13. Bridget
Bridget
Arizona had offered to keep me company this evening during the Surf’s home game. When I protested that I didn’t want her to stay home on my account, she explained that she and the kids didn’t normally attend on school nights. But still, I declined.
Yes, the dark made me nervous, but I was determined to conquer my fear. Even if all I took was baby steps—a few hours alone before Cole’s return.
And technically, I wasn’t completely alone. I had Cinder to keep me company.
The little furball had quickly become my best bud.
He followed me around the house, rubbing against my leg as I worked to earn my keep, and anytime I sat down, he curled up on my lap.
Running my hand down his soft back to elicit his melodic purrs worked wonders, soothing my frayed nerves as the sun slid below the horizon.
I hadn’t watched hockey since Bennett died.
At first, because it was too painful a reminder of the brother I’d lost. And later, because Aiden had complete control over the TV and his sport of choice was football.
But when the pre-game show began, the commentary provided familiarity, the comfort of it making me feel as if I were being wrapped in a warm blanket.
Growing up, I spent more time inside a rink than I did at home.
Weeknights were for practice, where many a dinner was served by the concession stand and my allowance was spent on the arcade games in the lobby.
Weekends meant traveling to tournaments out of town, bundled up against the chill during games, wreaking havoc on the hotel pool and playing mini sticks in between.
My fondest childhood memories revolved around the sport my brother had dedicated his too-short life to.
By all outward appearances, Bennett was my favorite player on whatever team he happened to be playing on. Only me and one other person in this entire world knew I was secretly his best friend’s biggest fan.
“What’s this?” I lifted the bundle of fabric Cole had thrust into my arms.
He huffed out a laugh. “What does it look like?”
Unfolding the garment, I pretended to inspect it before replying, “It looks like a SoCal Breezers jersey. But as you can plainly see”—I gestured a hand down my torso—“I already have one.”
With a twirl of his index finger, he commanded, “Do a little twirl for me, beautiful.”
Obeying, I spun around, eliciting a displeased grumble from Cole.
“The one you’re wearing has the wrong name on the back.”
I propped one hand on my hip. “It’s my name.”
“For now.”
Arching one eyebrow, I challenged, “Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm.” He looped an arm around my waist. “Someday your last name is going to be Astor, so you should get used to wearing it.”
My heart did a little flip inside my chest, and try as I might, I couldn’t maintain a cool facade, letting out a girlish squeal of delight, my hips doing a little shimmy.
Most girls had fantasies of marrying the boy who stole their hearts in high school, filling notebooks with their first name followed by his last. But for many of them, their crushes were unrequited, and even if they were in a relationship, teenage boys weren’t interested in anything serious—they certainly weren’t thinking about taking a trip down the aisle anytime soon.
Cole wasn’t like the rest. He was standing here, promising me forever at the tender age of seventeen. And with the sincerity shining in his blue eyes, I knew he was telling the truth.
It definitely wouldn’t happen today, and probably not tomorrow either, but at some point in the future, I would become his wife.
We had a lot of hurdles ahead of us before then. The biggest one would be telling my brother I’d been sneaking around with his best friend for the better part of a year. Imagining his reaction—how angry he’d be that we’d kept this huge secret from him—made me sick to my stomach.
Cole loved me; I knew that down to the depths of my soul, but I worried that Bennett’s blessing—or lack thereof—had the power to make or break us.
Was our relationship strong enough to survive if my brother didn’t accept it, or worse yet, if it ended the lifelong friendship he shared with the man who owned my heart?
Neither of us was in any hurry to face the inevitable fallout when we stepped into the light hand in hand.
“Does that mean you’ll wear it?” Hope colored Cole’s words.
My head bobbed on an enthusiastic nod. “Yes, of course I will.”
I stripped off Bennett’s jersey before tossing Cole’s over my head.
Turning around, I peeked at him over my shoulder. “What do you think?”
“Looks so good that it’s a damn shame I’m the only one who will get to see it.”
“How about I make it up to you, and later tonight you can see me wearing only this.”
His head fell back on a loud groan. “How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on the game with that mental picture in my head?”
“Sounds like a you problem,” I teased, giving my ass a little shake.
His eyes tracked the move, his fingers flexing as if he wanted to grab two fistfuls and throw me down on the bed right then.
Cole took a single step toward me before a buzzing halted him in his tracks. With a sigh, he reached into his pocket, glancing at the screen of his cell phone and cursing under his breath. Pointing a finger at me, he said, “I have to head to the rink, but this isn’t over.”
“Far from it,” I agreed. As I tugged on Bennett’s jersey again to hide that I wore Cole’s, a mischievous idea struck. “In fact, I think we should up the ante.”
He cocked his head to the side. “What are you talking about?”
Sauntering closer with an exaggerated sway of my hips, I looped my arms around his neck. “Forgive my crossing into another sport, but for each goal you score tonight, I’ll let you round that many bases.”
His throat bobbed on a thick swallow, and when he spoke, his voice came out rough. “So if I score four . . .”
“We go all the way,” I confirmed.
The boys played at the highest competitive level of youth hockey. Their opponents were just as skilled as their team, meaning games were often low-scoring affairs. The likelihood of him scoring multiple goals was slim but not impossible, and I was prepared to make good on my promise.
Would tonight be the night I lost my virginity?
Only time would tell.
When Cole climbed through my bedroom window later that night, I was spread out on my bed, his jersey barely concealing my bare pussy from view. He’d scored a hat trick, so we did just about everything but breach that final barrier.
That was the first time he put his mouth between my legs, and I swear my soul left my body.
The orgasm he coaxed from me with his tongue was far more intense than any of the ones I experienced when we dry humped, or he slid his hand into my panties, and I wondered if I would be able to survive if sex was even better.
God, these days, I couldn’t recall the last time I felt aroused. Sex had been reduced to a chore, something I didn’t really want to do but had to anyway, and in order to get through it, I went somewhere else in my head, dissociating with the experience.
Pleasure was something that only existed in my memories.
Caught up in the past, I’d missed team warm-ups and barely caught the final notes of the national anthem being belted from the singer on the rolled-out red carpet.
“All right, Cinder,” I said to my feline companion. “You ready to watch your dad go to work?”
There was a meow as he butted his furry head against my hand.
A laugh was pulled from my chest. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
The puck was dropped, and the game began.
Like all those years ago, when I was merely watching on from metal bleachers, I quietly remarked on every movement that took place on the ice.
“Nice D-to-D pass, Crew . . . Ugh, you gotta have your head up . . . Who’s in front of the net? . . . Bad time for a shift change . . . Okay, power play. Let’s take advantage, boys.”
Cinder didn’t seem bothered by my mindless commentary, but he let out a loud yowl when I jumped to my feet without warning to celebrate a goal Cole scored for the Surf.
“Oops, sorry, buddy.” I bent low to scratch behind his ears in apology.
He purred as if all was forgiven before flopping onto his back and exposing his soft stomach for belly rubs.
Pride filled my chest when my eyes darted back to the TV, the five Surf players in the midst of a group hug against the glass as the crowd in the arena went wild.
The camera followed as they skated toward the bench for first bumps from the rest of the team before panning to a blonde woman in the stands who cheered with visible excitement.
She was gorgeous, sure, but I didn’t understand why the shot zoomed in on her rather than the entire section, as if she were somehow relevant to the action on the ice.
Then the announcers said her name, and my world tilted on its axis.