Helena Hunting

He turns off the light and slips his arm under me, drawing me against his side.

“Fall asleep with me?”

I pass out with my cheek on his chest and his lips on my temple

“What’s wrong with you coming here?”

“Nothing. I just thought it would be nice if it was equitable.” I scour the board one last time. There’s no good place to put my word, and without a double-letter score of some kind, I’ll only manage eight points.

“You should move in here.” He says it nonchalantly, but his eyes are on his tiles and his hand is still wrapped around his mostly hard cock.

My heart does this fluttery thing. I’m not sure whether he’s kidding.

“We’ve been dating for what, like two months? Yeah, I think moving in with you is totally reasonable.” If we’d been dating a few months longer, I’d jump at the opportunity. Things have been so crazy lately. His evasiveness in interviews isn’t canceled out by how much time we spend together, or introducing me to his friends and family.

“It’s close to three months. You don’t want to move in with me?” He’s peeking up at me from under his pretty, long man-lashes, looking hurt.

“It’s not that.”

“Dick thinks it’s better for me to appear available until it’s over.”

“Available?”

“Unattached.” He swallows.

My stomach bottoms out. “There are pictures of us together everywhere.”

“I know. So does he. It’s stupid.” Alex sighs. “It could help me secure that big endorsement campaign, Violet. I have to start thinking about my career outside of being on the ice.”

I know this. Hockey careers are short. It’s the reason I have my job and also the reason I have to do it well. It doesn’t mean I have to like what he’s telling me, though. “Is this why we’ve been staying in the past few weeks?”

“I’m trying to fly under the radar. I don’t want you caught up in all my crap.”

It’s another evasive answer. I try a different angle. “Does Dick know you’ve asked me to move in with you?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think you should tell him if you’re serious about being with me?”

Alex skims my cheek with his knuckles. “You’re right. I should. I will. I’ll talk to him this week.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, baby.” He holds out his arms. “Come snuggle with me.”

I settle with my cheek on his chest. His arms wind tight around me, his heart beating hard beneath the cage of flesh and bone. Our conversation should make me feel better. Instead I worry about what else he might be keeping from me.