Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
RUBY
Chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, I stand in the middle of my living room as Liam slips through the door, locking it behind him. He’s got something in his hand, and I watch as he lifts it, a bag dangling from his fingers. He shoves his arm farther forward when I don’t reach for it.
Flicking my gaze from the bag to his face and then back down to the bag again, I suck in a ragged breath, holding it for a moment. I don’t know what I’m expecting from this bag. Maybe something is going to jump out and bite me. I don’t know what’s going on here.
“This is for the game this weekend,” he murmurs, a smile playing on his lips. He swings the bag back and forth.
Reaching for the bag, I curl my fingers around the handle as I slip it from his fingers. He’s wearing a smile, almost devious, as his eyes dance. Opening the bag, I peer inside, and I’m met with a pile of what appears to be fabric.
My brows knit together as I shift my gaze up to meet his. His eyes are still dancing as he continues to watch me. Slipping my hand inside, I curl my fingers around the fabric and take it out of the bag.
I hold it up and blink at the sight of the Houston Lonestars logo staring back at me. It’s a jersey. “Turn it around,” he calls out.
Slowly, I turn the shirt around, and that’s when I see it. Right there across the shoulders, in bold, are the letters that spell out FICHTNER. And below those are a number, one that I recognize from when we first met, and he was practicing on the ice.
It’s his jersey, with his number and name.
“Wear it to the game,” he murmurs.
For whatever reason, he sounds almost unsure, maybe a little shy. Slowly, I lift my gaze, my eyes finding his. I stare at him for a quiet moment. Neither of us speaks. Then he takes one step closer, and another, closing the distance between us.
He reaches out, curling his fingers around the handle of the bag, then I watch as he casually tosses it to the side. It lands somewhere on the floor, but I don’t even look to see where.
“It’s my jersey. I want you in that at the game, sitting in the seats right behind me.”
“Behind you?” I ask.
My words come out as a whisper as I lower the jersey so it doesn’t cover our faces. I want to see him—all of him. His lips twitch into a smirk, and he reaches for the fabric, gently tugging it out of my grasp.
He doesn’t throw it on the floor this time.
Instead, he tosses it onto the sofa behind me.
I don’t look to see where it lands. I don’t think I care.
Then he lifts one of his hands and his palm slides along my jaw, his thumb gliding across my bottom lip before he leans forward and touches his mouth to mine.
Liam doesn’t deepen the kiss, even though I inwardly beg him to do just that. Instead, he shifts his head back slightly, keeping his hand on my cheek, and it sends a thrill of desire up my spine. I can’t believe something as simple as his hand on my cheek affects me this way, but it does.
“Girlfriends, wives, and family sit behind the players. It’s a designated space. I have a ticket for you and a seat reserved.”
My heart begins to slam against my chest at the words he’s just said. I’m none of those things… at least I don’t think I am. I start to ask him what I am on that list, but then he shifts his face a bit closer to mine, his lips touching my own, and then he speaks.
His mouth moves against mine, and every inch of my skin breaks out into goose bumps as soon as he begins to speak. “I hope you’ll wear that jersey and sit in the designated seat behind the players’ bench as my girlfriend.”
Swoooon.
Yes. Yes. Yesssss.
A million times yes.
That’s what I think, at least, though I don’t say it out loud, even as much as I want to. Instead, I smile against his lips.
“I would love to be that,” I murmur.
I squeeze my eyes shut as he holds me close. More than anything in the world.
“Good, now let’s have some dessert. I have a taste for my girlfriend.”
Swoooon again.