Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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An iced latte. That's the first thing I see when I open the passenger side door of my boyfriend's truck. Boyfriend. The word alone sounds like a foreign concept; like he's some random dude I kidnapped off the street; or a blow-up sex doll that I dressed up instead of down.
"Hey baby." He - the boyfriend, my boyfriend, Erik, says whilst I climb into his passenger seat. He's looking as cute as ever - resembling the cross of what would happen if a penguin and panda were left alone for too long of a time. And one of them, (I'm not entirely sure I want to know who) gave birth to the most adorable looking human being on the planet.
But I'm not obsessed or anything; and definitely not one of those girls that argues with her boyfriend about who's cuter. Yeah. Erik and I have certainly never had that conversation. Which sounds cringy as fuck when you're an outsider; but when you're the one in it, seriously makes your cheeks hurt.
"Hey." I barely have time to get into the seat before he's leaning across the console, wanting to kiss me. If we weren't at work I would climb onto his lap and ride him. What? I heard nothing. Just the sound of my awkward thoughts, blasting through my head.
But unlike my subconscious which is neither timid nor shy, real-life Rosie is a serious ass-kisser. As in, I don't want Erik to kiss me in the TD Arena parking lot, in the rare chance that one of my many bosses is leaving at the same time. Am I a little paranoid? Probably. Wanting to jump my boyfriend because he brought me a latte? Definitely not.
"Erik." I let out a laugh, easing him away by his shoulder as his mouth approaches mine. His lips look as dry as ever, probably from all the lip-locking we were doing earlier.
His puppy-dog eyes flicker down to my mouth, seriously making me question my choice of metaphors. I swear I don't have a thing for golden retrievers. But maybe I do? "We're at work." I remind him, vaguely gesturing to our surroundings like they're on red alert.
He gives me a look, biting his lip before practically eye-fucking me with my clothes on. "Okay." He finally says, pecking me on the cheek before moving his hand to my thigh. "How was work?" He asks, not moving to buckle up; or put the car in drive; or do anything that would indicate us getting out of this awaiting crime scene.
And by crime scene, I mean the place where I lost my mind and hooked up with my boyfriend inside his car. That hasn't happened - yet. But give me another five minutes of inhaling his cologne; and I'll be pretty damn close.
"It was good." I answer, already forgetting about the trivial events of the day. Brent being an asshole. Oscar making jokes. Danielle shoving her head up people's ass. It all seems so irrelevant when I spend time with Erik. Maybe that's partially because I've been thinking about kissing him since I saw him in the arena level, earlier.
There's a bagel sitting on the edge of his console and part of me wants to ask if it's for me, but the other part knows I don't have to - it's all mine. Just joking. He passes the bagel to me and says something about getting my favorite, because of course the boy scout remembers that the only thing I love more than dry-humping in bed, is a sesame seed bagel toasted with deli cream cheese.
