Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I haven’t gone home with a guy in a long time. Like ever. Not since Tyler. And I don’t think that qualifies when I had dinner with his parents and then we went to the basement to watch a movie. I’d ended up late for both my curfew and my period. We got married shortly after that, and then home was our little apartment.
Point being, after the divorce, dating and sex haven’t been on my to-do list. The concept has felt foreign and wrong for so long, but after that kiss? They’re starting to sound much more intriguing.
Not tonight, I tell the butterflies flapping around in my belly.
For one, I cannot have sex for the first time since Tyler with my son asleep in the next room. What if I’m loud? What if Dominic is? The image of a grunting, orgasming Dominic with his face scrunched up in pleasure pops into my mind unbidden. Are hot flashes a thing at twenty-eight? Because I think I’m having one.
Second, Dominic will probably have postgame things to do and we won’t even have the chance to see him off the ice.
Also, what if I don’t know what I’m doing? A man like Dominic will be good in bed. I have zero doubt of that. If I was unsure, the way he kissed me quickly removed any uncertainty there. He was tender but sure, exploring not only my mouth but my body as well. Honestly, I was surprised he didn’t shove me up against the side of his truck and take what he wanted. I could feel that he wanted to—wanted me!—but he’d held himself back, and that restraint was oh so sexy, making me wonder what an unleashed Dominic would be like. On the other hand, I have little to no experience with men. Tyler and I didn’t exactly have a rip-roaring love life, and sex has always been kind of a meh experience for me.
Oh God, what if I have sex with Dominic and it’s still just okay? I’ve read all sorts of books and watched my fair share of romance movies. Is the knock your socks off, make you scream sex in those entirely fictional? Or could it actually exist?
I want it to be real. And I want it to be real with Dominic, which is massive progress in itself. Go me! If I could afford a therapist, she’d be so proud of me. But I don’t have one of those, so I give myself a hearty pat on the back and a private attagirl.
“Look, Mom! There’s Dom!” Harley shouts, yanking me from the whirlwind of thoughts tumbling through my head.
The Blizzard have taken to the ice, doing sweeping loops around one end to warm up. Even with the whole lot of them dressed in baby blue, my eyes find Dominic easily. He’s not particularly taller or wider than any of the other guys, but he draws my attention like a magnet.
“Dom!” Harley shouts, banging on the glass as he skates closer. “Dominic!”
I see the instant he hears the familiar voice, watch him perk up and try to find us, which means I get a front-row seat to the smile that lifts his lips when he locks in on Harley . . . and then me.
The whole world seems to drop away, and in an instant, I feel the impact of his heavy gaze. His eyes drop over me, flaring when he sees the jersey I’m wearing. The look on his face says that, as important as this game is, I’m the focus. That if we were to change seats, he could find me anywhere in the arena, picking my voice out from fifteen thousand others.
It’s a look that says that I mean something to him. It’s a look that my body responds to naturally even before my brain catches up. It’s a look that says, You’re mine. Game over.
Because no other person in this entire arena is getting a look from Dominic like I am right now.
As he skates by us, he touches the glass with his gloved hand, right where Harley has placed his hand. Literally an inch of plexiglass and his glove separate them, but Harley acts like it’s a direct high five. Weird as it sounds, I understand because I’d swear that I can feel Dom’s heat through the glass too.
“Did you see that, Mom?” Harley asks, his eyes filled with awe.
It’s like he’s discovered that a celebrity is a real person, but it’s just Dominic, the man who practiced drills with him, discussed proper cheese to burger to bun ratios while they stuffed their faces, and helped with both an injury and a jerk of a father.
But now, he’s dressed in full gear and looks like the guy from the games on television. Still, Dominic is more than a famous athlete. He’s a friend . . . to my son. And maybe to me.