by Aven Ellis
“According to this logic, I’m the bigger fool,” I say.
“Why?”
“I fell in love with Tom on TV. He didn’t want anything from me. I was a pawn he played for the cameras. My judgment is infinitely worse than yours, Gavin. I thought he loved me. I thought he was going to get down on one knee and propose to me. Worse, I was going to say ‘Yes,’ to that wanker. So I win this round. He never thought of proposing to me, he lied with every word he whispered, and I had no clue it was all a script he was saying to every other girl on the show. I’m the sorrier one here.”
Now a real smile appears on his face. “You’ve been hanging out with Jude,” he says, referring to my wanker comment.
I smile back at him. “Jude is a good guy. So is Cade. I obviously think Maxime is, and so are you. You will be just as happy as they are once you heal from all of this.”
The smile falls from his face. “No. I’ll heal my femur. I’ll work my ass off in rehab here and back in Toronto this summer, and I’ll be ready for training camp next fall. But I will never get over what Veronica has done. I won’t let myself. I will never be this vulnerable again.”
“Gavin, I felt the same way. Sitting in that café in Brussels, I was at my lowest point. People were laughing at me, making GIFs out of things I said on the show, and having a field day with things that weren’t true. I wanted to die, to hide, which is why I ran to Europe. And that’s where I found Maxime.”
Gavin reaches for his water bottle, undoes the cap, and takes a long swig. “That’s still crazy how you guys were at that same café.”
“I know. We were meant to meet. There will be, when you are ready, some other woman for you to meet, too.”
“I won’t find anyone like you, or Sierra, or JoJo,” Gavin says, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I can’t read women. That’s painfully obvious. So, I’m done. Sex and out.” Then he glances at me. “Sorry for the bluntness.”
I smile gently at him. “I’d like to think we’re going to be friends, as I know you mean a lot to Maxime, so candor between friends is okay. So, my turn to be blunt. What are you going to do about Veronica’s theft? Are you going to press charges?”
He lets out a long, painful-sounding sigh, and my heart aches for him. Gavin pushes down on his backward Mountain Lions baseball cap and keeps his light-blue eyes straight ahead, to the TV that is tuned to the channel where the Mountain Lions game will air in an hour.
“No,” he says, his voice quiet. “I should, but then this will be all over the media. I can’t take that humiliation. I’d rather eat the loss than put her in jail.” He pauses for a moment, and I watch as he swallows hard. “I also can’t put her in jail because I still love her.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“I loved Tom for a while afterward,” I admit. “I came around pretty fast, but when you give your heart, you give it. It would be nice if we could erase those feelings, but we can’t. Now I see that it’s part of life. It’s part of the road you take to get to where you need to be.”
“To Max?” Gavin asks, turning his attention toward me.
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. “Yes. To Maxime.”
A true smile appears on Gavin’s face. “He’s crazy about you.”
My heart flutters. “That’s good to hear, because I’m crazy about him, too.”
“We gave him so much shit for not hooking up,” Gavin says. “We were like, ‘Dude, you can hit anything. Why not at least ban—err, sleep with girls?’”
I repress the giggle that climbs up in my throat.
“That’s not his style,” I say.
“No, it’s not. You’re not who I pictured for him at first, to be honest. I watched Is It Love? with Cade and Jude. Maxime gave us shit for watching it, ironically. When I heard you two went out on a date, I was shocked. But sitting here with you now, I get it. You’re real. You just happened to be on a TV show, that’s all.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“You’re good for him.”
“Maxime’s good for me,” I say. Then I clear my throat. “We’ve both had relationship disasters, Gavin. Once you heal, however long that takes, you’ll be fine.”
He snorts. I can tell the topic is going nowhere with him.
“Okay, okay, I’ll let it go. For now. But I will bring it back up at some point because that is what friends do.”
“Skye?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s an honor to be your friend and get to know you.”
“Same,” I say as genuine affection for my new friend fills my heart. “Now, why don’t I get that casserole in the oven? We’ll watch the game, and you can explain the intricacies to me so I can give Maxime some pointers when he gets home,” I tease.
Gavin laughs. “Deal.”
***
We’ve spent the rest of the night watching the Mountain Lions take on Toronto, the last game of this never-ending road trip. I’ve watch as Gavin cycles between elation at good plays and frustration when he sees things that are going wrong or mistakes being made on the ice.
There's a lot of swearing involved.
Now there are a few minutes left in the game, and the Mountain Lions are down 2-1. If Gavin could pace, I know he would. I’m chewing a hole through my lower lip. The Mountain Lions have headed back toward the offensive zone with two minutes and two seconds left in the game.
“Kelly hesitates for a moment, passes to Laurent,” John Lewis, the play-by-play announcer, says.
I watch as Maxime rips a shot on goal that sails past the goalie and into the net.
I leap off the sofa and cheer.
“Hell yes!” Gavin yells.
“That’s my Maxime!” I cry excitedly.
“Ka-bang!” Martin Czeck, the analyst, yells. “Maxime Laurent has tied it up!”
I watch as they replay the brilliant fake out by Brayden Kelly before slipping the puck over to Maxime, followed by another shot of the goal.
Maxime goes down on one knee after he scores and skates across the ice in a moment of rare exhibition. He gets up, and I see a smile of pure, unabashed joy on his face as his teammates hug him on the ice. Pride surges through me, watching him score the tying goal for his team.
“Wicked shot there, Max,” Gavin says, grinning.
The camera follows Maxime as he skates to the bench, fist-bumping everyone as he goes down the line. My adrenaline is still high from the goal, and I have to remind myself to breathe as we watch the remaining time play out.
Gavin and I watch on edge, and when a Toronto shot rings off the goal post as time is about to expire, we both gasp with relief. Whew! We’ve made it to overtime.
Gavin explains how overtime works during a commercial break. It consists of three-on-three hockey, for five minutes, and if a goal isn’t scored, they go to a shootout. Gavin has a natural ability to break things down to a level where I can understand, without making it sound like he’s talking down to me.
He’d be a great coach for kids, I can’t help thinking.
After the break, I see Maxime skate out as part of the first line to hit the ice in the overtime period. He skates next to Cade, covering his mouth with his glove as he speaks to him, and I see Cade nodding as he listens.
Maxime moves into the circle for the face-off. My heart is pounding, and I’m braiding my hair as I watch the screen.
“This is intense,” I murmur, anxiety filling me.
“It’s fun,” Gavin says. “God, I wish I was out there.”
I’m about to acknowledge his comment when the puck is dropped and they take off. The pace is insane! I watch as Maxime passes to Cade, who fires a shot on goal that the goalie deflects. They race back to the other end, with Mountain Lions’ defenseman Andrei Petrov blocking a shot by throwing his body in the way of the puck.
Gavin continues to swear. I’m now unbraiding my hair, and each shot on goal is a hold-your-breath moment, either praying for it to go in or praying for
a save. It’s both exhilarating and nerve-fraying at the same time.
The clock winds down as a Toronto player intercepts the puck and flies down to the other end of the ice.
“Shit!” Gavin and I both yell at the same time.
He fires a shot that looks like a sure goal when our goalie, Westley Pratt, comes out of the net and makes a huge save.
“Pratt with an incredible save!” John yells.
“What anticipation by Pratt,” Martin adds. “He knew he had to come out to make that save!”
Overtime ends.
“Shootout time,” Gavin says, taking off his hat and putting it back on.
“Who will take the shots?” I ask, my stomach in knots.
“Well, I’m usually one of them,” Gavin says, sighing. “My guess is they will move up Jude, as he has a sick set of hands and is awesome in the shootout. Then Maxime. If it goes further, then Phillips, Kelley, and Callahan. But let’s hope Maxime can close this game out.”
Gavin was right. After the shootout is announced, Jude takes to the ice.
“Here we go in the shootout! First up is Jude Parker,” John says. “He grabs the puck at center …”
I hold my breath as Jude comes up the ice. He closes in on the Toronto goaltender, moving the puck one way, then the other, and then he shoots, and bam! He scores!
“Jude Parker scores!” John cries. “What a slick move to beat the Toronto netminder.”
“Yes!” Gavin yells. “He schooled him!”
“Way to go Jude!” I cheer.
“What a beautiful move, a backhand, forehand, roof,” Martin says.
Next up is a player for Toronto, who takes off from center toward Westley. He tries to fake him out, but Westley drops and deflects the puck with his stick.
“Yes!” I scream.
“Come on, Maxime. Get on the board,” Gavin says, fixated on the TV.
I put my fingertips to my lips. I feel all the pressure Maxime must have on his shoulders right now, to put that puck into the net.
Maxime takes to center ice and puts his stick on the puck. I can’t decide if I want to cover my eyes or not, but I keep my hands still, my eyes riveted to Maxime.
“Laurent brings the puck up the ice,” the announcer says. “He slows up a bit …”
I’m going to have a stroke.
I watch as Maxime takes a shot on net, holding my breath.
“To the backhand and he scores!” John roars.
Gavin and I are yelling in unison now.
They replay Maxime’s move, and then they show him skating over to the bench and high-fiving his teammates.
“If Pratt makes the save here we win,” Gavin says.
Come on, Westley, I think. Close this game out.
The Toronto player skates toward Westley. I once again have my fingertips pressed against my lips, anxiety filling me.
The player goes back to make his shot. I watch he releases the puck, but it’s snatched by the glove of Westley!
Gavin and I are both screaming in excitement now.
The Mountain Lions have come from behind and won the game.
They show the Mountain Lions players coming over the wall and forming a line to congratulate Westley on his incredible showing tonight.
“What a thrilling way to end what has been a great road trip for the Denver Mountain Lions,” John says.
Pride fills me as I watch Maxime congratulate Westley by patting him affectionately on the top of his goalie helmet. They cut away from Maxime and show the announcers in the booth, but at this point, I don’t hear what they are saying.
Maxime played brilliantly. There are no words to describe the happiness I have for him.
Best of all, he’s coming home now.
And I can’t wait to show him exactly how I feel about him tomorrow night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Celebrate Life with Sprinkles—The Blog
Taking in the Moment
Anticipation runs through me as I park my car in front of Maxime’s house. I take a second to reflect on this moment, because once I walk through that door, everything between us will change. There will be no going back to the way things are now after tonight, when we make love for the first time. My mind is filled with thoughts of what his body will look like when I undress him, how he will feel against my skin, and how his body will join with mine.
Heat flickers within me from those images passing through my mind. I’ve never wanted to be intimate with someone as much as I do Maxime. With each date we had, whether in person or through video, I found myself wanting to know all of him more and more. I want the passion, the tear-your-clothes-off need to make love, as if no other man could fill my needs as he can. I want him to feel the same way about me, to want me in a way he’s never wanted anyone else. I want to explore him and give him what he needs to drive him over the edge.
Sex, however, isn’t the only threshold we’ll cross tonight. This isn’t just sex for me, and after my conversation with Gavin, I know it’s not for Maxime, either. This is an emotional investment in each other. We are allowing ourselves to be vulnerable for the first time since our hearts were broken, and to see if the relationship we’re building is moving closer to love for both of us.
There’s something magical about firsts. The first touch of a hand. The first brush of the lips. Now we’re entering the first time we’ll bare everything to each other and make love.
The funny thing is, I’m not nervous. Not at all.
I feel as if Maxime is the one I’ve been waiting to find.
The one who could be my everything.
I climb out of my car, grabbing my tote, and dash up to his front door. This is our “cozy date,” so Maxime told me he wanted me just the way I’d be at home for a snowy night in, as snow is forecasted this evening. I glance down at my outfit. I went all out, with my Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer plush pajama bottoms, complete with Abominable Snowman, and a white lace camisole leaving nothing to the imagination, but one he can’t see until he unties my white hooded cardigan, which I have belted so the camisole is just peeking out at the top.
It’s soft and cuddly, and I can’t wait for Maxime to take it off, I think with wickedly.
Oh, and to finish off the cozy vibe, I’m wearing brown suede moccasin slippers lined with fleece.
Don’t say I don’t know how to seduce a man with a sexy outfit, I think, grinning.
But the thing is, with Maxime, I know I don’t need seduction. We have a connection that goes beyond the superficial, that is driven both by emotional and physical desires.
I ring the doorbell and hear his dogs barking. It feels like forever since I’ve seen Maxime.
I hear him talking to the dogs, and they both fall silent. The door opens, and it’s all I can do not to gasp aloud.
Maxime has dressed to a T for tonight, with gray drawstring sweat pants, a white T-shirt, and the red and black flannel shirt I requested. He still has a cut across his left cheek from his fight. Maxime’s hair is messily rumpled, the gold-streaked waves sweeping across his forehead.
I restrain myself from jumping him right there in the doorway.
I drop my tote on the floor. Maxime takes me into his arms, his hands sliding up to my cheeks, his eyes drinking in every detail of my face as he stares at me.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs sexily, “how long I have waited to do this.”
He lowers his mouth to mine. I eagerly open for him, my tongue parting his lips, tasting him, inhaling the glorious, unique scent of bourbon and vanilla mixing on his skin. I feel his hands climbing to my hair, tangling through my loose waves. I glide my hands over his powerful arms, stroking the muscles through the soft flannel, to his neck, then to his hair, looping the silken waves around my fingertips and moaning softly as Maxime’s lips begin kissing the side of my face.
“I missed you,” I whisper, closing my eyes again as his mouth moves down my jaw.
His hands span my back, drawing me into his hard b
ody. I tilt my head back, and he trails his tongue down the side of my neck. Maxime gently moves my sweater aside so he can breathe a sexy kiss on the top of my shoulder, causing me to shiver in response.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he murmurs against my skin. “God, how I’ve missed you.”
He lifts his head and once again frames my face in his hands. I gaze up at him, touched by the look of adoration in his vivid blue-green eyes.
“All I could think about,” he says softly, “was being able to touch you. To feel your silky skin with my hands, to kiss your luscious mouth, to bury myself against your neck and inhale your scent, which is imprinted on my mind. I see your eyes and the way you look at me, and I want nothing more than to be with you. I need to be with you tonight.”
“I want you,” I say, my voice low with desire, “to make love to me.”
Maxime’s eyes flicker with passion. We both know the moment is right now.
He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist as his tongue parts my lips in a desperate way. I grab his hair and kiss him back, my mouth rapidly moving against his, heat filling every inch of me as we move toward the living room. Oh, God, I’ve never wanted—needed—a man like I do right now. I’m tugging on his hair. I’m biting his lip. I’m greedy and taking everything I can get from him as I return my tongue to his mouth, deeply kissing him as a groan of desire escapes his throat.
“I want you now,” he pleads before kissing me again. “All of you, I want to see all of you.”
He puts me down in the living room, and I’m about to undress him when I become aware of what he’s done. I gasp in surprise at what Maxime has created for us tonight.
It’s the cozy date I told him I had dreamed of for us.
The floor is filled with thick, plush blankets, all in cream. There are luxurious pillows strewn about. There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, which, along with dozens of cream-colored votive candles, provide intimate lighting in the room. I see two glasses of red wine and a bottle on the coffee table.
