Chapter 37 Rosie #2
“Boone,” I gasp, my orgasm rising. “We have to—”
“I know,” he cuts me off, his voice tight. “I know.” Then he lowers his face and seals his mouth over my clit to suck.
His tongue moves in perfect rhythm with his fingers, his lips teasing and sucking until my body is spiraling toward release.
All thoughts of the fight we’re supposed to stage, the better future that’s waiting for us on the other side, blur into nothing as the tension inside me snaps.
My orgasm crashes over me, hard and overwhelming, and tears sting my eyes as I cry out his name. My husband’s name.
I collapse into the bed, trembling and lost in the haze of sensation and the passion from how he touched me.
But the moment it’s over, Boone is there, pulling me into his arms, holding me tightly to his chest. He kisses me deeply, tenderly, whispering promises I’m too scared to believe but desperately want to. That when this is over, we'll still want each other. That we’ll be together.
“This is the start, Rosie,” he murmurs, holding me close as though he can keep the rest of the world that’s waiting at bay.
He cleans me up with a gentleness that makes my chest ache and helps me slip on a fresh pair of panties while he keeps mine in his back pocket.
And moments later, we’re sitting in a taxi, the cold New York streets blurring outside the window. My knee bounces nervously, but Boone’s hand stays wrapped around mine, steady and unrelenting, as if he’s willing me to hold on just a little longer.
I can feel his gaze heavy on me, but I refuse to look at him. If I do, I’ll lose it in this cab and that won’t work. I’m sure the driver won’t be willing to corroborate our story no matter how much money my dad or brother throw at him to lie.
“We’re here,” the driver says.
Boone gives my hand one final squeeze before he opens his door, and I open mine. And when we step out onto the street, everything else fades away. Lawyer Rosie kicks in, my emotions shift to business, my focus tunnels, and the bustling street becomes my final stage.
And... action!
“You promised me this was your last year!” I shout, my voice sharp and trembling with feigned frustration.
Boone’s step falters for only a moment before the warmth in his gaze vanishes, replaced by the cold, detached expression that we rehearsed.
It’s unsettling how distanced he looks. Like whatever feelings he’d confessed for me over the past month have disappeared. I know we’re acting but it’s still a bit of a mind-fuck to look into those eyes that I’ve loved and see nothing now.
“My career is my life, Rosie,” he counters, his tone clipped and perfectly rehearsed. “You knew that when you married me.”
I shake my head, putting every ounce of frustration I can muster into the gesture. “I want to start a family. Why won’t you just let hockey go and retire already?”
He steps toward me, his eyes softening for just a second—too long for someone who’s supposed to be furious with his wife asking him to give up his dream. The photographer we hired snaps away, the click of the camera faint but distinct over the city’s hum.
“I want that too, baby” he says softer.
W-what? That wasn’t in the script. What the hell is he doing?!
“I... I want kids. I’m ready for that. I’m ready to move out of the city,” I say, clinging to the script, trying to reel him back in.
But I’m thrown off now. “Do you really think trying to re-up your contract is the right move? You’re going to lose me if you do that!
” My voice rises just enough to carry over the street noise, sticking to what he’s supposed to say next.
Boone should respond with something about being at the top of his game, his dedication to the league, the fans, their sponsors, and the career he’s sacrificed everything for since he was a child.
How retiring now would go against the very core of who he is and that he's not ready to start a family with me.
Instead, he steps closer, his gaze serious, his mouth set firm.
“I want kids now too. With you. A whole team full. Let’s start a family.”
“W-what?” The word escapes me, breathless and panicked.
I take a step back, my heels clicking against the pavement as I try to regain control. But Boone keeps advancing, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes it impossible to think straight.
“I’m serious, Rosie. Hockey isn’t my priority anymore. I can sign for another season or not. I don’t care. I want a family with you. I want babies with your eyes. I’ve never had something more precious than hockey. You’re more precious. I love you.”
My heart slams against my ribcage as his words sink in.
This isn’t part of the act. This isn’t the script.
Boone Tremblay just told me he loves me—for the first time—on a very public sidewalk with strangers watching and cameras we’ve hired snapping when he was supposed to be making it obvious that our marriage was headed toward divorce to appease my father.
This is the opposite of what he was supposed to do. Even worse, he caught me off guard. Made me look unprepared. Flipped the fucking script on me. He caused me to fail.
I can’t do this. Not here. Not now.
Brushing past him, I storm into the restaurant, my pulse roaring in my ears as I push open the door not waiting for him to follow.
If he’s going to go off script without warning and embarrass me, then I’m going to embarrass him.
“Table for Tremblay,” I say, my voice sharp and filled with emotion. I can feel my cheeks are heated with confusion.
Why would he do this to me? Why would he humiliate me like that?
The hostess leads us toward the back, Boone’s quiet presence looms behind me, every step making the air between us thicker, heavier.
When we’re seated, I don’t even glance at him. My hands grip the menu tightly, my palms sweat, and my eyes scan the words without seeing them.
I'm so angry I'm afraid what I'll say if I open my mouth and look at him.
“Rosie, look at me,” Boone says softly.
I slam the menu down on the table, the sound echoing through the restaurant. Heads turn, a few people gasp, but I don’t care.
“No,” I snap, finally meeting his gaze. “You look at me. Do you think that was okay? To drop that on me? To catch me off guard like that in the middle of the street?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” he says, his voice low and pleading. “I know that wasn’t the plan, but I didn’t want to say all those things we rehearsed," his voice drops lower. "I didn’t want to lie.”
“Lie?” I let out a bitter laugh and push my chair back with a loud scrape. “That wasn't fair to me. You knew exactly what you were doing. You humiliated me. And you know what? Fine. This works out perfectly.”
“Rosie, wait,” he says, standing and reaching for me but I pull my hand back before he can take it.
“No.” I hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “You have your bag. You're set to stay at Penn's. We’re done here.”
And then I say words I know I shouldn’t. Words I don’t mean but I’m too caught up in my embarrassment. Too sad that the first guy I trusted, the first one I loved, just pulled the rug out from underneath me and shit all over my career.
“I’ll see you on Monday to sign the divorce paperwork.”
“Rosie!” His voice breaks on my name. It’s raw and desperate and I know I’ve hurt him. But he hurt me too. I avoid his gaze.
"Just let it go," I respond and then I leave him there, stunned and silenced.