30. Jamie

Jamie

I dropmy suitcase in the hall, lock the front door, and stagger into the living room feeling like a man who’s spent a whole year abroad instead of one measly week on the west coast. But damn, it’s good to be home. And the apartment smells fantastic, like Wes’s aftershave and...pine cleaner? Did someone clean the place while I was away?

Holy crap, someone did. The floors are gleaming, the kitchen counters are spotless and there isn’t a speck of dust on any surface. I suddenly feel like one of the three bears that got played by Goldilocks—“Someone’s been cleaning my house…”

“Wes?” I call out warily.

“Bedroom,” comes my boyfriend’s muffled response.

No, not my boyfriend. My...fiancé? Wow. Still feels surreal to think it.

He appears a moment later, wearing sweatpants that ride deliciously low on his hips. I admire his bare chest, his multitude of tattoos, his sleek, golden skin. He’s gorgeous. And he looks like he’s gained some of the weight back. I hadn’t noticed last night because I was too busy mauling him, but his pecs and biceps are noticeably more sculpted than they’d been a few months ago.

“How was the flight?” He shrugs into a T-shirt, covering his spectacular chest, then walks over to give me a kiss.

I reach up to rub the nape of my neck. “Boring. And I fell asleep in a weird position, so now my neck is killing me.”

Wes tugs my coat off and tosses it on one of the kitchen stools. For once I don’t bug him about using the coat tree in the hall. I’m too happy to see him. “Go take a hot shower,” he orders. “I’ll fix you something to eat, and then I’ll rub your neck…” He winks. “Among other things.”

“That…” I say, yanking him close, “sounds—” I brush my lips over his, and we both shiver. “—awesome.”

Grinning, he smacks my ass and nudges me toward the hall. I walk to our bedroom and strip, then duck into the shower to wash away the stale coffee smell that’s lingered with me since I left the airport. I wonder what Wes is making to eat. I love that man, I really do, but cooking is not his forte. He can’t even fry up an egg without burning it.

Sure enough, an acrid odor assaults my nose when I walk out ten minutes later. A sheepish Wes greets me at the stove.

“Tried to make grilled cheese,” he mutters.

I stare at the mangled, blackened carcass of bread and cheese congealing in my best cast-iron pan. Then I burst out laughing. “It’s fine, babe. I’m not hungry, anyway. Let’s just skip to the neck rubbing part.” I kiss his cheek and turn off the stove burner. “But you get an E for effort.”

He brightens. “Nice. And did you see I cleaned? Spent all day sprucing up the place for you.”

“Seriously?”

He gives me a smartass grin. “Okay, no. I spent two and a half hours watching tape with the team. But that’s why I hired a nice woman named Evenka to show up once a week and do the cleaning and laundry. Blake swears she has magic cleaning powers.” He grabs my shoulder. “Can we keep her? Please?” He asks the same way as a boy who’s brought home a puppy.

I have the usual urge to say no based on the expense. So I picture his dead grandfather and take a deep breath. “Sure.”

“Yesss.” He takes my hand and drags me to the couch. “Banshee?” he suggests.

“Heck yeah.”

Wes grabs the remote, which he tosses at me. Then he runs to the kitchen for two sodas, probably because I’m not supposed to have alcohol yet. But I don’t even complain, because I’m just so happy to be here.

When he sits down, we come together like two magnets realigning. His head on my chest, my arm slung around him, our legs tangled. I’m just about to start the episode when Wes laughs. “Would you believe I got an email from the travel department about a bill for the broken bed?”

“Already?”

“It gets better. Below that is an email from the PR department with a link to a gossip blog. Not only do they have a shot of us kissing in the lobby. They have a shot of the broken bed.”

“What?” I yelp.

He grabs my hand and kisses it. “Yeah. They must have paid off a hotel staffer for that little nugget. But it’s just a picture of furniture, Canning. I care more that they want to charge me eight hundred bucks. So I wrote an email to both travel and PR telling them to bill Blake because his fat ass broke it. And you’ll never guess what they said.” He snickers. “The clubhouse will pay for it because they don’t want the hotel to have a record of a third dude in that room. You and I are fine by the PR department. But gossip of a threesome is more than they can handle.”

“Oh my fucking God,” I say as Wes laughs. “You’re tempted, right? I can hear your gears turning. You want to recruit Blake to make fake incriminating pictures.”

“You know me too well. And why stop at three? I’ll get Eriksson and Forsberg lit on scotch and stage an orgy. I’m thinking...naked pillow fight.”

I give his ass a pinch. “Meanwhile I’m trying to keep my job working with children. But no big.”

“Aw.” He leans back and kisses my chin. “I’m just teasing.”

“Uh-huh.” I push Play on our show, but I’m still smiling. Life with Wes is never dull. Even when we’re old and gray with saggy asses, he’ll still be funny and he’ll still be mine.

We drink our sodas and watch our show. It’s seven o’clock, and there are probably a dozen things we should be catching up on—calls, emails, bills. But we ignore all of it because we’re home alone, and we’re together, and that’s the only thing either of us care about right now.

Wes smells so good. Like citrus shampoo and home. He runs his fingers through my hair, and when he laughs at the screen, the sound vibrates inside my own chest. Flattening my hand, I run a palm down his neck and onto the broad muscle of his shoulder. He feels so good I have to give it a squeeze. I trace the ink climbing out of his T-shirt sleeve. Then I reach around and tug his shirt up to his pecs so I can lay a hand on the taut skin of his belly.

The show keeps on playing, but I’ve lost track. He feels alive and so solid against me that I have to lean forward and kiss the back of his neck. “Mmm,” I say. It’s great to be home.

As I continue to nibble on his neck, Wes sighs and goes boneless against me. “I’m supposed to be giving you a neck rub,” he reminds me.

“I’m all better.” I move my ministrations to the side, sucking gently on the skin under his ear.

“Fuck,” he rumbles. “Feels good.” He rolls over all at once, and one second later we’re lip-locked. The warm huff of his breath on my face is everything I need. I slant my face to make our connection more perfect, and he opens for me. Our tongues tangle, and he presses closer, forcing a knee between mine.

And everything is right with the world.

Wes’s hand wanders down my side, then under my shirt. His palm slides over my ribs, and I wish I weren’t wearing a shirt at all because I want his skin on mine. But I don’t want to stop kissing him, so that’s just gonna have to wait.

“Love you so much,” he pants between kisses.

I make an unintelligible growl of agreement, then take a breath and manage to string together some actual words. “Let’s take it into the bedroom.”

He groans in response, and presses his hips against mine. And, schwing! We both want the same thing. But now our kisses grow even deeper. I’m too busy climbing into Wes’s mouth to get up and do anything about the happy ache in my balls.

So we’re just lying there, pawing each other and making out when the intercom beeps.

Wes groans, but we carry on.

But it beeps again. And Wes pulls back reluctantly. We both know that whoever has buzzed for us is probably on the way upstairs now. “Think Blake lost his key?” I ask, my voice husky.

He snorts. “Probably.”

“If he comes in here, we’re never getting rid of him.”

Wes sighs and rearranges himself in his sweatpants. “Maybe it’s just a delivery or something?” He says it with hope in his voice, but of course we didn’t order anything.

I recline on the sofa and take a swig of my drink while he answers the buzzer.

“Okay, thanks,” Wes says. “Send ’er up.”

“Who’s her?” I ask in alarm.

“Katie Hewitt. My teammate’s wife. Apparently she’s bringing us a lasagna.”

“A…really?”

“That’s what the doorman said. He’s like, ‘This smells really good, Mr. Wesley’.”

“But why?”

Wes shrugs. “I guess we’re about to find out?”

I run my hands through what is probably sex hair.

Someone raps on the door, and Wes yanks it open. “Hey, wow. Evening Katie. Hey, Hewitt. Thought you two would be enjoying the night off.”

Wes is marched backward by a woman with thick, glossy hair and a big lasagna pan. “Happy engagement!” she yells, then whirls around at her husband with a look of betrayal. “Ben! You were supposed to shout it with me!”

“Forgot,” Hewitt mumbles.

I swallow a laugh, but it slips out when Katie sidesteps Wes and trots into our kitchen like she owns it. I hear the sound of my oven door opening and closing.

I stand up to greet our guests, and Katie runs over and takes my face in two hands. Her nails are very red and shiny. Like shellacked talons. “Congratulations on the engagement! I’m so happy for you guys! I know you were away for a week, so I figured you two didn’t have time to stock up on groceries, so my first engagement present to you is food.” She beams, then gives me a hug.

God, this woman has a scary amount of energy. “Thank you,” I say, genuinely touched. “We really appreciate—wait, your first present?” How many gifts does this chick plan on getting us?

Hewitt must have read my mind, because he sighs and says, “Dude, you’ll be getting weekly deliveries up until the wedding. Deal with it.”

Wes laughs. “Aw, that’s not necessary,” he tells Katie, who waves it off with a manicured hand.

“I like shopping,” she says firmly.

“She likes shopping,” her husband confirms.

Katie grabs my hand and pulls me onto the sofa, then flings herself beside me. “Tell me how you’re doing. Are you fully recovered now? Are you still having nightmares about being in the hospital? When I had my bust lift, the nurses were sooooo mean to me!”

“Uh.” Suddenly it’s really hard not to check out her boobs. When she says she had ’em lifted, I’m picturing, like, boob cranes. “I’ve stayed better places, sure. But my mom and my sister were there almost the whole time. And I feel great. The cough hasn’t totally gone away, but I’m much better.”

Katie grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m so glad!”

“Thanks.” I look around to see that at the other end of the room Wes and Hewitt are leaning against the kitchen counter drinking beers. “Dude, where’s mine?”

Wes raises an eyebrow, the one with the barbell through it. It’s hot as fuck when he does that, but I don’t like it when the sexy eyebrow lift is denying me a beer.

“That’s just some bullshit right there,” I argue. “It’s like cell phones and airline navigation systems. One thing does not interfere with the other.”

Katie laughs, and she’s still laughing when the intercom beeps. I’m only halfway to my feet by the time that Katie has sprinted for the thing herself. “Just send ’em up,” she says to our doorman.

A minute later, three more people have walked into our apartment. I meet the veteran Lukoczik and his wife, Estrella, who’s got a large roasting pan full of barbecue chicken legs. “Congratulations on the engagement! We’ll just heat these up for you!” Estrella crows, heading for the kitchen.

Eriksson trails in after them, and he’s got a gallon of freshly squeezed orange juice and a sheepish expression. “Hey,” he says, offering me his hand. “Katie said to bring food, but I don’t do casseroles.”

“Uh, that’s really okay,” I manage as we shake. Then I watch his gaze dart around our apartment. His curiosity tickles me, because I’d love to know what he was expecting. If a gay apartment is supposed to look a certain way, nobody passed us the playbook. “Want a beer?” Maybe I should offer him a cosmopolitan as a joke. Note to self—buy some cranberry juice to freak out Wes’s teammates.

“Sure. Love one.”

I make my way into what is now a crowded kitchen. Wes is just parked against the countertop, in my way. So I give him a friendly shove on the backside to get him moving. When I touch him, the women grin like I’ve just done something cute.

Weird.

I find Eriksson a beer, passing it across the counter to him. Then I open a couple more for Estrella and her husband. I haven’t been in my kitchen for a week, and Katie is right—our fridge is empty. Wes, of course, decided to go on a beer run today instead of buying groceries, but I can’t even bring myself to be annoyed, because I’m just so happy to feel like myself again.

It only takes a few minutes to assemble plates and silverware. Even so, Katie comes clucking over to help me with this simple task. “We didn’t want you to work,” she complains. “That was the whole point of bringing you dinner! Go and celebrate!”

I’m beyond touched. It’s incredibly thoughtful of Wes’s teammates to come over and congratulate us, to feed us, and we’re both a little stunned. I sneak a peek at Wes, and find him sneaking a peek at me. We both grin, then look away. I still can’t wait to get him alone later. Not only do I want to finish what we started on the couch, but I want to hear what he thinks about this unexpected invasion.

Estrella makes me a cup of herbal tea, the kind my mother left behind after her visit. I’m not a tea drinker, but I take it anyway because she’s so desperate to be helpful. By some miracle she’s put it in my favorite mug, too. The one my mother made us. “So you’re from California?” she asks, pushing it into my hand. “Sorry—I read it in the newspaper.”

That’s trippy. “Yeah. Sure miss the weather there.”

“I bet. I’m from Madrid. Luko and I met when I spent a year working in New York.”

“Ah.” Luko started his career with the Rangers.

“I thought New York was cold. Then we moved here.”

“Right.” Sometimes I forget how transient this life is. These women have to just pack up and move when hubby gets traded.

That’s me too now, maybe. I take a second to test the idea. Does it rankle? I sneak another look at Wes, and he’s tipped his head back to laugh at something Hewitt said. I need that laugh and that man. So wherever he goes, I’m going to want to be there, too. He’s worth it.

“You come to the games?” she asks me. “I haven’t seen you up in the box.”

I chuckle. “Well, Wesley has a pair of seats. But I’m the only one in ’em.”

Her face softens as she does the math on why that is. Then she grips my wrist. “Next game you come upstairs with us! Us WAGS have to stick together, right?”

I inwardly cringe. I’ve heard the term before--WAGS. Wives and girlfriends. But...I’ve got a dick, damn it!

I think she reads my mind—or maybe she sees my horrified expression—because she frowns. “Drat. I think we need to add a ‘B’ in there somewhere, for boyfriend.”

“And ‘H’,” I correct with a grin. “For husband. But WABGHs just isn’t very catchy.”

“I mean it, though,” she urges. “Sit upstairs with us at the next game. We drink Mai Tais and run up the guys’ credit cards ordering appetizers.”

I laugh, but she’s serious. “Sounds like fun.” The food in the oven smells really good now, which means it must be fully hot. I grab two towels and tug open the door, lifting both dishes onto the stove for safekeeping. But the motion triggers the last traces of my cough. So I toss the towel over the dishes’ blazing hot handles and quickly exit the kitchen area, coughing into the crook of my elbow.

At the sound of my respiratory distress, Wes sets down his beer and comes close. I warn him off with a stern look, even if I can’t exactly speak. Pat me like a toddler and die, I say with my eyes.

He restrains himself—smart man—and heads over to the food, fishing two spatulas out of our drawer. The first one he sets into the pan of chicken. But then I see him poke the second one into the lasagna, as if to cut it up to serve.

I’m just clearing my throat desperately to say, careful, that’s hot, when I see his hand go for the pan’s handle…

And I can’t move fast enough. His hand grips the burning hot edge.

“Fuck!” he yelps, leaping back.

I flick the tap onto cold and grab him by the elbow, towing him toward the sink. I take his burned hand and—after checking the temperature—I thrust it under the cold water. “Babe, seriously. Again? When there’s a dish towel draped over the handle, it’s not, like, a decoration, it’s…”

“A flag. I know,” he says through clenched teeth. “I forgot.”

“How bad is it?” I glance up to see five people watching us in fascination.

“Uh,” he says, noticing the same thing. He shakes me off and stares at his hand. It’s red, and there’s a white blister forming on the lower part of his thumb.

I grab his hand and stick it under the water again. “At least it’s not your shooting hand.”

There is a nervous ripple of laughter, and Wes sighs.

The only sound is water crashing into the sink. And some kind of stubbornness keeps me glued to Wes’s side. I want to shout, “Look, sometimes men touch each other!” We’ve never been out as a couple before. This is going to take some getting used to.

The door flies open again. This time it’s Blake, and he’s used his key. “Dudes!” he yells. “I smell Katie’s lasagna!” His gaze travels to Wes and I. “Cheezus. You burn yourself again, rookie?”

My boyfriend growls under his breath, and Katie and Estrella leap into action, cutting lasagna without torching their own skin, and handing plates around.

There aren’t enough places to sit. I feel bad taking up a spot on the sofa, but Estrella parks me there with a plate and my mug of tea. She and Katie chat me up some more. They’re really nice, but I feel a little like I’m being recruited into a club.

“Hewitt!” Blake shouts from his perch by the counter. “Did you hear? I’m planning the wedding.”

I twist around to seek out Wes, and my alarmed gaze collides with his. “Not a chance,” he tells his teammate. “Only thing you need to plan is how to keep that big trap shut during the ceremony.”

Blake scowls. “I’d be good at it! I know flowers!”

“Name five flowers you’d put in the centerpieces,” Wes orders, while I choke back a laugh. If Wes can name five flowers I’ll eat my helmet.

“Um. Roses. Tulips. Daffodilias—”

“Daffodilias?” Katie exclaims. “Keep him away from your wedding, Ryan. I’ll give you the number for the wedding planner Ben and I used.”

“He can’t have the job anyway,” I say. “My sister Jess has decided to become a party planner. She’s definitely getting this gig.”

Something goes a little wrong with Blake’s face when I say Jess’s name. That’s weird. They must have really annoyed the heck out of each other when they were babysitting me.

After everyone eats, they take all the plates and wash them in the kitchen. And they don’t let me help. I end up on the sofa beside Hewitt and Eriksson, and the three of us try to beat each other’s best diving-in-front-of-the-puck stories. As a goalie, blocking shots was technically the main part of my job, but their stories are pretty entertaining.

“No lie—I blocked the damn shot with my ass,” Hewitt is telling me. “I had a bruise the size of a grapefruit for weeks.”

Eriksson snickers. “Hey, you’re a d-man. It’s your duty to sacrifice any part of your body for the cause.”

“Okay, I can totally beat that,” I say. “I was sixteen and it was the final scrimmage at hockey camp. Third period, my team was up by one and scrambling to keep the lead. The opposing left wing snaps a wrister at me. I stop it, but one of my d-men gets pushed into me and suddenly we’re tangled together on the crease, and the puck is loose. Somehow I’ve lost my stick—and my glove. But I see that puck flying toward me again, and I don’t even stop to think—I just slap that motherfucker away with my bare forearm.”

Eriksson and Hewitt look impressed. “Dude, that’s insane. Did you break your arm?”

I sigh. “In two places.”

“That is hardcore,” Eriksson says, whistling softly.

Wes pipes up from behind the couch, not as impressed. “Are you telling them about the time you broke your arm trying to be Superman?”

“Yup,” I call back.

“I’m marrying a crazy person,” Wes informs his teammates.

I snort. “Ha! Says the guy who snuck out at four a.m. to go skinnydipping and then cut his foot open. And let’s not forget the tetanus shots from falling off the fences you tried to climb, and that rusty nail you stepped on while hiking barefoot—because you were drunk. And the guy who—”

“Okay, okay, you win,” Wes says, holding his hands up in surrender. “We’re both insane.” He turns back to Blake, who starts blabbering on about his own past skinnydipping adventures, while I’m drawn into more hockey talk with Hewitt and Eriksson.

By the time Katie announces that it’s time to go, I’m feeling a bit shell-shocked. But I can’t deny I had a blast getting to know Wes’s teammates and their WAGS.

“Uh, thanks for everything,” I say to Katie and Estrella as I walk them to the door.

One at a time they hug me like we’re long-lost friends.

“Take care, Jamie.”

“Text me before the Sharks game! We’ll save you a drink!”

I say a quick goodnight to Wes’s teammates, and when the door finally closes behind them—even Blake takes the hint and leaves—I turn to face Wes. “That was…” I trail off.

He hesitates, gauging my expression. “They mean well,” he says lightly.

“I know. It’s…cool.” A smile tugs at my lips. “It’s overdue, you know?” Wes and I had always looked forward to the day when we didn’t have to hide. But I never gave any thought to how we’d fit into the clubhouse. I’m still not sure, but neither of us can deny that tonight was a screaming success.

“Yeah.” He smiles, too. “It was nice. For the first time since the season started, I finally feel like I…” He scrunches his face as if searching for the right word.

“Belong,” I supply, my voice gentle.

His head jerks in a nod. “Yeah. That.”

My heart gives a squeeze as I place both hands on his cheeks, stroking the dark stubble on his face. “You do,” I tell him. “You belong on this team. You belong with these people. You belong with me.”

His silvery eyes suddenly look damp. “I love you, Canning.”

“Love you too, Wesley.”

But in the back of my mind, I’m wondering where I belong. Or rather, where I’ll end up. Wes is my home. He’s my heart. But he can’t be my everything. The uncertainties surrounding my job gnaw at my insides. Tomorrow I’ll have to go in and meet with Bill, maybe face Danton, see the kids who’ve been playing so well without me.

I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. But tonight… I meet Wes’s gorgeous eyes, a smile forming on my lips despite my uneasiness over my job. Tonight I’m with the man I love, and that’s all that matters.