Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
The goal horn sounds, and I grin like a fool.
But once I get up, I feel every bit of the sting from where the puck hit me in a spot where I’m not covered by a pad. I celebrate with the guys and wave Sellner off when he checks on me. “I’m good. Let’s get two more.”
He nods, tapping his blade to my shins before we head to the bench. When I sit down, Coach grips my shoulder. “You good?”
“Fine,” I say with a nod and then wave off the trainer.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie as the pain radiates along my ribs. I’m pretty sure something is either bruised or broken, but I refuse to let that slow me down. Or show on my face. I have goals, and I will not allow them to make me stop playing. Not only will that look bad for my game, but it’ll worry the hell out of my wife. I know she is watching, as she always does. She hasn’t missed a game, home or away, and my need to impress her can sometimes be a bit overwhelming. I love how proud she is of me, how she squeals when I score, and how big her grin is when I call her after an away game. I’ve never experienced such support; even Coach doesn’t lift me up the way she does.
She’s pretty damn perfect.
We’ve fallen into one hell of a rhythm. It fills me with pride, knowing that I’ve kept my word, and that this has gone exactly how I wanted. Or at least, she makes it easy. As long as I don’t mess up anything she organizes, make drinks the way she wants, and clean up after myself, my wife is the sun. Shining such light into my life. Now, if I mess up, and I do, she loses her mind. For some reason, I cannot bring myself to clean my sink every time I shave. I’d rather do it at the end of the week, and boy do I hear it. She gets so mad, it’s fucking cute, and then I’m trying to distract her with my tongue. God, I desire my wife, every second. But make-up sex? Yeah, there is something pretty fucking special about it.
To my surprise, it’s been hard to be on road trips because it means I’m not with her. I crave her closeness. Life is better when my wife is grinning at me, laughing with me, when we’re teasing each other…just being with her. She has become such a pro in the coffeehouse, even while still helping at the bookshop. She’s not there as much as she was since Louisa and Ciaran bought a house halfway between the shop and Nashville. It’s still an hour and a half for each of them to get to the other, but they seem to be making it work.
Meanwhile, I’m riddled with jealousy. I have gone back and forth with myself, wondering if I should ask the same of my wife. I would drive four hours a day just to see her after my games, to have her hold me and gush over how she loves watching me play. Hell, she gushes about everything when it comes to me. I cleaned up my beard hair the other day, and she gave me a blow job because, “I didn’t have to remind you.” Just the thought of her on her knees, my cock so far down her throat, looking up at me like I hung the moon, still has my stomach clenching.
I fucking like her. A lot.
Way more than a fake wife and more like a real wife. Something I assumed I could never do. I didn’t have the best example of how to love a spouse, but… Fuck, it’s so easy. Not that I’ve told her or even accepted how I feel.
I don’t know how to go all in, tell her that she means the world to me and I don’t want this to end after a year. That the mere thought of her not being in my corner or, shit, loving me, wrecks me. I don’t know what to do, and since I don’t, I just ignore it all. Not healthy, I know, but the alternative is to fall headfirst for Eliza Katz and keep her forever.
And the nagging feeling that I’m not good enough keeps me from doing just that.
So, I ignore everything and just enjoy the fact that when I call, my wife will answer.
CHAPTER 36
Eliza
“I’m obsessed with that photo.”
I look over my shoulder at where Clara sits at the counter with Louisa. She points to the little photo display I made for the coffee shop. It contains a photo of Coleson and his dad, whom Coleson takes after. The only difference is the wrinkles around his dad’s eyes and mouth. They’re basically twins, though even I can see the strained look on Coleson’s dad’s face. He doesn’t look happy to be with his son on his signing day, and that bothers me. I included Coleson’s current player photo too, putting it in front of the other since, while I wanted to honor his dad, I more wanted to honor Coleson. Then there are photos of us, mostly ones Elliot has taken. But one of my favorites is from the Halloween party.