looking at him or how awkward this has become. “Lilah, this is Selene. She’s, uh, a friend.” His throat bobs with a nervous swallow. “Selene, this is my girlfriend, Lilah.”

  Selene’s smug smile drops and she blinks, eyes darting from Ethan to me and back again. “Oh. I didn’t realize.” She smooths a hand over her hip. “I thought…” She shakes her head and offers me a palm. “It’s so nice to meet you—Lisa, is it?”

  “Lilah.” I grip her hand firmly.

  “So sorry. It’s so loud in here.” She motions to the noisy crowd. “Well, Ethan, it was so nice to see you again. Congratulations again on the win.” She turns her fake smile on me. “It was nice to meet you, Lilah.” She seems to want to hug Ethan, but since I have no intention of letting him go, she’s forced to wave and walk away.

  As soon as she’s gone I turn to Ethan. “Who the fuck was that?”

  “She’s just a friend.” He runs his palms down my arms.

  “She looks like a damn swimsuit model.”

>   Ethan makes a face.

  “Oh my God. Is she a swimsuit model?”

  “She did a few shoots for Sports Illustrated,” he mumbles as if he doesn’t want me to hear.

  I prop a fist on my hip and ask, probably louder than I should, “Have you slept with her?”

  He glances around. “Maybe we should go up to the room.”

  I snap my jaw shut and my nostrils flare. He’s definitely slept with her. I’ve never considered myself a jealous person, but dear God, that woman is the epitome of physical perfection. And Ethan has seen her naked. Probably more than once based on the look on his face. I spin around and start making my way through the thick crowd lining the bar.

  “Princess, where ya goin’?” Josh yells after me.

  “Lilah.” Ethan’s fingers wrap around my wrist and he drops his head so it’s close to my ear. “Calm down, baby. I’ll explain when we’re upstairs. There are too many people taking pictures and shit here.”

  I clench my teeth, wanting to defy him, but seeing his point. I allow him to lace our fingers and lead me through the crowd. It’s simultaneously easier and more difficult since people move out of his way, but he’s stopped several times to chat.

  When we finally make it to the elevators, we have to wait, and several people get in with us, a few of whom recognize Ethan and want autographs. I back into the corner and keep a placid smile on my face while I watch the numbers on the elevator. I step out around Ethan, who quickly says goodbye and follows after me. Neither of us says a thing while he opens the door and motions me in ahead of him.

  I stalk across the lavish penthouse suite he booked for the weekend—definitely not covered by the team—and drop my purse on the couch. I spin around and cross my arms over my chest. “You fucked a swimsuit model.” I don’t even want to think about him being with her the way he is with me. Two physically perfect people having sex with each other. It makes me want to claw her eyes out. Or chop off her perfect, silky hair.

  Ethan unbuttons his suit and blows out a breath. “Lilah—”

  “Was it just a hookup? Did you date her?”

  “We went out a few times at the end of last season.” He shrugs out of his jacket as he crosses the room, tossing it over the arm of the couch.