Page 93 of Play the Last Card

“I did.” I pull back just a little because I want to see his reaction when I tell him. “Hell of hail Mary you pulled in the fourth. Way to give your fans a collective heart attack, Harvey.”

Pride shines in his eyes. He doesn’t reply, only kisses me again.

Eventually, he pulls back and I unlock my thighs from around his hips. I slide down his body and back to my feet. Scott lifts a hand, gently pushing a curl behind my ear. A quiet settles around us and as I glance over Scott’s shoulder, I take a peek at the clock. It’s five minutes to midnight.

I have never been kissed at midnight on a New Year’s Eve before.

“What was going on earlier tonight?” he asks. “I could tell you were anxious. Was it because you watched the game?”

I clasp my hands in front of me and start to pick at my nails. The anxiety rushes back and my chest hurts from the force of it. I’m not really in the mood to talk about why I get so anxious in the snow. I just want Scott to kiss me, and take me to bed, and then not stop kissing me.

His hands slide into mine, fingers curling around and squeezing.

“I got worried that it was going to snow. I don’t like traveling in the snow. Don’t like anyone traveling in the snow,” I tell him quietly. I trace my thumb over his skin.

“Why?”

“Just …” I take a deep breath and steel my nerves. “It was snowing the night my parents died. They were driving home from New York City and there was a truck driver who decided to have too many at dinner and then get back behind the wheel. They were driving in a snowstorm and he didn’t see them. They died on the way to the hospital.”

My throat feels like sandpaper. Anxiety creeps up my neck. My chest begins to hurt and I squeeze my eyes shut, begging myself not to cry.

I really don’t want to cry tonight.

Scott lets go of my hands. Then I feel the gentle caress of his thumb against my cheeks. He strokes my skin, waiting for me to open my eyes.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says, still stroking my cheeks.

I only nod.

“Did having my location help?” he asks and I look up at him. His cap lies somewhere on the floor behind us and I can see the gold flakes amongst the green so clearly, even in the dim light.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His thumb swipes once more across my cheek before his fingers drop to my throat, finding my pulse there. “I’ll keep it on. So even if I can’t reply because I’m at practice or in meetings or doing press, you will know where I am.”

“Okay.” In the back of my head I know it’s silly and I shouldn’t need it but it helps. To be able to know that he’s safe. Especially with all the traveling they’ll be doing during the playoffs.

Scott dips his head, catching my gaze again before he gently kisses me. Then he presses another to my lips. And then another. Each one lingers a little more than the last.

My gaze wanders back to the clock. “We missed midnight.”

“Happy New Year, baby,” he hums against my lips.

“I’ve never celebrated a new year with a boyfriend before.” I take a step up the stairs but Scott grabs my hand and pulls me back down the hall toward the lounge.

The fire is surviving but it’s low and almost out. Scott presses a kiss into my hair before stripping his sweatshirt off and dropping to his knees in front of the fire. He adds a log and a few extra smaller sticks, poking and prodding until the fire comes back to life.

I sink back into the couch, watching him carefully. The muscles stretch across his strong shoulders and when he moves, I watch them bulge. Scott sits back on his knees, surveying his work. The fire is roaring now and the heat surrounds us.

Instead of coming to sit beside me on the couch, Scott moves the coffee table from between the couch and the fire, pushing it aside and out of the way. Then he takes the blanket that I normally curl up under and spreads it out on the floor. When he holds his hand out to me, I take it.

Scott pulls me to my feet before he takes a seat on the blanket in front of the fire. He leans against the front of the couch and tugs me down onto his lap, straddling him.

“Thank you for watching tonight. And for coming to my game on Christmas.” He runs his hands up my bare legs, fingertips disappearing a little further past the hem of my sweatshirt with every pass.

I shiver.

“I don’t think you know how much it means to me that you were there. That you watched me tonight,” he murmurs as he pushes the hair from my neck. He trails his forefinger down the line of my neck, his lips following.