OLIVIA
I HAD a dream on Monday night that I told Carter I was falling in love with him.
Only it might not have been a dream. It might’ve been totally real.
Because when I woke up Tuesday morning, it was to a bleary-eyed Carter smiling up at me from my phone, where he’d apparently been all night. I fell asleep on him and he didn’t want to hang up on me, he told me. The call lasted until my seven a.m. alarm woke us both up. I’m still so impressed with my iPhone battery I’m thinking of sending Apple an email.
The words I might have muttered in my sleep came rushing back to me as Carter looked at me with a sweet expression, watching me fumble over my apology for falling asleep, for keeping him on the phone all night, for any sleep-induced ramblings he might’ve heard without coming right out and asking if I dreamt it.
Come Wednesday morning, I’m still nervous when his name lights up my screen. Like right now.
“I need a picture of you,” he says in way of greeting and with a heavy sigh, shaking out his chestnut bed-head waves.
“Good morning to you too.”
He grins. “Morning, princess. I can’t wait to wake up next to you all weekend.”
Yeah, apparently that’s happening. He flies out next Monday and won’t be home until Saturday and I’m kind of dreading it, so I’m pretty giddy about spending the whole weekend together. Also, my house is frigid. Not having to sleep in several layers of clothing to keep my teeth from clattering will be a refreshing change of pace.
I cover my yawn and try to shake away the sleep. I’m tired because Carter and I were on the phone until after midnight.
His eyes hood. “Yawn that big in my bed and I’ll put something rock hard and throbbing between those pretty pink lips.”
“Your mouth and mind are equally filthy, Mr. Beckett.” I’m trying to get used to it, but mostly it makes me blush like crazy. Also, turned on. I’m a whole new level of horny with this man. It doesn’t help he spent all his free time yesterday dirty texting me while I was at work.
“That brings me back to the picture. I need one, Ollie. I had to jerk it to those paparazzi pictures last night after you went to bed.” He flashes the camera at his crotch when he grabs it. “My sword of thunder and I would forever be in your debt, Princess Ollie.”
I’ve heard that name at least five times in the last four days and I still can’t wrap my head around it. Sword of thunder, not Princess Ollie. I’m mostly managing to ignore all the princesses, and is it borderline insane if I admit that I actually…like them?
“You must be the only man on this earth who has named his penis.” “That’s not true. Garrett calls his Lieutenant J—”
“Shut up, you fucker!” The pillow Garrett chucks at Carter’s head is the cherry on top.
“Poor Garrett.”
Carter guffaws. “Poor Garrett? He hit me! He could’ve taken an eye out!”
“You’re indestructible, Carter. Quit whining.”
There’s that smirk. He flexes a veiny bicep. “Yeah, I am pretty indestructible. You know what’s not indestructible though? Your p—hey!” Another pillow to the face, this one knocking him sideways.
“Thanks, Garrett,” I call. “Welcome!”
“Fuckers,” Carter mutters, rubbing the side of his head. “I’ll be home late tonight so I won’t get to see you.”
“Oh. That’s okay.” It’d be more convincing if I weren’t frowning.
“And I’m watching Jennie dance tomorrow night, so I won’t see you until Friday at the game.”
“Who’s Jennie?” I quell the urge to ask him why he’s watching her dance because this jealous streak that’s lit a fire in me is driving me insane.
I guess I don’t do that good of a job of hiding it though, because Carter’s mouth tilts with his smirk.
“Jennie’s my sister. She’s a competitive dancer at SFU and she’s got a show tomorrow night. Also, I enjoy this little green-eyed monster that’s been hiding inside of you.”
“I wasn’t jealous.” A half lie, because I’m definitely envious that his sister has rhythm, and enough of it to get into such an elite program. I guess Carter’s not the only athletic one in his family. “That’s impressive.”
“Yeah, she got a full ride out of high school. Been dancing her whole life.” He chuckles, scrubbing at his jaw. “My parents had no life outside of taking us to dance and hockey. We spent more time in the car traveling to practice, games, and recitals than we spent in our actual house. My dad always said—” Carter pauses, expression sheepish. He waves me off. “Ah, forget it.”
I’ve never lost someone that close to me so I can’t even begin to comprehend what Carter’s gone through over the years, but the heartbreak still lingers thick in the air when he talks about his dad. “What did he say?”
Carter drops his gaze to his lap before lifting it back to me. “He said we’d understand why they were willing to give up everything for us when we had our own kids someday.”
I wish I could’ve met Carter’s dad. In the little bit he’s told me, it’s clear he was a wonderful husband, a supportive father, and that he shared Carter’s sense of humor. Apparently those two were quite the irritating pair around his mom and sister.
I can’t help but wonder how Carter would be different if his dad were still here. I like him the way he is, but I question if he wouldn’t have gone through years of casual, meaningless sex if his dad hadn’t passed.
Except if he hadn’t, there’s no way we’d be where we are right now, the two of us. He’d probably be married, maybe have a kid or two, because there’s no way some beautiful woman wouldn’t have scooped him up by now. Aside from his undeniably good looks, Carter is goofy and hilarious, charismatic, kind, and passionate enough to make you feel like he’s lit you on fire.
Hate it all I want, but that past of his is the only reason we’re able to give this a real shot right now.
“Do you want kids?” Carter asks me suddenly. “Or no kids? Do you hate kids? You probably hate them, working with them all day and whatnot.
No, that’s stupid. You love them; you coach your niece’s hockey team on your own time.”
Nothing is more adorable than an anxious, rambling Carter who doesn’t know what to say. Regardless of being a natural at this dating stuff despite never having done it before, it’s clear he’s so out of his element, second- guessing everything he says or does.
“I’d like to have kids one day,” I tell him.
His throat bobs as he nods. “Cool. Yeah, cool. Me too. One day.” “Carter?”
His face lights. “Yeah?”
“I have to get dressed for work.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah. I can’t wait to see you Friday, Ollie. I’m gonna score you a goal and blow you a kiss on national television.”
I gape. “No, you’re not.”
He flashes me that devilish grin I love. “If you think I won’t, you don’t know me at all.”
We’re off the phone for all of thirty seconds when a text message rolls
in.
World’s Sexiest Man: do u prefer princess or ollie when i scream your name into the crowd?
It’s after eleven when I finally crawl into bed, feeling particularly mopey and a little frustrated with myself for being that way. I survived fine on my own before Carter yet now I can’t go more than a few hours without talking to him. It’s downright embarrassing and the only person I’ve admitted it to is Cara, and only because I remember how miserable she was when her and Emmett first started dating and he’d go away. She’s still pretty miserable on long stints, to be honest.
The team boarded in San Jose at five, and though I know it’s too late to see him, I guess I was hoping Carter would call when he got home. But one last look at my phone shows me what I already know: he hasn’t called or messaged since my workday ended.
I scoop his hoodie up off the floor, breathing in his scent as the thick cotton wraps around me. Even though I’m wearing thermal long johns and tucked under three blankets, my body still shakes with a shiver. I press my hand to my face, trying to warm my frozen nose, and when that fails to work, I grip the blankets to my chest and roll across my mattress.
“Bedtime burrito,” I murmur to myself, satisfied with my tight cocoon. No cold air can penetrate this force field, and with that knowledge, I start to drift to sleep.
I’m right on the cusp of unconsciousness when the pounding starts, jolting me with a yelp as my eyes fly open. I’m not entirely positive that I didn’t imagine it; I’m so exhausted I feel delirious. But when it starts a second time, harder and longer, I shoot out of bed.
Except—blanket cocoon. I try to plant two feet on the floor but my ankles cross and I can’t pull my arms out from my straightjacket of blankets fast enough to save myself from face-planting.
So I do. Face-plant, that is. Hard.
“Ow,” I moan, rolling onto my back. My blankets loosen enough for me to free my arms so they can clatter to the cold hardwood. I rub at my nose, my mouth, my forehead; it all hurts. “Fuck me.”
And there’s that damn knocking again. My brain tells me it hears a faint Liv, Liv, Liv, Liv, so I roll to my stomach and army crawl across my bedroom floor. Using the door frame to pull myself up, I shake the blankets off my hips and head for the front door.
If I were more awake it would probably occur to me to not answer the door at nearly midnight, to ignore the deranged person on the other side of the door. But I’m drained and feel half in the bag, so instead of questioning the late-night knocking, I scrub the sleep from my eyes, slide a hand under my sweater to scratch my belly as I yawn, and throw the door open.
“Oh. I am dreaming.” I touch my face; it really does hurt from the dream face-plant. “That’s good. This won’t bruise.” I swing the door shut and turn to head back to bed.
Except it doesn’t close, and the man at my door sweeps inside, his long fingers closing around my elbow.
“I can see why having someone as handsome as me show up unexpectedly at your door in the middle of the night would make you think that, but no, you’re not dreaming.” Carter’s grip tightens as he hauls me into him, looming. “And you just tried to slam the door on me when I’ve been
missing you for three days, so I’m gonna need you to open up that pretty mouth of yours and lemme taste you, gorgeous girl.”
