Then I turn over to see the most beautiful man in the world asleep beside me and my chest overflows. My heart just spills over until it feels like love is rushing out of me like a waterfall.
And then Ian opens his eyes and smiles like I’m the best thing he’s ever woken up to and the waterfall becomes a flood.
“Hey, you,” he says, his voice rough.
“Hey to you, too,” I say, grinning as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “How’d you sleep?”
“Shitty,” he says, still grinning. “I kept waking up hard and dying to be inside the sexy little blonde in my bed.”
“You should have woken me up.”
“Nah, you needed your rest. And you’re pretty when you’re sleeping.”
“You, too.” I prop my arms on his pecs, studying the stubble on his chin. “And I really like your morning whiskers.”
“You’re not going to like them once you feel how scratchy they are,” he says, taking my hand and bringing my fingers to his cheek. “See?”
I hum thoughtfully. “Yes, they are scratchy. But what if I like scratchy whiskers against my thighs first thing in the morning?”
“Do you?” he asks, the last of the sleepiness fading from his expression as he squeezes my bottom beneath the covers.
“I don’t know,” I whisper as I press a kiss to his chest. “But I’m dying to find out.”
Less than three minutes later, I’m crying Ian’s name as I come on his mouth, proving scratchy whiskers paired with soft lips and a firm tongue are as riveting a combination as I suspected. And then Ian is rolling me over onto my stomach and gliding into me from behind, sinking into me with the same ease, the same perfection as last night.
There’s a hint of soreness at first, but by the second long, languid thrust, there’s only pleasure, only bliss, only Ian, the lover who could quickly become the biggest piece of my heart if I let him. I come again, clinging to the arm he’s wrapped around my ribs and arching into the thick cock jerking inside of me, telling myself over and over that this is beautiful, but temporary.
This is the end, not the beginning.
And that’s okay. I can survive this. I can enjoy our last few hours together and then let him go.
But no matter how firmly my inner voice lectures on the importance of perspective, there are tears in my eyes by the time we’re finished. Thankfully, however, he’s behind me, and I have time to wipe them away while he removes the condom and wraps it in tissues from beside the bed.
When he turns back to me, I’m smiling and solid again.
I’m also starving.
“Breakfast,” I say, my stomach snarling its agreement. “I want some of that, don’t you?”
He nods, a somber expression on his face as he says, “Absolutely. We should hit the buffet and eat until we can barely stand.”
I grin, but it fades away a beat later. “That sounds great. So why do you look so serious all of a sudden?”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No reason. Just hungry, I guess. You want first shower? Then I can jump in and get dressed and we’ll be ready to go grab food in thirty minutes or so?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I say. “I’m a very fast showerer, especially when I’m jonesing for waffles.”
“Fifteen, then.” He kisses my cheek before rolling out of bed and shrugging into one of the thick robes hanging on hooks beside the entrance to the bathroom. “I just need to make a quick call and I’ll join you in the shower. If that’s all right with you?”
“Fine with me.” I sit up, swinging my legs out from under the covers. “Assuming we can keep from getting…distracted while we get clean.”
“Sorry, that’s a non-starter,” he tosses over his shoulder on his way into the living room area of the suite. He stops in the door, turning to shoot me a wicked grin. “I will be fucking you against the wall in the shower. Not even going to try to control myself.”
“Fine,” I say, heaving a melodramatic sigh as I slink toward the bathroom, loving the feel of his eyes devouring me with every step, “twenty minutes, then. But don’t stay on the phone too long or I’ll be out before you get in. I’m telling you, I’m speedy in the shower. Especially for a girl.”
“Noted,” he says. “I’ll be quick.”
“You do that.” I disappear into the bathroom with a giddy grin, close the door, and quickly pee and wash my hands before turning on the shower.
I’m about to step in when I remember how worried I was about possible morning breath a few minutes ago and head for the sink instead. I brush my teeth and smooth on a coat of Chapstick—Ian’s whiskers left my lips a little chafed—and then set out Ian’s toothbrush and toothpaste beside the soap dish.
I stick my head out of the bathroom to teasingly suggest he clean his dirty mouth for me before he joins me in the shower to see him pacing back and forth in front of the window in the other room.
Even with his back turned, I can tell something is wrong. His movements are too stiff, his shoulders too tight.
My nosy side getting the better of me, I wrap up in a towel and creep softly across the carpet to the doorway, but Ian’s listening at this point in his conversation, not talking. I can’t hear anything but an occasional frustrated sigh as he paces.
I’m about to sneak back into the bathroom like I should have from the beginning when he says, “No, I’m not going to change my mind. I’m going to stay in New York and on the team. I don’t care if it’s bad for my career. There are more important things on my mind right now.” He sighs again. “Yeah, there are more important things than hockey or my career. I’ve met someone, okay? Someone amazing and her entire life is here. So, I’m going to stay here, too, and…make the best of things. Who knows? Maybe I’ll figure out a way to get through to the others and turn the team around.”
As the meaning of his words hit, my heart splits in two, one part soaring into the clouds on wings of happiness because Ian feels it, too. He feels how special this is, how right, and how worth fighting for, and a selfish part of me couldn’t be happier.
But the not selfish part is sinking in my belly like a stone, dragging at me with a weight I know I won’t be able to bear for very long. Maybe a year if all goes well with our budding relationship, maybe two. But eventually watching Ian’s love for the game fade with every miserable practice and lackluster game will become too heavy. Too much. Eventually, I’d come to hate myself for letting him choose me, and maybe he would, too.
But he’s right—my entire life is here. My school, my work, my friends and my family. I love Ian, but I also love living with my three best friends, the way we always dreamed we would. Even if Ian wanted me to go with him, if that didn’t feel like way too much, way too soon, I would feel so torn.
I’m not ready to give up this life I’ve worked so hard for, and my art therapy program is the best in the country. I might be able to transfer to a school wherever Ian goes to play but it wouldn’t be the same, and I’d always wonder what I missed out on by following my man instead of staying fixed on my own star.
I back away, my throat so tight I can barely breathe as Ian continues to argue with whoever is on the other end of the line—his agent, I’m guessing. He’s probably cancelling that meeting he had scheduled for Monday. But that’s okay, he can always reschedule it, as soon as he sees…