Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(69)
Hanging my head, I try to catch my breath. My heart hammers against my ribcage, aftershocks wracking my body. I’m far more tired than I should be as an athlete, and I’m going to chalk that up to all the anticipation leading up to the main event.
When I glance back up, our eyes lock, and her mouth tugs into a smile. She looks partsated, part-smug—probably because by now, she knows exactly what she does to me.
“For the record,” I say, still breathing heavily, “don’t tell me to come unless you want it to happen immediately.”
She giggles. “I’m definitely going to abuse that knowledge.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” I pinch her ass, and she laughs even harder.
Later that night, Seraphina falls asleep first. I lay in bed with her naked body wrapped around mine, listening to her slow, even breaths in the quiet room.
That’s when it hits me: I haven’t thought about hockey all night.
My toxic trait is that I like to know everything—even when it doesn’t serve me. Keeping tabs on my own stats is only logical, but monitoring the competition is a great way to fuck up my mental health.
Case in point: Caleb Brown is up a spot in the standings, putting us squarely neck and neck. I’m still first, but the gap dividing us is rapidly shrinking.
Fuck.
I stare at the tiny numbers on my screen until they turn into a blur. The rational part of me knows it’s more than a little ridiculous to stress over first versus second place in the entire league. The rest of me doesn’t care—especially not when my longer-term career is potentially in jeopardy.
Seraphina walks up, studying my face with a frown. “You okay, Hades? You look like you want to kill someone.”
She’s not wrong. I have a bad mood brewing beneath the surface, but now that I’m looking at her, I’m trying hard to let it go. It’s already Saturday evening, and it feels like the weekend is slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. I don’t want to waste a single second.
“Yeah, just looking at—”
“Hockey,” she finishes, gently prying the phone from my hands. “You promised we’d watch a movie.”
“That I did.” I even promised she could pick a girly one. It helps that she asked me in the middle of the dirtiest shower I’ve ever taken. Every time I see that detachable showerhead, I’m going to picture it between Seraphina’s legs.
She lowers onto the couch next to me and drapes her legs across my lap. Her pink-and-white pajama set she just changed into makes me want to do anything but sleep. The ribbed crop top hits above her navel, exposing a tempting sliver of bare skin, and the shorts barely cover her ass cheeks.
Leaning forward, she fishes a pink Starburst out of the bag on the coffee table while I open the movie store app.
“By the way,” she says. “You didn’t tell me your birthday was coming up.”
I pause with the remote still aimed at the television. “Who told you that?”
It isn’t that it’s a secret; it’s that someone talking about my birthday automatically makes me suspicious.
Her head snaps up, and her eyes widen. “Er… no one.” She shoves a Starburst in her mouth.
Yep. Just like I thought. Not hard to guess what’s going on here.
“Is Dallas trying to throw me a surprise party?”
Seraphina chews the candy slowly like she’s trying to buy herself some time to think. “I don’t know if it was meant to be a surprise per se, but I may have been instructed not to tell you about it.” She grimaces. “I’m terrible at keeping secrets. Sorry.”
I’m not a big fan of surprises, and I’m even less fond of surprise parties. But with the dirt Dallas is holding over my head, it’s not like I can complain. Plus, it’s well-intentioned. As the extrovert of the house, sometimes he forgets not everyone is wired the same way.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “I’d rather know. As long as we can sneak off for some birthday sex.”
Her mouth tips up at the corner. “We can definitely sneak off for some birthday sex.”
After a moment’s debate—though I suspect she secretly knew what she wanted all along—Seraphina chooses Legally Blonde because I haven’t seen it and she claims it’s the holy grail of movies. I hit play, then take her left foot in my hands and dig my thumb into the arch, massaging.
“Ooh, that’s good.” She leans back into the cushions, letting out a sigh that sounds borderline sexual. “I could get used to this.”
Halfway through the movie, she’s out cold on my chest. The frame stills as I hit pause to hold our place. Sundays are my only day off from all forms of training, and there’s a chance we’ll have time to finish tomorrow before Chase and Dallas get back. While I wouldn’t have watched this on my own, now I’m invested. Warner is a total douchecanoe, and I’m rooting for his downfall.
There’s something else about the movie that resonates with me, too. I think I can see why Seraphina relates to it, and that gives me a little more insight into her.
Switching the TV to ESPN, I dial down the volume until it’s neatly inaudible. Then I glance down at Sera, debating whether to move her into bed or let her sleep a little longer before I try. Her lips are parted slightly, her dark lashes resting against her upper cheeks. A sense of protectiveness washes over me, followed by massive confusion.