Thin Ice (Power Play Series Book #2)

Chapter Thirty × Can I Touch It?

"And this, is my room." I tell Rosie, using the back of my arm to open up the door further and allow her to go in ahead of me. It's partially because I'm a gentleman, but also because I'm worried she'll go bolting out the front door if I'm not behind her.

Dinner was rough to say the least, between the fielding of constant questions and my mom, who pulled me aside after dessert to ask when Rosie was due. Apparently she had noticed that she hadn't drank a sip of alcohol - and between that and our accelerated relationship timeline, she assumed the worst, that I had gotten a girl pregnant without having married her first.

I suppose in some ways it would make sense. To an outsider, Rosie and I moving in together so quickly and buying a house together might seem like one of the horror shows that is 90 Day Fiancé. What people don't realize or appreciated is that a) we already knew each other b) we spend all our time together, more than the average couple would spend in a year, we've done in two months c) our relationship is really nobody else's business but ours.

However, to avoid an argument between myself and my mom - and also make sure she spreads the word through the gossip mill that we're not expecting (yet), I explained the truth. That Rosie doesn't drink because it doesn't go well with one of the medications she takes. And it seemed to appease my mom, who didn't press any further or ask what medication that is.

Hopefully that'll keep her busy until the morning; and after that, we only have a few hours here before our flight back home.

"Wow." Rosie muses, seeming like she doesn't know where to look first. My childhood bedroom is something like a shrime of a dead person, or a famous one. Trophies, ribbons, framed photos of teams I only played on for a year before moving up, that's all there is. In some ways it makes me seem like some great person; as if I wasn't a teenager sneaking off to smoke weed like the rest of my peers. "It's um, nice."

I laugh, running my hand down her back in a way that shows her she can be comfortable here. At least, that's what I intend to do. It seems sometimes that my intentions and actions aren't perceived the way I wish they were by her. As in, she still somehow thinks she's the lucky one in the relationship - and not the other way around.

"You can say it. It's kinda weird." I offer, thinking myself about the way that when I was growing up, trophies were everything. But now that I've "made it" the last thing I wanna be looking at in my room is more hockey.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I would be an idiot if I didn't realize how lucky I am to get to do the thing I love for a living, a pretty nice one. But in some ways, it's like any job. There's co-workers you like; ones you wouldn't mind falling off the face of the earth; shifts you prefer and ones you only cover because you have to; and on the weekends, the last thing you want to think about, is work.

Some guys drive themselves nuts, watching tape after tape until there's stars in their eyes. And I've been there, myself. But you have got remember to relax and take time away from the game. Like anything in life, it'll become clearer the further away from it you get. Also, coaches do enough in showing us film after film, I don't need to be watching re-runs.

I used to, don't get me wrong. I used to be the guy that would spend every minute of his waking life watching clip-after-clip; mistake after mistake, replaying in my head everything I should've done differently. Thinking about all the possibilities created by what ifs, if I'd had.

But that stuff wears on you after a while. It eats away at you like some pumpkin seed turned venomous creature, living in your stomach. That's actually part of the reason why I was on that forum in the first place. I need an escape, I needed someone to tell me that everything would be okay. I needed someone in my corner.

And while my parents promoted this perpetual re-watching and re-living of mistakes, Rosie only cared about what was best for me. She just wanted me to be happy. Obviously, she didn't know that's what she was doing at the time. You know, because she didn't actually know who I was until I stuck my tongue down her throat in the middle of a bar hallway.

"No. I like it." She tells me, a small smile dancing across her lips as she walks over to the nearest wall of mementos. I always wondered it would be like to bring her home for the first time; have her in my childhood bedroom. It feels pretty fucking surreal. The girl I've been in love with for years finally seeing the place I grew up...and also spent a considerable amount of time jacking off while thinking about her. "Can I touch it?"

"What?" My mind is clearly in the gutter.

She glances over at me, her long brown hair sweeping over her shoulder. "The picture." She clarifies, gesturing to a small framed photo sitting on the edge of the shelf. She doesn't seem to notice my getting lost in translation and goes back to staring at the stuff cluttering the walls of my room.

"Oh, yeah. You don't have to ask, Ro." I tell her, casually striding over like I wasn't just thinking about her touching my johnson. She's the perfect height for me; and when I stand behind her, I can easily rest my chin on her head. "That's from when I got drafted." I explain, wrapping my arms around her waist as she picks up the frame in question.

It was a day we had been waiting for since I put on a pair of skates; some would say it was like waiting for the bus at the terminal. Everyone was expecting me to make it, follow in my father and older brother's footsteps and play in the league. I? Well, hockey was the only thing I had ever known. There was only one path for me to take in life and it's the one I'm currently on.

"That's Connor." I tell her, pointing at my younger brother, who's standing alongside me. It's a photo of the three of us - Link had flown down for the summer with Cassidy and they were still on their second kid back then.

"You're so cute." Rosie muses, grinning to herself when she sees the horrible haircut I had. It was basically a buzz cut but ten times worse; and I still somehow thought it was the best thing since sliced bread. I think most people feel like that when they see old photos of themselves. Like, what the fuck was I thinking? Kind of like when I decided to grow out my facial hair during senior year and looked like I had a pube beard - don't look it up.

"Very funny." I respond, giving her hips a light squeeze before pulling her closer against me. I think the hardest part about being around my family with her is not being able to touch her the way I want to (i.e. all the time, everywhere). Now that we're alone though, it's game on. "I'm just gonna give us some privacy." I tell her, kissing her on the head before walking over and closing the door.

Unfortunately, it's not one of those doors that locks. As in, my parents knew having three teenage boys with locks on their doors would essentially be inviting teen pregnancy to happen on their property. Connor almost got a girl knocked up; some random girl he had a one-night stand with. Then he found out she was just trying to use him for his bank account.

"Okay." Rosie responds absent-mindedly, still very much focused on the walls of stuff in my room. She seems so fascinated by it all; like she wants to look at everything, one by one. I think I could take off my pants right now and she still would be gawking over the photo of me from prom.

I contemplate my options: walk over to her, interrupting the military level inspection she's currently conducting of my room and kiss her. Or, watch her from my bed quietly, basking in the beauty that is my girlfriend and wonder what the hell I did to get so lucky.

I guess I'll go with the second one.