On the Surface (In the Zone) (18 page)

“No, he—he skated. A puck hit him in the face.”

Tammy put a hand on Erin’s arm. “Erin. He’s probably fine. I’m sure he’s fine. It’s probably just a split lip or something.”

“That’s what Luke said, but I don’t care. My shift is over and I’m going over there. I need to make sure they’re taking care of him.”

Tammy followed her to the elevator where Erin stabbed the down button. “Erin, you need to slow down. I’m sure the man is fine. Hockey players get hurt all the time, but they’re like the toughest guys in professional sports. I’ve seen them get teeth knocked out—”

Erin shook her head and closed her eyes.

“—and go right back out once the bleeding stops,” Tammy went on. “Besides, what do you think you’re going to accomplish by going over there? They have doctors there who specialize in sports injuries. They deal with this stuff all the time.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You can’t make a big deal about this and I’ll tell you why.” Tammy hesitated. “I sort of spent a few hours online the other night and watched every video clip of Tim that I could find.”

Erin looked at her friend in shock. “Are you kidding me? Did you learn nothing from the Google fiasco on the airplane?”

“Hey, my best friend is dating him and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t a jerk.”

“And you think you can find that out from watching YouTube?”

Tammy waved that question away. “So I found an interview of him describing the perfect date. It was this weekly feature for his team’s website. ‘So-and-So’s Perfect Date.’”

“Was it a list of measurements?” Erin asked, calmer now and embarrassingly, intensely interested to hear what Tim’s idea of a perfect date was.

“No. He said his perfect date was pretty, funny and low maintenance. Sounds exactly like you.”

“I guess.”

“But this is the important part. He also said he didn’t want a drama queen. And right now, you are wearing a big fat glittery crown.”

Erin frowned. “Am not.”

“You were on the verge of tears, Erin. I saw you.”

Erin exhaled in defeat. “All right, but so what? I bet you’d be upset if Brad got hit in the face with a puck.”

“You’re right. I would. But Brad’s a big baby. When he has a cold, he acts like he’s got the Black Plague. Now, my point is, Tim is man’s man. He’s tough. He’s as tough as they come, and guys like that don’t like their manhood being questioned.”

“Give me a break. You sound like a throwback to the forties.”

“Maybe I do, but it’s the truth. If you see him tonight and act like he got mugged by the Russian mob, he’s not going to like it. Trust me.”

* * *

In the treatment room, Tim watched the game on the monitor. “Huhee uh. I goh-uh geh ack ow dere,” he said, trying not to move his lips.

Yarnell, one of the team’s doctors, pulled the suture through Tim’s lower lip. “Believe it or not, I can do this faster when you’re not talking.”

As the needle poked through again, Tim barely registered the pain. They’d already shoved a dressing up his nostril to clot the blood, and one of the equipment guys had a fresh jersey ready for him, as per NHL Rule 8.3. The fourth line hopped the wall to go out, a good three minutes left in the game.
Come on
,
come on
,
come on
,
come on.

“Just let me knot it... Done.”

Tim yanked his jersey off. Pulled the new one on and fastened the fight strap in the back. Helmet. Gloves. Stick.
Ready.

When he returned to the bench, Marchand caught his eye and nodded. “You good?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” He popped his mouth guard in. “Let me out there.”

Tim was all business, focused, determined, pissed off that he’d had to leave the ice. He channeled that anger and waited. A Barracuda dumped the puck deep into the opposing team’s zone, allowing for a line change. Three tired players quickly headed back to the bench and fresh ones—Tim, Alex and Jason—jumped into the game.

One of their defensemen wrestled the puck away and shot it toward Jason. A Flame intercepted it. Alex bashed into him, stole it back, passed it to Locke who shot. Missed. But by then Tim was there at the crease. So were four other guys and the Flames’ goalie. Tim fought to get a piece of that little rubber disk. The action came too quickly for thought. He saw an opportunity. With a flick of his wrist, he aimed for the bottom right. It hit the pipe and came back at him. He caught the rebound, hit it again and the little fucker banked off a Calgary skate.

And bounced over the line.

Holy fuck.

Locke crashed into him, slapped him on the helmet. Sullivan wasn’t far behind.

Amongst the deafening cheers of their home crowd, he managed to hear Sullivan’s “You’re the shit! You are the fucking shit!” Tim grinned even though it stretched the eight stitches in his lip. The horn sounded. The announcer made the win official. The rest of the Barracudas joined the sliding huddle, all laughing and congratulating him on the second game-winning goal in a row.

But all Tim could do was wonder if Erin had seen it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

After a quick stop home to pick up an overnight bag, Erin reported to the parking attendant like Tim had said and got the card that would open the resident’s parking gate. Upstairs, first thing she did was open the bottle of Chardonnay she’d gotten at the market. She sucked down half the glass as she checked the @SDBarracudas feed on Twitter. The Barracudas won and Tim scored the winning goal, which meant Luke and Tammy were right after all. Tim was fine.

She felt all kinds of stupid now that some time had passed. First, she should have anticipated this type of situation. Of course he was going to get hurt. She’d seen him bruised and battered after that preseason game she’d gone to with Claire. Hockey was a contact sport. They were constantly bashing into the boards, rattling the glass, wrestling in a tangle for control of the puck, slipping and falling down. How ridiculous of her to be surprised by his injury.

Worse, she’d freaked out like an overprotective mom. It embarrassed her to remember how Tammy had to talk her off the ledge. It also surprised her because as a nurse, she was the epitome of calm in emergency medical situations, and yet Tim bled a little and she was suddenly a basket case.

As she refilled her wineglass, she resolved to play it cool regarding Tim’s injury, even if he’d lost a front tooth or something equally horrendous. Controlled concern. That would be her watch phrase.

When a key sounded in the lock almost an hour later, she hurried to the door. From the neck down dressed in a suit and tie, he looked like a dream. His face was a different story. His lip looked like a bloated, undercooked sausage. His nose hadn’t fared much better. But the first words out of his mouth were, “Did you see my goal?”

Erin scowled. “I watched you get hurt,” she said, grabbing him by the chin and tilting his face so the light hit it better. “Oh my God. A three-year-old could do better stitches than this,” she muttered.

Tim submitted to her examination obediently. “Cut the guy a break. I was hassling him to hurry up so I could get back on the ice.”

“And what about your nose? Is it broken?”

“No. Just banged up.” He smiled at her, looking a lot like Rocky Balboa after the fight. “So
did
you see the goal?”

Still irked by the shoddy stitch job, she snapped, “No.” But when his face fell, she added with a sigh, “I’m sorry. I’ll watch the highlights. We’ll watch them together.”

“Good idea,” he said, brightening. He walked to the kitchen and turned on the TV. She stood leaning against the center island and they watched a replay of his goal and a twenty-second interview.

He hugged her from behind. “Nice, huh?”

“Amazing. You came through in the clutch.”

His hand slid up to cup her breast. “Does watching me score goals get you hot?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

She laughed silently. “I think it makes
you
hot.” She could feel his erection against her back.

Grinning, he turned her around. “No, you make me hot, woman. All I have to do is be in the same room with you and I’m instantly hard, but it’s really kind of convenient, because there’s a well-known hockey tradition that says you’re supposed to have sex as soon as possible after scoring the game-winning goal.” He said that with a perfectly straight face.

So, because he happened to have a condom stashed in one of the drawers, they had hot, celebratory sex in the kitchen.

Afterward while Tim headed to the bathroom, Erin gathered up their scattered clothes and brought them to his bedroom and then went back to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She was parched. The man was in peak physical shape, that’s for sure. He’d played a vigorous game of hockey, gotten hit in the face with a puck and gotten stitches because of it, given postgame interviews and still performed energetically just now.

She needed to get her Zumba videos back from Darla.

“Hey,” he said, coming down the hall. He’d put on some sweatpants. “I have a favor to ask you.”

“Sure,” she said, eyeing the clipboard he held. It had six pieces of white tape and six pieces of clear tape on it.

“I’m leading the team in scoring and I think a lot of it has to do with your kissing my stick. Don’t giggle,” he said. “I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry. I know you are.” She pressed her lips together to erase the smile.

“Anyway, I thought I’d stock up on your kisses for when I’m on the road or my stick breaks in the middle of a game. Would that be okay?”

“Of course,” she said. “What’s the clear tape for?”

“Protecting the lip print from smears. Today’s kiss rubbed off within the first two minutes of the game.”

She went to the living room where she’d tossed her purse and got her lipstick, thinking this was either seriously cute or seriously whacked. She couldn’t decide. Either way, she didn’t see the harm in doing what he asked. Especially when after she’d finished kissing the designated strips, he put a tiny piece of tape on his stomach and asked her to kiss that too. Despite the fact that they’d done it not less than ten minutes ago, she kissed that and a lot more besides. She peeled off the tape and then peeled off his sweatpants to find he’d gone commando.

When she remarked about it, he said, “I like being prepared.”

“Prepared for me pulling your pants off in the living room?” He sat naked on the couch, his legs splayed.

“Prepared for anything that involves my cock and you.”

She looked him over from top to bottom. Except for his lip, there was nothing—absolutely nothing about him that was fat.

It just wasn’t fair.

She put her hands on his pecs and smoothed her hands over his chest hair. She liked how it tickled her palms. Curling her fingers, she scraped her nails lightly across his skin. Goose bumps appeared in the wake and she felt as well as heard the rumbling growl in his chest.

“That’s nice,” he said.

She continued her tactile exploration using her lips and her hands now, but purposely ignoring his large erection. It was still a new experience having such a prime male specimen at her disposal. She took her time admiring every inch of his beautiful body, thrilling at how solid and strong he was, and yes, how tough. She’d always scoffed at women who went weak at the knees over wrestlers and football players. Man-candy movies like
300
and
Magic Mike
never did much for her. But there was a big difference between sitting in a dark theater watching a projection of a man on a screen and being in the same room with him, flanked by his powerful legs, knowing that if he wanted to, he could pick her up like she weighed nothing, carry her to his bedroom and screw her brains out like the lord of the castle. Unlike any other man she’d ever dated, Tim ate, drank and breathed testosterone and yet, he didn’t come across as a stereotypical jock. Was he the perfect man he seemed to be? Was he
her
“perfect date”?

He was intelligent, hardworking, forthright and thoughtful. He was funny. He was usually handsome. Tonight with his bruised face, swollen nose and stitched up lip, not so much, but most of the time he turned heads. And apparently, he wasn’t afraid of commitment, having proposed couplehood only that afternoon. Most of the guys she’d gone with had studiously avoided talking about exclusivity. Instead, the relationships had evolved without much being said about it. Tim had, himself, brought it up, and so fast. No fear at all about the status change. No. His apprehension came more from worry she didn’t feel the same way.

As she looked at his battered face and saw the tender but hungry look in his eyes, she realized she was being an idiot. When life gave you lemons, you were supposed to make lemonade. She’d always believed in that. But somehow, she’d obviously never thought about what to do if you got the lemonade right off the bat.

“You have a funny look on your face,” he said. “If you don’t want to give me head, you don’t have to.”

She smiled. That remark was so Tim. “That’s not it,” she said.

“I’m okay if you just want to cuddle.”

“Tim, really, that’s not it. I just...” She moved to straddle his lap and wrap her arms around his neck. “I just realized how much I really like you.” She placed a very tender, careful kiss on the uninjured corner of his mouth.

He grinned, then winced. “I like you more,” he said.

She kissed his cheek, then his neck. He smelled so good, not from cologne, but just his clean, freshly showered skin. She licked him and nuzzled his ear, ran her tongue along the rim.

“Are we a couple then?” he asked.

She sucked on his earlobe and was rewarded with a hard inhale. “Yes.”

“So, just to reiterate, you’re not going to see that doctor guy anymore, right? Tennis-sweater man.” He planted his hands on her behind and kneaded. He urged her to rub up against him, so she did. His rigid length felt so good against her sex.

“Possessive much?” she asked, knowing the answer, but selfish enough to want to hear him say it anyway.

“Extremely.”

“The road goes both ways, you know. If Beyoncé sidles up to you and offers to be your sex slave forever, you’re going to laugh in her face, right?”

“Of course. I’ll say, ‘B, you silly girl, I already have a perfectly good sex slave—’ Ow!”

“Oh, sorry. Your ear got in the way of my teeth.”

He chuckled as he cupped her breasts. “Yum. Been wanting to get at these all day.”

“You just got at them in the kitchen...”

Putting his big hands over her rib cage, he lifted her slightly so he could take a nipple between his lips. His mouth felt so good, the flicks of his tongue interspersed with light sucking and low noises of satisfaction that came from his throat. Every so often the stiff ends of the sutures poked or scraped her and she actually liked it. He got her so hot and bothered she decided she didn’t want to wait and asked him if he had condoms out here in the living room too.

“You’re gonna laugh,” he said.

“I won’t.”

“I, ah...I actually put some in every room.” He moved her off him and pulled a couple of packets out from under the couch cushion.

“You
are
always prepared,” she said as he unwrapped the Trojan and rolled it on.

“Hell, I have to be when my girlfriend’s a nympho—ow!” He laughed when she punched him.

“Now you’re gonna get it,” he said.

She managed to get one step away from the sofa before he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her back. Her meager struggles made him laugh as he manhandled her into position—on her knees, facing away from him. She didn’t resist much though, assuming the position pretty eagerly. She twisted her neck to watch him as he put one big hand on her behind, the other, he wrapped around his shaft to guide it home. She arched when she felt the head at the opening and shuddered as he pushed in, steadily and strongly.

“Ah, fuck,” he grunted and started pumping. “You so wet, so tight.”

God, it felt incredible. He filled her so completely, using speed and force on every in-stroke, but somehow teasing her with each withdrawal and never giving her quite enough for her to go over with.

She tried to make him go at her harder, but he wouldn’t give up the control. He braced one hand on the sofa and leaned over her. He reached his other arm around and put a hand on her mound. His blunt fingers found her clit and rubbed alongside it.

“I can’t get enough of you, Erin,” he said into her ear. Their position made it easy for him to caress her, and with his head so close to hers, the rough exhalations and grunts only increased her excitement.

“I can’t get enough of you either.” She arched her back and hissed as he rubbed with a little more pressure.

He sucked her neck and thrust harder in response. He was an aggressive male in his prime with one thing on his mind—sexual release, for both of them. It took some time, but again Tim was patient. He listened and watched and responded. He knew when to switch gears and up the intensity and pace. Straightening, he grabbed her hips to add force to his thrusts. He urged her with his sex-roughened words, his fingers on her clit, and just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, she came. Pleasure flooded all the empty places in her body. Tim groaned and tensed behind her and she knew he was coming too. He leaned forward, wrapping one arm around her and hugging her tightly.

Yeah. She liked him a lot. Maybe she more than liked him. Maybe she even loved him.