COMPLETED. A university student. A professional hockey player. They've proved they can be friends. Can they be more?
Although they're both in their early twenties and living in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, their lives couldn't be more different. Cami...
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"My goodness, Taylor, I think I am going to be ready before you. And I need to be there two hours after you."
My girl's not wrong.
I'm having a complete bastard of a time trying to pick a tie to wear with my pre-game bespoke suit. Navy blue with the tiniest white dots. Charcoal with black stripes. What the hell is wrong with plain black?
"Here, go with this one," Camille says as she hands me my favourite tie that is exactly the shade I just thought about.
"You always know exactly what I need."
I brush my hair to the side—it's getting long and it peeks out of my helmet, and I considered cutting it before Camille told me it turns her on—and look in my floor to ceiling mirror as I put on my tie. I meet Camille's eyes in the mirror and pink stains her cheeks, which causes pink to stain mine.
"Almost perfect." She steps over to me and adjusts the tie an iota. "There." "I'm so in love with you," I blurt.
Warmth floods Camille's eyes and she runs her hands along my broad shoulders, something she often does during sex.
"I love you too. Want to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?" "This mood you've been in. You never have a hard time picking a tie. In fact, you're more fashionable than I am. You've been...I don't know...a little sad today." She bites her full bottom lip. "Is it something about your uncle?"
I gulp. "Tomorrow is his birthday. He would have been at tonight's game."
"He'll be there—"
"Yeah, but not like how I want. I didn't fly him in from Pasadena and argue with him about staying with me when he insists on staying at a hotel. I won't get to listen to him for an hour breaking down the game on the way home. He won't be in the stands wearing my jersey."
By the end, emotion has completely clogged my voice. A tear has fallen on to my face, and there are a few on Camille's as well.
"Shit, baby, I didn't mean to make you cry."
I wipe away the moisture on her face with my fingers. "I'm so sorry, Taylor. He loved you so much. We all do."
"Yeah," I sniffle. "I know how lucky I am."
Camille walks into my arms and I embrace her for the last few moments before I have to head to Canada Bank Arena.
She's been over at my place all day, on her computer doing some schoolwork. She seemed stress, so before my pre-game nap I massaged her shoulders which resulted in me massaging something—or more accurately, things—and both of us ending up relaxed. Seeing her stuff all over the living area now reminds me that I need to move this girl in with me. I hate thinking of Camille ever being in an apartment alone by herself at night.
She's back on her computer and I turn to give her one last kiss to her forehead. She shuts her laptop immediately, which is fucking absurd. She always closes all her tabs and puts her computer to sleep before shutting it. She's a madwoman.
