13. Finn #2
“Well yeah, big, strong—”
He placed an icy glove over my mouth, and I spluttered.
“Have you stopped thinking about goalies I want to kill now?” Cameron asked.
I nodded. Then, I waved off his help and used the posts to stand, wiping at my face, the scent of glove way too intense. I wrinkled my nose, but the scent soon cleared when Cameron stole a kiss before skating away from me.
God, he’s so sexy, with all that confidence, and his thighs, and hell—he’s watching me back.
I struck a pose and fell on my ass again.
Fuck my life.
Three weeks into lessons, and closer to the first day of filming, I’d finally found my feet, or my skates, or whatever.
I could start, stop, go backward, pivot, and the best bit of all, I could do that sexy sliding to a stop thing where ice is flicked up into the air.
I made a mental note to suggest that as a close-up shot from the ground, but I bet River already had that in his head.
It became so that, instead of skating and falling, I was skating and thinking about my character and how he would approach the ice.
And also, the script.
“Can I run some lines with you?” I asked, when, yet again, we ended up at his place, and he’d kissed me senseless as soon as I stepped in the door.
“Sure, I’d love to see it.”
I tapped my lower lip. “I wonder if the NDA covers me sharing lines from the super-secret important script. Can I rely on your silence?”
He kissed me, pushing me back against the counter, and when my knees were so weak it was only him and the cupboards holding me up, he went for the kill with a full-on cradling-my-face-butterfly-kiss.
“I hope you know you can trust me.”
And as I melted into his arms, I knew I could.
Until that was, five minutes into reading lines, he started laughing and wouldn’t stop.
In fact, he was laughing so hard he snorted and rolled off the sofa, holding his belly.
“Pass me the puck—” he read, stopped, and then, the tears began.
Tears of laughter.
“What’s funny?”
“No one politely says pass me the puck!” Cameron wheezed, and then snorted again, covering his face with his hands.
“What do they say then?” I checked the script, wondering if maybe I was not reading it right, but no, my character actually said, “pass me the puck.” Maybe it was all about inflection.
“Please would you ever so kindly pass—” Cameron started with a fake British accent, and that made the laughing worse. He gasped, attempting to catch a breath, and made at least some attempt to chill, but it lasted only long enough until he pointed at the script and started all over again.
I straddled him on the floor, caught his hands, and stared down at him. “What do you say then?” I asked, smiling.
His laughing stopped, and he wriggled his hands free to reach up and cradle my face again.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “I want to kiss you all the time.”
It was in that moment I fell in love.
I found that love was a tricky thing. As another week passed, and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him, the read-throughs on the script became more important, and he worked with me on all the corny lines, which we smoothed out and sent back to the writers with the hope they would incorporate them.
Love was right there in my heart, but Cam was still my teacher, still a friend with benefits, still keeping my secrets.
So, I focused on the movie and tried to ignore the uproar over rumors that the studio was looking for someone else to take on the Rapid franchise.
My statement suggested I was moving to other projects, but a shit ton of people suggested that Rapid, plus the made-for-kids ladybug movie, were about the limit of my acting ability.
Whatever.
The contract for my part in The Cup was made public as well, and yep, there was a lot of gossip in which it was hotly debated about how shit I would be having a script that was more than one-liner quips.
I knew I was better than that, my acting coach said he’d slap me upside the head if I even thought that I wouldn’t be good in the part.
Cam said the same, between kisses and sex and a lot of laughter.
Knowing the role was mine made me work harder with Cam.
I’ll show them.
And, according to him, hockey players tapped the ice to indicate that they were available, but most of the time, it was up to the passing player to go with instinct and know where other team members were.
They didn’t ask in any sort of polite way; in fact another option was to get in each other’s faces and demand that a teammate-- in Cam’s words-- pass the fucking puck!
And yes, I was now calling him Cam.
My Cam. Although he didn’t know that yet.
My character became more like him with every skate, and every game film we watched, and I only grew to admire Cam more each moment we were together.
He wasn’t captain of the Storm, that was Charlie with the big house, but Cameron was a leader on the team, and it was clear he was damn good at his job.
When he asked to talk after our latest practice-- one in which I’d skated the entire rink in reverse-- I never even thought it would be bad news.
“My brother’s fiancée is having a dinner party this weekend for wedding stuff, and I have to attend so…” He hesitated, and I waited for him to ask me to go with him. He didn’t. “We’ll have to take a few days off from training.”
Nothing. No invite. No introduction to his family. Damn it.
“Oh, hey that’s fine.” I said, using my best it’s-all-cool tone. “You should for sure be with your family for that. I can keep working on my short stops. Spraying ice and all that. Looks great on camera.” I knocked his arm, all buddy-buddy, and he smiled at me.
“It won’t be for long,” he apologized, “sorry to break up the training, but y’know, family is everything.”
I smiled even harder. “I can manage. One more practice, and then, go be with family.”
Take me with you.