Chapter 28 Penny #2
Self-esteem off the ice is definitely something Griffin needs to develop.
The good thing is, I’m a skilled cheerleader, and now, knowing the issue, I can help.
It might take some creative cheers, but I’m good like that.
My latest from this morning included some real gems such as “bring that fine ass over here” and “if you’re happy and you know it, say yeehaw.
” Okay, so those two kinda rolled into one when Griffin had carried me naked, piggyback style, while I fake rodeoed, to the kitchen, where I learned that although he hates coffee, he surprisingly has a coffee maker, sugar-free vanilla syrup, and milk.
He blushingly told me that he got it all for me, and offered to get an actual espresso maker if I want to make official skinny vanilla lattes at his place.
I’d stared at him, gobsmacked, as though he was speaking another language.
I’ve heard the expression “if he wanted to, he would” and laughed because I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy who wanted to.
Until Griffin. In his mind, he’s still making up for all those years of bullying, but I’ve already forgiven him, and he’s just getting extra brownie points with me for his sweetness.
Griffin starts to smile, and I watch as his boyish, hopeful expression turns wolfish. “I definitely want to take on this—” He lets his eyes drip over me, and though he can’t see below the table, I feel very seen. “Anytime, anywhere, any way you want, Penelope.”
I love it when he uses my full name. No one else really does. Of course, I also love it when he groans out “Pen” like the two syllables of “Penny” are simply too much for him at that moment. Hell, he could call me anything he wanted to then, and I’d respond to him.
“Ugh! You two have ruined my appetite.” Dominic huffs, pushing his bowl away as though he can’t finish it. The only problem is, he’s already eaten the whole thing and the bowl is empty. “Fine, you tell Mom and Dad.”
“They’ll be here in the morning, right?” I ask, grinning. Our parents are coming to town to watch the first-round playoff game, ready to cheer both Dominic and me on inside the Hawks arena.
“Yeah, they said they’d see us at the game because they know we have routines to maintain. Speaking of, I’m gonna break my own rule here, just this once—” He cuts his eyes left and right, pinning both Griffin and me. “No sex during playoffs. It’s bad luck and bad for endurance.”
Griffin laughs. “If you think I’m not fucking Penny as soon as we get back to my place tonight, you’ve lost your damn mind.” My brother opens his mouth to argue, but Griffin cuts him off. “You brought it up, so no whining now. But don’t worry, I’ll be good for the game.”
“Are you sure? Maybe a little sexual frustration would be good for you?” I suggest. “It’s worked all these years, and it is just one night. We could abstain, and I could not take one for the team so to speak.”
“Nope.” And like that, Griffin’s declaration tells me that it’s time to go.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I tell the reflection of Griffin in my mirror.
He’s sprawled out in my bed, his feet hanging off the bottom edge and his arms folded behind his head, which makes his biceps look enormous.
He’s watching me put on my makeup, and not resting the way he should before such an important game.
We stayed at his place last night after dinner with Dominic, and when he got up early to go into the arena for morning skate with the team, I came home, figuring I’d see him after the game because I didn’t want to interfere with his routine.
Instead, he’d come knocking on my door by noon, asking why I’d left.
We’d ended up in my bed for a while, just talking and cuddling, but it takes me a lot longer to get ready than it does him, so I snuck off to shower an hour ago.
He’s been watching me ever since I came back in—with my face bare, my hair wet, and wearing nothing but my favorite silky floral robe.
And yet he doesn’t care. He sees me at my rawest, and the look in his eyes is just as hot as if I were dressed my sexiest. If that doesn’t help the ol’ ego, nothing will . . . but I’m still worried about him and his routine.
“Afraid if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream,” he confesses.
“You mispronounced nightmare,” I quip, setting down my makeup primer and turning around to face him. But he’s serious. I think this is bigger than us, or the upcoming conversation with my parents. This is about hockey. “Are you nervous about tonight’s game?”
He sighs heavily, heaving himself up to a sitting position with his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging low.
“I’ve wanted to win the Stanley Cup for my entire life.
It’s been the one constant north driving me, even when life was so fucking bad that I wanted to quit everything.
And now that we have a shot, I’m terrified I’m going to crash out in the first round. ”
“One, I don’t think that’s going to happen. And two, what if it does?” I challenge.
He tilts his head to side eye me, deadpanning, “Your pep talks suck.”
I go over and sit down beside him on the bed. “You’ve already won, Griffin. Think back to when you first picked up a hockey stick. What did you want?”
“Stanley Cup,” he quickly answers.
“Okay, fair. But I know what Dom was like, and so I bet you wanted to go pro. You are. You wanted to play against the best of the best, and you are. You wanted to earn that cup, and you will. I have no doubt that a younger version of you will get every single one of his wishes. If it’s this season, awesome.
If it’s next season, that’s okay too. You’ve wanted it, you’ve worked for it, and it’ll be yours.
When it is, I’ll be screaming louder than anyone in that arena, because I am already so proud of you. ”
“Still sucks.”
But he heard me. The Hawks have a real shot this season, better than any other in their recent history, largely in thanks to the great team they’ve built together.
And I hope they win the Cup, truly I do.
But tonight is game one of the playoffs, four grueling series to the end, and if Griffin puts too much pressure on himself from the jump, he will crash out. Mentally, if not physically.
And hockey is more mental than one would think, even for the team enforcer.
“Thanks. I think I’m gonna head out before you get dressed. I hate that skirt and don’t want to get pissed off before the game.” He stands, grabbing his wallet and keys from the nightstand.
But I stop him. “You hate my uniform?”
He looks darkly at said uniform, which is hanging off my chair, then at my legs. “It’s too damn short. That thing has taunted me for years, Penny.”
I press my lips together, fighting to hide my smile. “Hold on one second. Don’t leave yet.” I grab my uniform and disappear into the bathroom for one minute, pulling it on the way I have countless times before.
When I strut back into my bedroom, Griffin has his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set. “Hate that thing,” he spits out.
“Because you think my ass is hanging out or I’m gonna have a lip slip?” I guess, and he dips his chin, now staring at the skirt like it’s personally offended him. “Look,” I say, lifting the skirt up to reveal the tiny shorts underneath. “And my legs are covered in tights.”
That grabs his attention, and he zeroes in on my legs, looking doubtful.
Laughing, I stick my hand down my skirt to my thigh, showing him that the leg portion that sticks out beneath the skirt isn’t opaque.
It’s flesh-toned leggings that definitely don’t show my ass.
“If our legs were bare, we’d freeze in the arena.
It’s not pond hockey, for sure, but it’s still a fuck ton of ice sucking up all the heat in the building. ”
He touches the fabric. “I have studied—and I do mean studied—you in this skirt, and never once realized it wasn’t your bare legs. It’s like sorcery.”
“The magic of women’s hosiery,” I say, spreading my hands through the air like a rainbow. “The more you know.”
And just like that, Grump-a-potomas Griffin smiles.
“See, I am a good pep talker,” I preen, poking his cheek.
“Now, get out there and defend that goal, beat some guys up—preferably not a teammate—and make the Oil Riggers your bitch like the monster you are, Honey.” I purposefully use his hockey nickname, getting him into the right mental headspace for tonight.
He’s going to do great, though. I have no doubt.
He nods.
“Would it help at all if I promise a victory blow job, with me wearing the skirt that’s apparently always driven you crazy?”
I can’t help but giggle a little at that. How did I never know? I’m not sure, but I truly had no idea. For years, I was completely oblivious. But now? It’s as obvious as the sun in the sky—big, blinding, and hotter than fire. That’s Griffin’s love for me, and mine for him.
“Are you fucking with me?” he asks.
“Not yet,” I tease. “Now, go get ’em, Honey.”
The look in his eye almost makes me feel bad for the Riggers.
Almost.