Hockey Holidays Read online

  I’ve heard that before, but I doubt he means it the way I would want him to. Wait, do I even want him to mean it that way? No, we’re fucking. We’re having fun. Guys don’t stay. That’s fine.

  I’m good.

  When we make it inside, I rush to take a shower and throw up some more. I don’t know what exactly I’m doing. I’ve got those stupid butterflies in my gut, and they don’t make sense. I’ve known the guy for ten minutes. We’re gonna bang, and then he’ll be gone. That’s how it works with guys like him. While he is funny and has been a good time, he is stupid rich. He can have anyone; he doesn’t want me. I live with my brother, and I may have separation anxiety where he’s concerned. James wouldn’t want that.

  When I come out of the bathroom, I’m in only a towel. James is lying on my bed, his shoes on the floor by the side with his coat on the back of a chair that sits in the corner. He moves his eyes up my legs, over my towel, and then they meet mine, a small little smirk on his lips. “Feel better?”

  I nod. “Loads.”

  He points to the bedside table, and I smile. “Water and crackers for my lushy lush.”

  I walk over to them, throwing a few crackers into my mouth as I lean my thigh into the bed. “Give me a few, and I’ll be ready.”

  He brings his brows in. “Ready?”

  I give him a goofy grin. “Yeah. I gotta recharge.”

  “For what?”

  My grin falls. “Seriously? You want me to say it? You into that? Dirty talk?”

  He chuckles lightly, his eyes focused on mine. “I mean, I love me some dirty talk, but I’m honestly confused.”

  I shoot him an incredulous look. “Sex, James. Sex.”

  He seems a little taken aback as he shakes his head. “Oh. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I think you need your rest.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “You asked me not to leave,” he says, like it’s that simple.

  I blink as he gets up, coming around the bed to my dresser. “Do you have PJs in here?”

  I’m still just blinking as he gestures to a drawer. “Yes, and panties.”

  He grabs both and then comes back to me. He puts my pajama shirt over my head and smiles. “*NSYNC fan?”

  I shrug as I look down at my fantastic *NSYNC concert tee. Shea has a matching one, much to his dismay. “They’re boy wonders. They’re gonna do big things.”

  “Yeah, like go to jail. All those child stars do,” he throws back at me before pulling off my towel since my T-shirt covers most of my thighs. He hands me my panties, and I put them on as he goes into the bathroom. When he comes back into the bedroom, he reaches for the remote off the top of the TV and gets back in the bed. He pulls the blankets back for me, and I get in with my water cup and a handful of crackers.

  “Well, at one a.m., I’m pretty sure Golden Girls is on.”

  I quirk my mouth at the side. “I think so.”

  He finds it on the TV, and when he lays down the remote, I look back at him. He smiles before reaching up, cupping my jaw as his thumb moves along my lip. “You all right?”

  I nod. “Fine.”

  “Great. Lie back, relax. You really need to rest.”

  “I’m a bit embarrassed.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “Don’t be. I just know next time to watch your wine intake.”

  I smile. “So, there will be a next time?”

  He chuckles. “Oh, Grace. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  His words repeat over and over again in my head, and inside my wine-soaked brain, his words scare the living hell out of me.

  And I’m unsure what that means.

  April 13th

  “Mom, stop crying.”

  I shake my head as my mom dabs at her tears, watching as Shea skates onto the ice. He looks amazing in his dark-purple jersey, the number six on his back, big and white. His name is bold on the back of the jersey and demands attention, and like my mom, I am more than proud of him. But I’m not going to cry.

  “He looks damn good,” Dad says, leaning on the edge of the box we are in.

  James’s box.

  The past two weeks have been a bit of a blur. I work constantly and so does he, but we find time for each other. I find that he likes to talk on the phone, something I’m not a fan of, but I do because I like to talk to him. He’ll call me on his lunch break or whenever he isn’t swamped with clients. He says it’s to talk about the many stagings I am doing for him, but we never actually talk about work. We talk about everything else, though. Our favorite foods—which we’ve both decided is pizza. Ham and pineapple, to be exact. Our favorite movies—mine is The Cutting Edge, while he is a huge fan of Dead Poets Society. He’s so damn brilliant, and he’s a beast at his job. I heard him on the phone once, and he closed a deal in two minutes flat. He’s just amazing. I love listening to him, and he is so funny. Or, better yet, he’s a huge dork who makes me laugh at every turn.

  I’ve never dated someone like him. Wait. That sentence doesn’t make sense because I’m not even sure we’re technically dating or if we’re just hanging out. Usually, I date the stern, sexy-as-hell guys who rock my world in bed but also mindfuck me into thinking I’m not enough. James isn’t like that. He’s goofy and fun, and we haven’t had sex yet, which is absolutely bizarre to me. We’ve had plenty of chances, but he hasn’t made a move. He’s cautious, and the whole thing about me making him nervous is true. I didn’t want to believe it, but I can tell that I affect him. I’m unsure how that makes me feel. Do I like it? Do I hate it? I really just don’t know about him altogether. I’m uncertain. It’s weird.

  And scary.

  I lean on the edge with my dad, looking out at the ice as Shea takes the puck back into the zone. His eyes are constantly moving, and while I may not be able to see his face clearly from here, I know that’s what is happening. He’s waiting for his forwards so they can set up a play. As I suspected, he skates up, dropping the puck behind him to Welch before both of them enter the zone. The forwards wait, and once they cross the line, they join. Welch passes it to number twelve, who passes it to thirty-seven as Shea goes to the line. He’s poised, waiting for that one-timer.

  I hold my breath. I feel it coming.

  Thirty-seven passes it hard to Welch, who doesn’t even keep it on his stick for more than two seconds before passing it to Shea. He rears back, putting his whole body into the motion before he slams his stick into the puck. I don’t know why people try to stand in front of that frozen piece of rubber. I know they want to stop it, but I, for one, would run and hide when I saw that sucker coming off Shea Adler’s stick. When the puck slams into the back of the net, everyone in the building loses their shit. Especially my family. Dad hugs me, while Mom hugs us from the back. The music blares, the crowd screams, and there is a sense of euphoria bubbling inside me. I know Shea was nervous, and to see him score, man, I’m proud as hell of that guy.

  It’s his first goal as an Assassin, and Mom and Dad were here for it!

  What a rush!

  When a hand comes to my shoulder, I turn around to find James. His hair is brushed to the side, and he’s wearing a purple button-down with an Assassins pin on the pocket. His gray dress pants hug his legs and ass, and when our eyes meet, my heart starts to race.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he says softly, a grin pulling at his lips. “Funny seeing you here.”

  I smile. “Yeah, a friend had a box he offered to my family and me tonight.”

  He nods slowly. “Yeah, heard Shea Adler might buy this box off him.”

  “No way.”

  “Yup, wants a place for his family. But I hear the guy who owns it now gets to come in anytime he wants.”

  “Well, that’s good,” I say as my mom and dad both stand. I hold my hand out to James. “Mom, Dad, this is James Justice. This is his box. James, these are my parents, Jenna and Mark.”

  Jame