Chapter 16 Friendsgiving
FRIENDSGIVING
SAINT
I wake up bright and early with the hardest wood and reach over, but Anastasia isn’t there. After a week of enjoying the most insane and satisfying morning sex with her, that’s disappointing. Pots and pans banging in the kitchen provide a clue to her whereabouts.
It’s a big day, between a light morning practice, the Friendsgiving meal Nana, Misty, and Anastasia are cooking for everyone here, and the Puckers’ game tonight. I put on flannel lounging pants and slippers and tread down the hall, rubbing my eyes.
“Morning, angel,” I say, my voice groggy. When I open my eyes, I expect to see Anastasia in her usual lounge wear of Puckers t-shirt and cutoffs or leggings—or nothing on under, my preference. Instead, I find Nana.
“Well, hello, sleepyhead,” she greets me as she turns around from putting something in the oven, but gasps and freezes, grabbing her chest with a pot-holder covered hand like she’s having a heart attack upon seeing me.
Maybe she is, considering her eyes roll down my abs and lower until I clear my throat.
Her eyes snap away and she rushes to the other side of the kitchen. “Oh, my. Anastasia is one lucky woman.”
“Oh, Saint, go put on a shirt.” Anastasia laughs, coming up behind me from the hallway, and squeezes my ass.
“Anyone need help cooking?” Storm enters the kitchen then, and behold. He’s dressed like me.
“The women are ganging up on us, dude. Apparently no man-chests are to be visible today,” I explain, patting him on the back.
“I have nothing against half-naked men in the kitchen. My late husband long-held that habit, too. I simply wasn’t prepared to expect you men here like that this morning.” Nana says, still forcing her eyes low. “Where’s Misty?”
“Oh, uh, she wanted to sleep a little longer in the guest room.” Storm winks at me like he got morning sex. Lucky bastard. “But you all know I’m the better cook. So put me to work.”
“Aren’t you going to Puckers practice with Saint?” Anastasia asks.
“Leo’s picking me up. Storm will drop in toward the end and bring me home. As the big professional hockey player, he’s going to help me mentor some rookies today.” I reach around Nana for the coffeepot. Her breath hitches; I snicker to myself. She’s a funny old girl, and everyone loves her.
“Can’t wait,” Storm says, and chuckles. “And by mentor, you mean torment, right?”
“Nah, man. Duke wants me to take this shit seriously.” I pour myself a cup and although it’s not coffee made the usual way Anastasia and I take it, I down about half the dark roast. “But yeah. We’ll find time for a prank or something.
” I set my cup in the sink, and grab Anastasia for a bear hug before I go.
“Did you all know that by the end of this season, Saint could end up as the semi-pro player with the most ice time played in the league?” Anastasia shocks me, throwing this random fact out there. All movement in the kitchen stops and eyes are on me.
“How in the world do you know that?” I’m careful not to scowl too hard at her.
“I told you. I’m a hockey fan. And when it comes to you, I like to look over your stats in between writing.” She eyes me cautiously, and she should. This isn’t a big deal and I wish she hadn’t brought it up.
“No way? Cool, dude.” Storm holds his fist out. I bump it, but shake my head.
“Um, yeah. I figured I was getting close. It’s not exactly a number to be proud of.” I kiss her on the head and let her go.
“Why not? I thought ice time is what players covet most?” She looks to Storm for confirmation. He nods and shrugs, but knows better than to get between us and say anything more.
I head down the hall to change and get ready to go. She follows and shuts the door behind us, trapping us in our bedroom together.
“Saint, what’s wrong?”
“Look, my number represents years in the semi-pros. It would hit better if it were in the pros.” I grab my gear bag and tear off my flannels, trading them out for gray sweats.
“During all that time, you’ve been able to play healthy, help the team to six championship games, and now you get to mentor these new guys. I’ve seen the way Leo looks up to you. You should be proud.”
“Can we just drop it, please?” I roll my eyes.
She sighs and heads to the door. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”
Fuck. I cross the room on her in a flash. My lips smother hers like she holds my last breath. “I’m an idiot.”
“Sometimes,” she sniffles, nuzzling into my neck. I pick her up and sit on the edge of the bed with her in my lap. Her arms drape around my neck.
“When I graduated college and spent my first year in the national league, it was everything I dreamed about and worked for since the moment I put on my first pair of skates. But—certain things happened, and to cope, I partied too hard that year.” I could see something in her eyes flicker, looking like she wants to ask more about that time of my life, but I hurry past it.
“And that landed me playing for the semi-pros. I’m good here, at this level. I don’t need to move on.”
“Okay, I get that. But what’s next? Doesn’t every player have to plan for after hockey life? You never know when an injury could sideline you.” She reminds me how astute she is about hockey.
“My talent has always been this sport. I don’t really know. Without it, what would I do?”
“I believe in you, Saint. You could do anything you put your mind to.”
“You sure you want to put so much faith in me? My mother never has. I guess I haven’t given many other women a chance to.”
“Maybe it’s time you do. And believe that this woman right here isn’t like your mom and all the rest.”
“No, you’re not. And that’s one of the many reasons I’m…” I work my throat, hardly believe what I’m about to say. “Falling for you, Anastasia.”
“You are?” Her face splits with a smile from ear to ear. I hadn’t planned this out, or thought of what I would say. The natural flow of our conversation brings out the honest truth.
“Yeah. But the years are creeping up on me. Occasionally, I think I could push myself harder and wind up on a national team.” I glance down at my bottom dresser drawer, where I keep the memory of a woman who didn’t have the luxury of enough time on this planet.
“Time flies, and I’m getting older. The rookies these days are faster and better than I was at their age. ”
“I’ve seen you play, Saint. I know firsthand what kind of condition you’re in. With more work, you could make it onto a pro team.” Her hand on my cheek, she gives me more hope with her eyes than I deserve credit for.
“Is that what you want? A boyfriend who plays professionally?” I scoff.
“I didn’t say that. To me, it doesn’t matter what level you play or if you join the coaching staff or go do something else with your life. I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy—with you. As long as you don’t mind your boyfriend playing for the Puckers and earning the league’s notoriety for the most ice time,” I snort.
She grins at me, sheepishly, “Well, if I was the girlfriend of a guy like that, I’d be proud as heck.”
“Sounds like we’re more than roommates, angel.” I kiss her nose.
“It sure does, doesn’t it?” She quirks an eyebrow at me.
“In that case…” I drop her down onto the bed and fish a white box out of my closet. “This is for you. Open it.”
She giggles. “More lingerie, I presume?”
I bring a shoulder to my ear, not saying a word, waiting for her reaction. When she pulls the lid off, the first thing on top is a Puckers jersey. Mine.
She gasps loudly, almost a squeal, holding her heart, her jaw on the floor. Pulling it out, she turns it over to the back and sees my name, St. James, with my number 68 prominent in the shades of the Puckers, of light and dark blue.
She gasps again, setting it aside and retrieving the other item beneath it. A sweatshirt with the big logo in middle that reads, Property of the Puckers.
“These are for me?” She asks, her eyes wide as saucers.
“Yep. Wear them proudly, angel.”
“Does this mean…?”
“You’re mine? Hell yeah it does.”
She screams and launches herself at me. We tumble back onto the bed, and she smooches my face everywhere. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
The door suddenly bursts open, and Storm and Misty stand there. Her scream must have roused her best friend awake. All Anastasia does is upright herself, and stand in the middle of the room, holding up the two items with a goofy grin on her face. Misty knows exactly what’s happening.
The two of them hug and scream and jump around, causing a ruckus. Storm and I plug our ears until they’re done. When it’s safe, he holds out his fist again and I bump it.
“About time, dude,” he chuckles. Our manly celebration is more low key.
“What’s going on? Everyone okay?” Nana worries from the hall, peeking in.
“Yep. Saint and Anastasia just changed their relationship status.” Storm puts his arm around her and takes her back to the kitchen.
“What does that mean?” I hear her ask, and smile to myself, watching the ongoing celebration in the middle of the bedroom.
“It’s official. You’re a WAG,” Misty cries. I’ve heard of the Wives and Girlfriends club. Every team has one, whether official or not. “I know you’re looking at us like we’re crazy, Saint.”
“No, I’m not. I’m used to crazy by now with you two as friends.” I laugh.
“This is like a rite of passage. A woman gets her man’s jersey and you’ll have to excuse her while she celebrates like a schoolgirl for one minute,” Misty explains.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” Anastasia still cannot hide her giddy smile. I detect a tear in the corner of her eye.
“I knew you two would get your acts together, eventually. Oh, Saint. Take good care of our girl. She’s a keeper.” Misty hugs me quickly, then releases. “We’ll give you two some privacy.” She retreats and shuts the door behind her.
“Oof!” I’m slammed back to the bed as Anastasia attacks me, straddling me.
She tosses off her sweater dress, revealing the peach colored bra. “How much time do you have until Leo’s here?”
I strain my neck to see the clock in my room. “About five minutes.”
“Better make it a quickie then.” She does my favorite move, popping the clasp on the front of her bra and spilling out those beautiful breasts of hers.
In a flash, I flip her around onto her hands and knees. I rip off the peach panties and yank down my sweats, bringing out my cock at her entrance. “You know what I like best about dating a thick woman?”
She peers behind her, big eyes and a healthy pink glow to her cheeks. “I’m sure you’re about to show me.”
“Damn straight. Plenty for my hands to grip as I thrust deep.” I demonstrate exactly what I mean, driving deep inside of her and holding onto her like she’s my lifeline.
My heart dances all the way to the arena for practice, but I try to act all cool in front of Leo. He drives and makes small talk, and then he plays a rap song he’s into right now.
I take the moment to text Anastasia the color lingerie I desire to see her in next. Only there’s a text incoming from Brady.
Brady: We haven’t heard if you’re attending the memorial for Lilah.
Brady: Here’s the invitation again, in case you didn’t get it.
I did get it, but couldn’t bring myself to look at it. Whatever possesses me, I click into it now, threatening to ruin this happy vibe I have going on from the morning with my angel.
With a deep breath in, I scan the scan the digital invitation quickly, my eyes stalling on the date of the event.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“What’s up?” Leo asks.
“Uh…just a schedule conflict.” The date of the memorial is the same day this coming week of Anastasia’s movie premiere. We’ve talked here and there about attending together, with Nana, of course. Especially when we realized the Puckers didn’t have a game that night.
Brady: My folks and I would really like to see you there. They feel bad about how unsupportive they were, and want to make things right with you.
I’m pulled in two, between the obligation to attend the memorial like I should, and attending the premiere with Anastasia like I want to.
My head spins, calculating the time each event starts, then factoring in the unpredictable traffic in L.A.
With any luck, I could do both, and arrive right as the move starts with Anastasia.
Unless I’m late for it because of traffic and suffer her disappointment.
I wouldn’t dream of asking her to give up her special day to deal with my crap. Even if her support, her holding my hand through the memorial, would give me someone to lean on.
As each day passes together, it gnaws at me how I haven’t yet opened myself up fully to Anastasia about the past. She’s been so patient, and now we’re falling for each other. She deserves to know everything, and I need to stop being a coward and face this.
What an idiot I’ve been? I’m caught in the middle between the two, like anchors tied to both my feet, dragging my mood down fast.