The Good Luck Charm

by Helena Hunting

  “So you slept with her more than once?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  No. I don’t. “Has she been to other games this season?”

  Ethan’s voice turns steely. “Excuse me?”

  “Why was she here tonight?”

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you accusing me of something here?”

  “No. I don’t— There were all these women in the bathroom, talking about who they were going to try to hook up with. Someone mentioned your name and then this fucking supermodel shows up who you’ve slept with before. Just…fuck!” I’m not sure if I’m on the verge of tears or not. I scrub a hand over my face.

  Ethan sighs and drops his arms. Crossing the short distance, he runs a single finger from the bridge of my nose to the tip. “I haven’t talked to her or seen her since I moved to Minnesota. It wasn’t anything serious. We went out a few times. That’s it.”

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  He tips my chin up. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Don’t you dare diminish how I see you. If I say you’re gorgeous, I mean it. She’s got nothing on you. Selene was someone to pass time with. You’re the one I want. Why else would I have flown you out here?” He runs his thumb along the contour of my bottom lip. “This mouth—” He dips down and brushes his lips over mine, then cups my cheeks in his palms. “This face.” He runs his hands down my sides. “This body is mine. You’re the only one I want, Lilah.”

  I let him tip my head back, our lips meeting with gentle penance. I don’t want soft and slow, though. Tender and sweet isn’t going to cut it tonight.

  I’m aggressive and demanding, and Ethan bends to my whim, meeting my fervor with his own. Postwin makeup sex ends up being the most intense we’ve ever had. He pushes my body’s limit, taking satisfaction in the scratches and bite marks I leave behind in a bid to contain my screams as he coaxes orgasm after orgasm out of me, until I have to beg him to stop.

  The next morning I’m mortified by the state of his back and chest, marked by my nails and a number of hickeys. Ethan, on the other hand, seems to wear them like a badge of honor, strutting around shirtless until it’s time to take me to the airport.

  And the hangover. Dear God. Liquid cocaine shots are the worst.

  I sleep the entire flight home. I pick up Merk from my sister’s on the way to my house, take both dogs for a quick walk, and make the short drive home. I find fresh flowers in the front entryway from Ethan and my fridge stocked with premade meals he had delivered in my absence, something either Carmen or Jeannie had a hand in, I’m sure. I’m too hungover to enjoy any of the food, so I go straight to bed.

  Monday morning I’m still hungover, and it’s punctuated by a killer headache and some unfortunate stomach issues. It’s the first time I’ve ever called in sick to work, and I feel horribly guilty, but there’s no way I’d be functional. I’m exhausted and jet-lagged, but I try to study. I end up falling asleep on my textbook.

  Tuesday evening, I’m staring at a midterm paper with questions on it that I can’t answer.

  I have to guess at half of the multiple-choice questions and do the same with a good chunk of the short answers, as well. By the end of the eighty-minute class, I’m at risk of tears, out of time, and unable to answer the remaining questions with anything but wild guesses.

  I pack my bag and hand in my paper, angry at myself for making such careless choices over the weekend. As much as I love seeing Ethan’s career on the rise, I dislike immensely that I seem to be getting further from my goal instead of closer. I don’t know how to balance this, and it’s starting to become a real problem. One I don’t quite know how to address with him.

  * * *

  I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. I’ve fallen asleep in front of the muted TV, having put the game on for background noise while I worked on an assignment due later in the week, determined to stay ahead rather than fall behind. Again. An infomercial for high-absorbency sheets flashes on the screen, so it must be pretty late.

  “Hey.” My voice is raspy with sleep.

  “I’m sorry. I forgot the time difference. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Ethan is slurring and difficult to hear.

  I rub my eyes. “Where are you?”

  “In my room. D’you see the game t’night?”

  “You scored a goal in the second period.” I move the papers from my lap, which haven’t fared well, since it appears I tried to snuggle with them.

  “D’you see the assist in the third?”

  “I might’ve fallen asleep. I recorded it, though, so I can watch it later. Did you do a little celebrating?” I try not to think about all the bunnies hanging around after the games, or women like Selene who know exactly how proficient Ethan is in the bedroom. I looked up the puck bunny wannabe once I got home—she’s been in more than a few magazines.

  “Just a few beers with the guys. I wish you were here. Home in five days, though. Then I get you back in my bed. I miss you.”

  He’s a little scattered. Still amped up from the win and the alcohol, I’m guessing. I want to ask about the bunnies, but I bite my tongue, aware it will only make me look insecure and dampen his good mood. The bunny stuff never bothered me when we were younger. But then, there weren’t any Selenes back then, either. It doesn’t matter that he’s always asking me to come to his games, at home and out of town, or the constant little gifts that show up at my door in his absence. I still can’t shake the worry. “I miss you, too.”

  “You have a rough day, baby? You sound a little down. Oh, shit—you had the midterm, didn’t you? You killed it, right?”

  “I think it went well, considering.” My still-hungover state and my complete lack of preparation being the parts to consider. I can’t tell him the truth, not when he’s riding this high.

  He’s not responsible for my inability to say no to him, or my poor study habits. When he’s home, I’ll set some boundaries for him and myself.

  “You’ve got this. I should probably let you sleep, yeah? You’ve gotta work in the morning and I need to do something about my hard-on.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Nice, Ethan.”

  “Unless you wanna help me out.”

  “Kind of hard to do from two time zones away.” It’s a joke, but there’s a tightness in my throat that has everything to do with having met his former swimsuit model fling this past weekend.

  His voice goes low. “You could talk me through it, be my cheerleader.”

  “You and I both know I never would’ve made the squad.”

  “My personal cheerleader. No fucking way would I have wanted you bouncing around in one of those little skirts in front of anyone but me.”

  “The sundresses you liked so much back then didn’t cover much more than those cheer skirts.”

  “I wish I still had a locker for you to leave your panties in. Tuesdays were my favorite in sophomore year.”

  Leaving my panties in his locker during second period used to be my code for “Let’s have lunch at home.” Obviously any eating that happened didn’t involve food.

  He groans and I have to wonder what’s happening on the other end of the line. “Hey, I have a fantastic idea. I should call you back on video chat.”

  I need sleep desperately. “Don’t you have a roommate?”

  “He’s off to some club. Won’t be back for a few hours at the very least. Whaddya say?”

  I should tell him he can wait to see me in five days. But I don’t. Because I miss him. Because he wants me. Because I want him, too, and I don’t want him to end up at some club with someone who isn’t me.

  Less than one minute later I’m staring at Ethan naked on my phone screen. “Fuck this. Hold on. I’m getting my iPad. Get naked, baby.”

  He hangs up and calls back while I’m in the middle of taking off my shirt.

  He’s sprawled out on the hotel bed, pillows propped behind him. His fist is wrapped around his erection, str
oking slowly, eyes on the screen. “Fuck, I wanna touch you.”

  I bite my lip and get up on my knees and adjust the position of the phone so my head isn’t cut off.

  Ethan’s lip curls up into a sexy smirk. “You gonna strip for me?”

  I slip my fingers into the waist of my sleep shorts and push them over my hips, pausing at the crest of my pelvis.

  Ethan’s thumb slips over the head of his erection. “Don’t stop now. I wanna see all of you.”

  I turn around so my ass is facing the phone and peek over my shoulder as I lower my shorts.

  “Fuuuuck, Lilah. So sexy.”

  I shimmy the shorts lower and hold the headboard so I can take them off the rest of the way. Once I’m naked, I move so I’m angled to the side.

  “Where would you want me to touch you if I were there with you?” Ethan asks, chest rising and falling faster, muscles in his arms flexing as he continues to stroke himself.

  “I’d want you to kiss me.” I touch my fingers to my lips. “Here first.” I circle a nipple. “Then here.” Then walk my fingers down my stomach. I shift so I’m facing him and part my legs, dragging a single finger along my slit with a soft moan. “And here. You’d make me come with your mouth before you fucked me.”

  Ethan nods. “I sure as fuck would.”

  “But since you’re not here…” I pout a little and reverse the circuit. Dragging my finger all the way back up my body, I slip it into my mouth. “I’ll just have to do it myself, won’t I?”

  Ethan’s eyes are locked on my mouth as I run my tongue over my index and middle fingers. “You’re gonna make yourself come for me, now?”

  “Is that what you want? You want me to finger fuck myself while you fuck your fist?”

  “Listen to that dirty mouth.” Ethan’s lip curls in a sneer.

  “If you were here, you could fill it with your cock.” I grin as his mouth drops open and I slide two fingers inside me on a groan.

  It’s a heady feeling, this power I suddenly wield. I can keep him happy. Give him what he needs even when I can’t be with him. I can be whatever he wants.

  His fist moves at a punishing pace, much faster and harder than I ever stroke him. I come right after he does, his name a scream on my lips.

  * * *

  Four days later I’m still exhausted and lacking sleep. It turns out Ethan is a big fan of video chat conversations and feels like he’s been missing out on the benefits all these months. I’m actually grateful this discovery didn’t happen until now, because Ethan’s time away gave my poor body a break from all the intense friction. Now I’m hopeful the Epsom salt baths will be enough to prepare me for his return tomorrow.

  Minnesota won the last two games, and last night Ethan scored another goal and added two assists to his stats. His performance on the ice is garnering positive attention in the media. The sportscasters are referencing his time with LA, when he’d been one of the most promising new players in the league. While it’s exciting to see him rise to his potential, I worry about what this means for the future. On one hand, Minnesota may want to keep him, but there’s also a possibility—and a good one—that other teams will be looking to pick him up. It’s unnerving to feel so wrapped up in him, not knowing what the future will look like.

  Since tomorrow night will be dedicated to Ethan, and likely a high level of nudity and physical activity, I’m spending my lunch break working on yet another assignment. I don’t want it to be on my mind when I’m with him. I also don’t want to think about the midterm results I expect back next week.

  Finishing this current assignment shouldn’t be difficult tonight, as long as I can stay awake, which is why I’m getting a head start now.

  As I flip through the textbook, searching for the Post-it note I used to mark my page, someone slips into the chair across from me. I hold back the annoyed sigh. I don’t want to be rude, but clearly I’m in the middle of something.

  “Are you ignoring me?”

  I look up, shocked to see Carmen. “Hey! I didn’t know you were coming by for lunch.”

  “I’ve hardly seen you in the past two weeks. I figured this would be a good place to find you, maybe get more than a couple of short text messages from you, especially since the last three have gone unanswered.”

  I check my phone, then roll my eyes when I see she sent them three minutes ago. “Seriously?”

  “Ethan’s been away for over a week, and I’ve only seen you for yoga. Are you suddenly too good for me now that you’re dating some huge NHL player?”

  I motion to the textbook in front of me. “You know I have this course I’m working on. It’s keeping me busy.”

  She pops a grape from my Tupperware into her mouth. “What’re you doing tonight?” she asks midchew.

  “More of this.” I gesture to the pile of books and papers in front of me.

  She taps her nails on the table and frowns. “I get that you’re busy being in love and stuff, but you must have a couple of spare hours.”

  I haven’t been a very good sister, not in the past couple of weeks, probably not in the past couple of months. “We could do dinner.”

  Her face lights up. “Really? How about Mexican?”

  “Um, I’m going to say probably not. Ethan’s coming home tomorrow, so…”

  “Right. No bean bloats. What about Italian?”

  “Sure. That works. Can you come to my place, though? We can order takeout.”

  “And watch the game?” Carmen asks.

  “Is that okay? I also have to finish this assignment. It’s due before the end of the week, and with Ethan coming home…”

  “Are things okay there?”

  “They’re good. He’s good.” I don’t want to be unsociable, particularly with my sister, whom I have admittedly seen little of lately, but with my current workload and Ethan’s impending return, I need to squeeze in every second of study time I can. Ethan is only in town for four days, two of which he has games, so sleep will be at a premium until he leaves again. Now that video chats are a thing, I’m on the fence as to whether his away games are a help anymore, or if they’ve become a hindrance.

  “Good, as in you’re happy and things are awesome and the sex is better than it was when you were teenagers and he could screw until the sun came up, or good as in you’re stressed and juggling all of this is super difficult?”

  “Um…both?” I reply honestly.

  “Hence the reason I hardly see you these days.” Carmen spins my Tupperware container of grapes between her palms. “He seems pretty invested.”

  I shrug. “I hope so. There’s so much history and nostalgia between us. Sometimes I worry I’m…kitschy? It’s like flipping through an old photo album. Remembering all the best things is easy when you can pretend the rest never happened, you know? We have so much of our pasts tied up in each other.”

  “I get what you’re saying, but you and Ethan are different. He’s not going to walk away from you again.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  She gives me a wry grin. “I saw him a couple of times when he came home, just at a bar or a restaurant, and the first thing he always asked about was you. I could tell it hurt him that you were married, that you’d moved on, but he never came out and said it.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “What purpose would it have served? As far as he knew you were happily married. He didn’t want to interrupt your life, Lilah. And that’s exactly what would’ve happened.”

  I consider this for a moment. Ethan and I don’t do gray areas very well—that much is clear.

  “Leaving you broke him. Maybe coming home to you healed him,” Carmen offers.

  “I’m not the reason he’s playing so well.”

  “Directly, no. But indirectly, maybe. You were the most important person in his life for more than a decade, and then you were gone. He may have initiated the breakup, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t grieve the loss just like you did.”

 
; In all of my selfish suffering, I hadn’t fully considered the way it affected Ethan. I’d assumed because he broke it off with me that it was somehow easier, that his pain, his loss were in some way diminished as a result. But I can see now that maybe that’s not quite true.

  Or maybe I didn’t want it to be.

  Loving Ethan was only painful when I lost him.

  Loving him now is only painful because of the threat of losing him again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Breaks

  Lilah

  I pick up the stack of files at the nurses’ station and flip through them. The first is a patient with a broken ankle. Scratch that. Broken doesn’t exactly cover it. Her ankle is shattered. At least she has age on her side. Emery Dove-Smith is an eighteen-year-old college student studying at the University of Minnesota.

  Her chart indicates that once she’s released, she’ll require weekly checkups to monitor progress on her ankle until the cast comes off. Mercy General is much closer to where she lives, but we have the best orthopedic surgeon in the area, which is probably how she ended up here in the first place. An intensive physiotherapy regime will follow. Before I check on her, I take a quick look at the X-ray. Dear lord, the before and after pictures of that ankle are enough to make my stomach turn. Several pins are holding those bones together.

  I knock on the door and peek my head in. “Hi, Emery.”

  She looks away from the TV in the corner of the room and gives me a small smile. “Hi.”

  “I’m Lilah. I’m your nurse, and I’ll be checking in on you this afternoon while you’re in recovery.”

  “Okay.” Her eyes have that postsurgery glassiness about them.

  “How’s your pain?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Okay? I feel high. Like I’m floating.”

  I laugh. “That’s the morphine. If it makes you feel queasy, let me know and I can speak with the doctor about adjusting the dose.”

  “I think I’m good for now.” She nods a little, as if she needs to convince herself.