All good at the therapist
Finished now
COOP
Good girl. I’m out front
I STUFF my phone into my bag and pull up my collar before heading out of the building. Cooper’s truck is right by the curb. I hide my smile—the echo of praise bouncing around in my mind—as I pull open the door. I’m grateful that he isn’t making me walk all the way across the parking lot, because the wind is miserable.
The first year I lived in New York, I thought the change in weather would help me. When I lived in Tempe, February meant nice, mild weather. A nice night is what led to that house party, after all. I wanted the bitter air and messy slush to remind me I wasn’t anywhere near Preston.
It hasn’t exactly worked out like that, but maybe this year—with Cooper’s birthday to celebrate—I’ll finally move on. I ended my session with Dr. Faber on a hopeful note, especially since my meds are still working well and I’ve been able to successfully use my coping mechanisms. Plus, I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack since I met Cooper, and that must count for something.
He leans over to kiss me as I buckle in. It’s toasty warm in the truck cab, and his beard scratches against my skin pleasantly. I deepen the kiss before he can pull away, and somehow, that makes him lean his elbow on the horn. The honk startles us both into laughter.
Love. Dr. Faber mentioned love. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever tell anyone those words ever again. I’m still not sure, but the possibility sparkles in the distance like a far-off sun shower.
“Whoops,” he says, darting in for one last kiss before putting the truck in drive. “Sure everything’s okay?”
“I’m good,” I say firmly. I take out my phone to text the same thing to my dad. “It was mostly a checkup for my next prescription.”
“Good.” He cranes his neck around to make sure no one is coming before he pulls out of the lot. “Good girl. I’m proud of you.”
I flush. “It was just a therapy session.”
“And that’s hard fucking work. There are gummy bears for you in the glove compartment.”
My heart does the staccato as I pull them out. When Dad used to take me to therapy, back when I needed it more often, he always had a pick-me-up for after, ice cream or a trip to Barnes and Noble or even gummy bears. The fact that Cooper thought of the same gesture is sweeter than he knows.
“You’re still cool with going to this game?” he asks.
“Totally. I want to meet your uncle.”
“Cool.” He settles his hand on my thigh, driving one-handed. Heat fills my belly. The casually possessive nature, combined with the fact he didn’t draw any attention to it, is hot enough to make me want to ask him to pull over. I haven’t blown him in his truck since we first got together, so we’re due for it. Maybe after the game. The other day, he joked about me fingering him, and since then, I’ve been unable to stop thinking about how hot it would be to give him a taste of his own medicine—especially if I had his cock stuffed down my throat at the same time. It’s something I’ve always been into, but I didn’t even put it on The List; I didn’t think that I’d ever be able to find a guy that in-tune with my fantasies.
He glances over. “What are you thinking about?”
“Dirty things.”
He shakes his head. “You’re hornier than I am.”
“Only sometimes.” I play with his fingers, biting my lip as I look at him. He glances over again, swallowing, and I almost ask him to ditch the game so we can go fuck instead, but I know how important all of this is to him. The relationship he’s been building with Ryan, which his mother is grateful for because she doesn’t know the first thing about hockey, and the one he’s rekindling with his uncle now that he’s two years sober and back in his life.
So, I bite my tongue and tamp down the desire running through me on the way to the rink in Pine Ridge, where Ryan’s team is playing. They’re the Moorbridge Ducks, and the uniforms are so tiny and adorable I nearly cry whenever I see them. Too freaking cute.
Cooper kisses me as soon as he parks the truck in the lot. “Fucking hell, Penny. Bedroom eyes are called that for a reason.”
I just blink innocently at him. “Can I put my fingers up your ass after the game?”
He growls, practically yanking me across the seat, and it’s a good thing he just turned the truck off, because my knee hits the gear shift. I end up in his lap, a tangle of limbs, and he kisses my face everywhere he can reach; his hands are on my ass, massaging it through my jeans. I shiver, even though I’m not cold anymore. He’s so fucking big that he makes me feel tiny.
“Dirty fucking girl,” he murmurs. He noses past my jacket collar, kissing and sucking on my neck. I shudder, my hands finding their way to his hair. I can feel his dick through his jeans. If we don’t tear ourselves away, he’s going to have a hard-on—and I won’t be far behind; already I can feel my panties getting damp. I grind against him, unable to help myself, and he groans, tilting his head back.
I take advantage of his exposed neck to give him a matching hickey, right by the scar underneath his ear. When I asked about it, he told me it was from an old car accident that he barely remembers. He hisses, tugging at my hair when I bite down on his shoulder next. I lean back to look at my handiwork, but he just pulls me close again, his mouth against my ear.
“’Course you fucking can,” he whispers, his voice low and rough and delicious. “But I’m coming on your face and leaving you messy, because only brats torture their boyfriends right before going somewhere public.”
I mash our teeth together as we kiss, smiling all the while. “Only if you spit on it after to clean me up.”
“AND THEN HE tore off his gloves and challenged the kid to a fight. Six years old.” Blake beams at Cooper, clapping him on the shoulder. “Pee wee league and already determined to defend his teammates.”
Cooper ducks his head, but I catch sight of his smile. Throughout the game, we’ve been cheering on Ryan—who is becoming quite the confident skater, and even scored a goal earlier—and Blake Callahan has been happily telling me every story from Cooper’s childhood that he can think of.
“Ryan is scrappy like that,” Cooper says. “When he started in the class I taught with Penny, he was timid, but he’s totally different now.”
We watch Ryan take a shot and cheer, but the goalie swallows it up. I sip my soda. “You’re coming back, right?”
“Soon as we win the Frozen Four,” Cooper promises.
“Good. I miss you over there.” I give Blake a sideways look, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the mushiness. Apparently, he remembers Cooper as the player he used to be—high school Cooper was even more wild than college Cooper, not that I’m sure I believe it—and he couldn’t believe when Cooper told him he was going to meet his girlfriend. Blake has been witty, hilarious without trying to be, and quite the flirter as well; he shamelessly chatted up a woman at the concession stand and winked when her husband came to collect her. It’s no wonder that Cooper missed his presence in his life, especially with how strait-laced his dad is. Sebastian told me the other day that he approves of our relationship, but Cooper hasn’t been in the mood to talk about his father, so I haven’t mentioned it. His family’s foundation is having a gala—that’s the word he used, gala, like we were suddenly in a royal fantasy court—next month, and I’m already bracing myself for the awkwardness.
“Penny,” Blake says, “don’t you agree Cooper could sign with a team tomorrow and kick half the league’s asses?”
“Probably.” My stomach does a somersault at the thought of Cooper leaving me to go play in the NHL. I’ve already thought about the fact he’s graduate a year ahead of me. Long distance for a year while he’s off in some city, possibly across the country or even in Canada, is going to suck, however necessary it’ll be. The thought of giving him up sucks even worse, after all. “But there’s no rush. Right?”
“Right,” Cooper says, giving his uncle a narrow-eyed look.
“Just wanted to make she knows what a stud you are,” Blake says. He rubs at his beard, giving me a roguish sort of grin. I can’t help but blush. “Besides, she gets it. Right, Penny? Coach for a dad and all.”
“Yeah.” I re-focus on the game, where Ryan is on the ice again and showing off his ever-growing skills. Cooper was like that once, tiny but fierce. I was too. It’s silly to think about, because he was in New York while I was in Arizona when we were around Ryan’s age, but what if we met as kids? Would we have liked each other? I have the sudden image of a little Cooper challenging me to a race on skates. He’d be in a hockey sweater and pads, his blue eyes shining, and I’d be in leg warmers and a leotard, my hair in a bun instead of loose around my shoulders. I was shy when I was little, and something tells me I’d have had a little-kid crush on Cooper so huge I wouldn’t have been able to talk around him.
Now he’s the man I’m dangerously close to falling for, and while his future is in the NHL, there’s no part of me that wants it to come early, even if he could technically try.
“If his own father isn’t going to brag about him, someone has to,” Blake adds. He nudges Cooper’s side. “One day, that little buddy of yours down on the ice will be wearing your sweater.”
Cooper’s smile isn’t his usual one—no wide grin, no bravado. Just softness. My heart melts, and things don’t get much better on that front when Ryan runs off the ice at the end of the game a couple minutes later and throws his arms around Cooper’s waist.
“Did you see the whole thing?” he asks excitedly. “Even my goal?”
“Every moment, buddy,” Cooper says. He takes Ryan’s helmet off and ruffles his sweaty hair. “Where’s your mom? Let’s talk to her about me finding a time to help you work on stick handling.”
