His brown eyes sear into mine. “I love you, Drew, and I want to shout that shit to the fucking world. Let everyone know that you’re mine.” He sighs. “But we can’t. I have seven months of school left and then we have the rest of our lives to be together in public.”
Brayden eyes me for a few seconds, then says, “You don’t think I would cheat on you, do you?”
I close my eyes, hating myself for being insecure. I know Brayden is committed to me, but I also know up until a few weeks ago, he was straight, and if the rumors are correct, fucking lots of different women.
“Drew…” he prompts.
I open my eyes and he’s staring at me with hurt etched across his features. I hate myself for even considering the notion that he would cheat on me. Brayden loves me. He tells me every chance he gets and shows me every time we’re alone.
“No.” I shake my head to emphasize my answer.
“I wouldn’t.” He cages my face between his rough hands.
“I know. I just hate this shit. I’m sorry.”
“I do, too.” He presses his lips to mine. “But it’s not forever.”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah… You coming over tonight?” I don’t know why I’m even asking. Brayden has spent every night in my bed with me since the day we got together. Most of his clothes are in my drawers and hanging in my closet.
“Actually, I was thinking we should go out.”
“You know we can’t do that.” I take his hand in mine, threading our fingers together while we walk through the locker room.
“How about you go home and change into something more comfortable, and I’ll be over in an hour to pick you up.”
“Bray… You don’t have to do this.” I groan. “I was acting stupid.”
“No, you weren’t.” We stop in front of the entrance door and he palms my cheek and kisses me. “Now go home and get ready because I’m taking you out on our first official date.”
When I get home, the apartment is empty. I quickly change out of my suit and jump in the shower. As I’m deciding what to wear, Brayden sends me a text, telling me to dress casual. I get dressed in pair of nice jeans and a Henley. I throw on a pair of Chucks and put on my Tag Heuer watch—it was my first purchase when I received my signing bonus. I step into the bathroom, brush my teeth, and then spray some cologne on me. I have no idea what Brayden has planned, or how he plans to pull this off, but I’m excited nonetheless. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date.
When there’s a knock on my door, I chuckle to myself. Brayden never knocks. He and Mia might not officially live here, but they both come and go like they do.
I swing the door open and find Brayden standing on the other side, looking sexy as hell. He’s changed out of his sweats and hoodie and is dressed in a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved Reebok shirt, and matching Reebok tennis shoes.
When I get done eye-fucking him, I notice he’s holding a small bottle of whiskey in his hand. “I didn’t want to get too girly and shit,” he says with a shrug, “so I went with a bottle of liquor instead of flowers.” He hands it to me and my heart warms at the sentiment.
“Never understood why women always want flowers,” I joke.
“Right?” he deadpans. “Flowers just wilt away and die, and I swear every girl who sniffs them always says they smell beautiful. Have you ever smelled flowers? They’re so fragrant they make your eyes water.” His nose scrunches up in disgust, and I laugh.
“You ready to go?” he asks, stepping inside and giving me a quick kiss.
“Yeah, let me just put my bottle in the freezer. For later.” I wink, and he laughs. It’s the best fucking sound in the world.
As Brayden drives through town, we make small talk about the game tomorrow night, the upcoming holiday break, and how he’s doing in his classes. I don’t know where we’re going, and I guess I could ask, but I’d rather wait to see what he has planned.
When we get out of town, my heart drops. I should’ve known wherever we’re going would require us leaving Hawk’s Landing. I know Brayden is only doing what he has to do so we can be together in public, but it’s still a reminder that in order to do so, we have to drive past the town limits.
An hour later I’m starting to wonder where we’re going when he gets off the interstate and I see the sign. “Bray…”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me we’re not going where I think we’re going.” There’s no way he would bring us here of all places.
“Where do you think we’re going?” he asks, pulling into the parking lot of the Michigan Wolves stadium.
“To watch a Wolves game.”
“Yep,” he says as he swings into a parking spot.
“This is awesome, but we can’t go in there.” I might’ve only played in the NHL for a short time, but I was one of the top paid players. Any smart hockey fan will recognize me.
“Trust me?” he asks, turning the vehicle off.
“Of course I do.”
“Then, c’mon.” He drops a Wolves ball cap into my hands. “And put that on.” He shakes a matching one out and pulls it over his head.
As we walk through the parking lot, memories of when we were younger flash through my mind. Coming to this stadium to watch the Wolves play—my dad play. My dad would offer to get us seats up close, but Brayden’s dad insisted we sit in the higher level cheap seats. He said you have to work your way down to appreciate the view up close. So, we would come to the games and, with our binoculars stuck to our faces, commentate the entire game. Some of my best memories with Brayden were up in those shitty seats.
When we get to the ticket window, Brayden tells the woman he purchased tickets online and gives her his confirmation number. She hands him the tickets and we head inside.
“Let’s get our food,” he says, stopping at the concession stand. “Two boxes of popcorn, an order of nachos, two blue raspberry slushies, and two hot dogs, please,” he orders. “Did I get that right?”
My heart damn near explodes in my chest that he remembers exactly what we used to order. Since Tim insisted on buying the seats, my dad insisted on paying for the snacks. Looking back, it’s kind of ironic that we probably paid more for the food than the seats.
“Yeah,” I choke out. “It’s right.”
With our food piled high in our arms, we head into the stadium. The game has already started, but it doesn’t fucking matter. This is already the best damn date I’ve ever been on.
“What are our seat numbers?” I ask, glancing at the signs.
“Q 42 and 43,” he says with a smirk.
I laugh, fucking elated that he got us the nosebleed seats.
On our way to our seats, he stops a man selling binoculars and buys two pairs. I laugh, remembering how we used to bring our own to every game. Once we find our seats, we drop into them and set our food down in the empty seats next to us. Then, we both bring our binoculars up to our faces so we can see what’s going on.
We spend the next couple hours watching Michigan kick New York’s ass. We commentate the game, eat the shitty food, and laugh as we reminisce about the past.