by June Winters
“Me too.”
“Thanks for making our condo look like nice, by the way. It looks like actual humans live there now.”
“You're so welcome!” I patted his cheek. “So … I guess this is it?”
“Until next week,” he said.
“Next week,” I agreed.
We shared one last goodbye kiss, our tender lips so juicy, sweet and yet mournful.
And then I had to tear myself out of his strong arms.
Ryan stood and watched through the glass partition as I made my way through security. Before I disappeared from view, we gave each other one last bittersweet smile and reluctant wave.
I mouthed the words: next week.
He mouthed back: can't wait.
Chapter 33
A Little More Hockey
Ella
One week later.
The crowd at Madison Square Garden gnashed their teeth and groaned, but I cheered as Ryan and Lance and the rest of the Brawlers on the ice celebrated another goal with a group hug. The Brawlers were dismantling the hometown New York Scouts, and it was all because of Ryan and Lance's spectacular play together.
Ryan spotted me in the front row, skated by, and gave me a wink. With butterflies in my stomach, I blew him a kiss.
An older couple sitting next to me, dressed in Scouts jerseys, put two and two together. The wife asked me, pointing Ryan out, “is he your boyfriend?”
I could barely contain my smile when I gave her an emphatic “yes!”
“Well, he's the enemy, so we're obligated to hate him … but … looks like you picked a good one.”
“Thank you.”
I couldn't wait for this game to be over so we could be together again at last—seven days had never felt so long in my life. I was a huge Boston Brawlers fan now, having watched all three games they'd played since my visit to Boston.
It was so much fun watching Ryan's heroics on the TV. And Lance's too, for that matter. Ever since last week, Ryan and Lance had somehow grown even closer, and their play on the ice showed it. Not only were they skating circles around their opponents, but if anyone looked at Lance the wrong way—or God forbid, hit him—Ryan turned into an angry bull-dog, jealously and rabidly defending his teammate.
As soon as Ryan made it back home or to his hotel room after the game, he would call me up on the phone and ask sweetly—“Hi Ella, how was your day?”—as if he wasn't just scoring goals and crushing grown men in a nationally-televised hockey game only an hour or two ago.
I loved our conversations on the phone—there was nothing so uplifting as being able to hear his voice and feel like there was a light at the end of the tunnel. But, then again, talking with him was a special kind of torture, too—because after we hung up, I felt sad and empty and wished more than anything I could have him near.
When we couldn't talk during the day, there was always a text here or there to keep each other in mind. I may have sent him a few dirty pictures … and I may have even gotten a few in return! Not a day went by without him letting me know how badly he wanted me, how he couldn't stop thinking about the way I left him at the airport …
It's pretty safe to say that, once the horn at Madison Square Garden sounded and the game was over, I was expecting Ryan to change out of his hockey gear in a hurry. Surely he'd come find me, throw me over his shoulder like a possessive caveman, and rush me back home where he could have his way with me, right? We'd been teasing each other all week, building to this moment …
But that wasn't what happened at all.
Who came for me instead? Lance, with Shea and Ilya in tow. The three of them were in suits and fresh out of the shower, with their hair wet and neatly styled.
“Hey Honey Badger!” Lance said, greeting me with a hug. “You remember Shea and Ilya?”
“Of course, hi guys,” I answered, skipping right to the point, “where's Ryan?”
“He snuck out the back entrance a little while ago, actually,” Lance said as if it were totally normal for a guy to evade his girlfriend like that.
“What?” I asked, my heart pounding with a worrying sickness.
Was this it? Was Ryan just another coward, the kind of guy who couldn't even look a girl in the face when he broke up with her? Had I been played that badly? Lance said he never went for the same girl twice, after all …
“What do you mean, he snuck out?” I asked. “Why would he do that?”
Lance shook his head. “Come with us. I'll explain in the car.”
I followed them out, down to the staff entrance, where a car was waiting. The four of us climbed in and the car took off and exited the arena.
“Would you tell me what this is about already, Lance?” I asked, growing shrill and testy with my brother.
“Sheesh. Settle down, Honey Bager. It's not my fault. Look, Radar said, uh, that he felt like playing a little more hockey.”
“He wanted to play a little more hockey.” I repeated the sentence slowly, punctuating the absurdity of it all, hoping Lance could hear how ridiculous the words sounded.
My stare must've been burning through his skin, because Lance shielded himself from my gaze. “Hey, don't shoot the messenger, man. I'm just repeating what he told me.”
The guys all chuckled—and I figured, if they were laughing, then this must not be a bad thing … maybe some sort of practical joke of Ryan's … I didn't figure him to be the joker type, and this stunt didn't make me happy, but whatever …
I loosened up a bit, resigning myself to the fact that whatever was happening was apparently Ryan's idea. I quietly watched the city roll by my window, hoping that his idea was a good one.
We headed west. The driver turned on the West Side Highway, and then we headed south.
Chelsea Piers came into view on our right, and the driver turned into the parking lot.
“Here we are,” Lance said.
“Chelsea Piers …” I mumbled, remembering my conversation with Ryan during our first dinner date at MacAllister's. “Is this what I think it is?”
Lance wouldn't say. “They're about to drop the puck. We better hurry!”
We rushed into the building, made our way to the rink, and stood in the front row right behind the glass. Two teams were warming up—a beer league game. After watching a professional hockey game, watching this rag-tag group of guys lumber around the ice reminded me of drunken snails on ice.
“This won't be pretty,” Shea said.
“These guys are rough,” Ilya remarked.
“Scrubs,” Lance laughed.
Of course, one among them didn't look nearly so bad. Ryan circled around the ice humbly. I could tell he was trying not to showcase his skill and was trying to blend in instead—but even from the way he glided, you could see he knew what he was doing. He was too big, too smooth, too elegant, to be some random beer league player.
At the other end of the rink, skating for the opponent, was my ex-boyfriend: Matthew, the asshole lawyer.
I turned to Lance. “Ryan's not seriously going to do what I think he's about to do, is he?”
He smirked knowingly. “Radar doesn't let anybody bother me without making them pay for it. You think he's going to let this sleaze get away with insulting you? Not a chance.”
The ref dropped the puck, and the game began.
It was only a matter of time—Matthew, the puck-hog 'star' of his team, took the puck from his own defensive end and started skating at top speed in a straight line. Ryan, playing defense and skating backwards, matched Matthew's top speed with a single stride. He pinched off Matthew's lane and began to steer the lawyer towards the boards. We all knew what was coming—it was like watching a car accident unfold in slow motion.
“Here we go, boys!” Shea shouted.
Ilya turned his eyes away. “This is too brutal, I can't even watch!”
Right in front of us, Ryan lowered his shoulder and powered his mass right through Matthew, sweeping him off his skates as if he weighed nothing and pasting the dirt-
bag face-first into the glass.
BOOOOOM. The thud of Matthew's body smashing into the glass echoed around the empty rink. Only inches away from my ex's smashed face, I waved at him, though I doubted that he could see anything but stars at the moment.
Matthew tumbled to the ice.
“Gotta keep your head up, kid.” Ryan yelled as he skated off.
Slowly, Matthew staggered to his skates. “That was a cheap shot!” he screamed. He skated towards Ryan, throwing his gloves to the ice in the process. “You're fucking dead!”
Ilya winced. “He's seriously challenging Radar to a fight?”
Shea agreed. “He definitely shouldn't have done that.”
Lance laughed. “Yuuup. This is about to get ugly.”
Ryan threw off his gloves, and when Matthew neared, he easily blocked Matthew's first strike like someone swatting away an annoying fly. Ryan then grabbed the collar of Matthew's jersey and fed him one solid right after another: one, two, three, and then Matthew's legs turned into jelly and he spilled to the ice.
The referee skated over and told Ryan he was ejected from the game.
“There's no fighting in this beer league,” Shea said. “They're both banned now.”
Ilya looked at his watch. “Radar's beer league career lasted what, fifteen seconds? Too bad. We'll have to keep him on the Brawlers.”
We watched as Matthew needed help climbing to his legs. The refs escorted him off the ice, too. Blood ran freely from his brow. He looked over his shoulder to see me and the boys. The four of us happily waved back at him. He looked so mad and embarrassed.
“It's nice having him stand up for you, isn't it?” Lance asked.
“I could definitely get used to this,” I giggled.
“Well boys, ready to go?” Lance asked. The two others nodded. “You stay here, Ella, and wait for Radar.”
“Where are you guys going?”
Lance and his teammates smiled like a trio of trouble-makers. “I heard this Matthew guy is a big fan of mine, right? I just wanna pay a fan a little visit.”
“Don't do anything stupid, guys. He is a lawyer, don't forget.”
“We won't do anything illegal,” Shea said.
Chapter 34
The Tour
Radar
I threw my gear in my bag as fast as I could and nearly ran out of that rink. I couldn't wait to see Ella.
I found her smiling at the entrance, waiting for me. The space between us was so small now but ugh I couldn't wait until we were together …
She jumped in my arms, and I kissed her like I hadn't seen her in years. Because even though it was only seven days, it felt a whole heck of a lot longer.
“That was so awesome,” she squealed. “He got what he deserved.”
“C'mon, let's go,” I said, putting a possessive arm around her waist.
We hurried out of the arena, where I had a car already waiting.
“I thought you were joking when you said you were going to come clobber that moron,” she said.
“No way. That guy was a total dick to you. Besides, I told you it was on my bucket list, didn't I? I'm a man of my word.”
“Apparently you are!”
I opened the car door for her and slid in after her. She gave the driver her address, and off we went to her place.
“I've been thinking about you all week, Ella,” I told her. “I haven't been able to get you out of my mind.”
She smiled, so sweet and innocent. It was that same lovely smile that wrenched at my heart; the same one I fell in love with when we first met back at the condo.
“I've been waiting all week for this, too,” she admitted quietly.
With the driver's eyes on the road, Ella climbed into my lap. Our lips met, and we showed each other just how bad we missed each other.
After a car ride across Manhattan, we arrived at her building. We took the elevator up to the 50th floor. She unlocked the door and we stepped in.
“Nice place,” I said.
“Thanks, but it's small. Here's the tour: living room, kitchen, and that's Eucalyptus.” She pointed at the cat who perched proudly, almost arrogantly, on top of the coffee table. Hell, he almost looked like he was sizing me up—and he wasn't impressed by what he saw.
“So this is my competition, eh? I think he hates me already,” I laughed.
“He'll come around to you.”
“Think so?”
“I know so.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because you won me over, and if you can win me over, you can win my cat over. Now, on to the rest of the tour …” She grabbed my hand and led me down the hallway to her bedroom, a sultry pout on her lips. “Or the only important part of it, anyway.”
She shoved the door open and crawled into bed, beckoning for me to go and get her. I prowled right after her. Our lips met and my fingers popped the waist-button of her jeans open. She sighed as I tugged her jeans off her long legs, and then her panties followed. I spread her legs and lowered my mouth to her heat.
“You're mine,” I growled before I gave my tongue to her pink and glistening pussy.
“God, I missed you,” she sighed, before surrendering to a rising chorus of moans.
###
THE END.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Ella
I never thought I could have such a hard time telling the truth, but I was a nervous mess the whole flight to Boston. I'd only just found out yesterday. It was still very early on, but I'd already developed the habit of cradling my stomach and pondering my life with Ryan, and the life inside me …
I wasn't sure how Ryan would react when I told him. He'd been nothing but wonderful to me ever since we'd started dating a year ago, but we'd never had the discussion about what we'd do if this happened.
Jeez, it's been over a year already? Time flies …
I guess part of the reason was that I wasn't sure how to feel about it, either. Would I have to give up my career? I couldn't do that …! Business was booming, thanks to the lovely ladies that were the Brawlers wives and girlfriends. Just like Ryan thought, they helped put me in touch with the right people. I did a few projects, word spread, and more projects started rolling in. And that's how it happened, that's how the city of Boston sucked me in—just like Ryan himself had. The Brawlers ladies weren't just business contacts, either—they became the missing piece of the puzzle for me: the close-knit group of friends I'd always wanted. When our boys were out of town, we always got together for ladies nights, which made getting through those week-long road trips so much easier.
Ryan's career was going great, too. At the end of last season, he ended up scoring a career high in goals and points—something he's always thanking me for, because he said I helped him settle down and focus more on hockey. Even better? This year, he's on pace to break last year's career high, too. He was realizing his potential as a hockey player—and realizing that he belonged in the NHL, just as much as any other player.
But … a baby? How did that fit into the picture? A baby was so serious, so huge—it was like a magnifying lens that forced you to examine everything in your life under the closest scrutiny. What if a baby changed things? What if Ryan wasn't sure about me? What if he liked me but he just didn't want to raise a family with me?
Argh. I almost wished the plane could stay in the sky forever, just circling and circling, and I'd never have to come down and break the news.
But it was a short flight, after all, and before I knew it the plane's tires chirped as they touched down on the runway. While the plane taxied to the departure gate, I convinced myself that I'd just blurt the news out to Ryan as soon as we were in the privacy of his BMW.
But when that moment came, I grew gun-shy. He rest his giant hand on my thigh and smiled at me, as devilishly handsome and well-dressed in a sharp suit, like always.
“Missed you, Ella,” he said.
“Missed you too, Ryan.”
God
, the hormones were already making my brain chemistry all out of whack—I couldn't look at Ryan now without seeing him as the sexiest, most adorable Dad ever, wearing a puffy knit sweater on a chilly wintry weekend, the three of us cuddled around the warm and crackling fireplace. Our child would think his hockey-playing Dad was a real-life superhero …
Sure enough, I felt myself breaking out into the gushiest, most over-the-top smile. I couldn't help it.
“What's up, babe?” he asked. “You look like you have something on your mind.”
I gulped. “I do.”
“I do, too,” he said, trying to hide a gooey smile of his own.
“You go first,” I said.
He stared at the road ahead. “Hey, I asked you first.”
I shook my head. I couldn't. I didn't have the courage yet. “But … you should really go …”
“Stalemate, then.” Ryan laughed. “So how were things in ol' New York?”
“Good,” I said, giving Ryan a run-down of my work week. “How were things for you?”
Ryan filled me in on his past week with the team and at home with Lance. Yep, they still live together. They love to joke around about the time Lance flipped his shit when he found out Ryan and I were fooling around—because ever since, our relationship has only brought those two closer than ever. They're basically like brothers. I'd like to think that Ryan is even rubbing off on Lance a bit, and Lance is starting to mature … but the jury's still out on that one.
Then Ryan said something that surprised me a little. “But, you know, I'm starting to think it might be a good idea to move out and get a place of my own soon.”
“Really?”
“Yeah … you know … with you spending more and more time in Boston, and all. I dunno, it's kinda weird at the condo, always having to be quiet around Lance …”
Shit, I thought. Ryan wants to ask me to move in with him.
I didn't say a word. I was too freaked out to possibly speak. Ryan wants to ask me to move in, and I need to tell him I'm pregnant. He'll be in for a big surprise when I ask if the baby I'm carrying can move in with us, too …