I avert my gaze, the guilt returning in full force. A treadmill injury… I want to take him at his word, but is it just a coincidence that his treadmill injury occurred right after another fight with me? I’m starting to see a disturbing pattern. I may need him in my life, but am I good for his? I think back to the woman upstairs and her cold reception. She obviously cares about Oliver. Does she wonder why a guy whose life is hockey would risk it all on someone like me?
“Does it hurt?” I ask, staring down our bodies toward his knee. It looks purple, painful.
He shrugs. “Nah, not really. Not compared to the tear and surgery. And now that you’re here, I don’t even feel it,” he says with a smile. I reach up and trace his curved lips.
“I did it, Oliver,” I blurt out. “I recorded one of my songs.”
His eyes widen, then crinkle into the cutest smile. I don’t know why the confession came out like that, but I’m glad it did. It felt right to say. Necessary. Like he needed to hear it as much as I needed to release it.
“You did? When?”
“Last night. It’s why I was up so late.”
“Shit, Genevieve, that’s amazing! Can I hear it?”
The excitement on his face is almost too much, and I push myself up for a taste of that grin. One kiss isn’t enough, though, and I quickly melt into need for more. “It’s not mixed yet, but as soon as I get a preview, I’ll play it for you.” I kiss him again, lingering this time. It’s like our bodies are magnetized. I can’t pull away.
“This is a close second to hearing your song,” he says with a sly look, his lips still just an inch from mine. Sparks snap in the sliver between us. I feel the heat of his breath, smell the hint of shampoo and mint.
I’d argue this is first as I adjust to straddle him. “Good thing my knees are still okay,” I say, leaning forward to latch my fingers into his hair. I sink down on his hips, enjoying the firm pressure of him through his thin gym shorts. I start a slow, deep rock.
He groans and leans his head back in protest. “My doctor would kill me. I’m not supposed to exert myself for three days.”
“Three days? Oliver, that’s not fair,” I say, kissing him again.
“I know. I’m sorry, I just—”
He’s so conflicted, and I feel badly for teasing him. “I’m joking. We need to take care of that knee.” I plant one last, long kiss on his lips before climbing back to a safer position at his side. I reach for the remote and pluck it off the cushion.
“What are you doing?” he asks when I un-pause the game.
“Watching my favorite sport.”
“It’s not a live game,” he says. “I was just studying old footage.”
I smile and nestle against him. He loops his arm around me, and I slide the remote into his hand. “Perfect. I want to see it through your eyes. Show me your world, Oliver.”
CHAPTER 9
An ode to the one who’s never known sun
Inviting peek from the shadows deep
A whisper of prayer through stale air
She creeps out afraid
To finally face
The brilliant shade
Of the mess she’s made
OLIVER
“Geez. I never paid attention to how much you guys move around,” Genevieve mutters with a hint of awe. “I always thought being goalie was the easy job.”
I snort a laugh. “Easy? I have to be the best athlete on the team. Okay, there. See how the defender dives to block the shot? He’s late so when the puck deflects, I have almost no time to react.” I cringe slightly at the replay. “That’s kind of what happened with my injury. I was cheating forward on the shooter and didn’t have time to recover when he passed instead. Well, plus Micky ended up on my knee.” Genevieve shudders, and I fast-forward to the next big play. “Okay, so here I managed to save Petey’s ass. See Petrovic give up the puck there at the blue line? We got lucky. But now watch this face-off. Keep an eye on Legace. I played with him in juniors, and he always passes left from that spot. But instead he fires a one-timer right off the pass from Shen.” I press play again, and we watch the puck slip just over my glove into the back of the net. Genevieve makes a face, and I laugh. “What?”
“How can you spend so much time watching replays of your mistakes?”
“Well, first off, there’s not much I could have done there. That was a freaking laser.”
“Still, if it were me, I’d want to focus on highlight reels of all my awesome saves.”
I tuck her closer and breathe in her citrus scent. “Because as much as it hurts, you only get better by studying your mistakes.”
She stiffens slightly in my arms, and I rest my lips on her hair. We’ve been watching hockey for over two hours now, and she still doesn’t seem bored of it. I’ve been providing as much commentary and insight into the action as I can, loving how she seems to absorb my every word with rapt fascination. She wants to know it all. Why the winger passed instead of took the shot. Why I moved out of the crease to challenge instead of pulling back. What happens after the period ends and we go through “that mysterious tunnel.” I answer her questions with patience and amusement, enjoying her interest as much as she seems to be enjoying learning. There’s something magical about seeing a world you love open up in someone else’s eyes.
“Well, I’m hungry,
