“Darren says he’s pushing himself hard.”

“He’s used to minor injuries. Logically he knows he won’t play again this season, but it’s really eating at him that he’s not going to be on the ice during playoffs.”

Charlene nods. “It’s been a hard season for the team.”

“It really has. He’s also been worried about what next season is going to look like. It’ll take the entire summer for him to recondition his shoulder.” I bite my nail, but stop before I ruin my manicure. “He thinks Randy’s going to take his position as primary center.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Randy’s really stepped it up since Alex has been out.” I feel like a traitor saying it out loud.

“That doesn’t mean they’re going to hand him Alex’s spot.”

“I know, but he’s concerned about it. If he isn’t planning our wedding, he’s watching the games on repeat. He makes notes on Randy’s moves, but if I ask he plays it off like he’s just staying on top of things.”

“He’s so competitive.”

“He really is. And he’s hyper-aware that he’s getting older. There aren’t a whole lot of players who make it much past thirty. Alex is afraid this injury could speed up his retirement.” I scratch my wrist. I’ve already taken an antihistamine. I can’t go home with hives.

“He has a plan for what he wants to do after his hockey career is over, though, right?”

“Oh, he sure does. He wants to get me pregnant so I can birth his next hockey team.”

Charlene barks out a laugh. “You and Alex will have pretty hockey babies. Let’s hope they have his coordination; otherwise they’ll be well-read accountants.”

“Amen to that. It’d be nice to have kids whose GPAs aren’t thrown off by crappy marks in phys ed. You know, if they had a class in like, Tai Chi or something, I might’ve had a hope in hell of getting a legitimate, solid B.”

“Instead your boobs got it for you.”

“Gotta love the perks of perky boobs. I’ll be sad when mine start sagging.”

“Shh!” Charlene cups one of hers. “Don’t talk about things like that. Besides, you’ll be able to afford to have the girls lifted if you’re desperate to defy gravity.”

“So true. But this whole marrying a hockey player thing is way more complicated than I ever imagined.”

“At least you’ve found the love of your life. You’ll work through all the hard parts.”

“He really is amazing. I can deal with the complications if it means spending the rest of my life with him.”

Speaking of hard parts, I’m looking forward to jumping on Alex’s when I get home. My nails aren’t the only thing I had decorated this afternoon.

-&-

Extra-loud music greets me when I open the door, as does the smell of bacon and pancakes. I’ve discovered Alex likes to cook, and he’s good at it. Being out for the rest of the season means he’s less restrictive about his diet, too, so it’s not all whole-grain this and high-fiber that.

I find him in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove making pancakes. In his boxer briefs. His Super MC boxer briefs. On the back it says Violet’s ASS. On the front is a Superman-style logo with MC in the middle instead of an S.

His hair is wet. It’s still longer than usual these days, curling around his ears. I observe him for a minute, since he’s still unaware that I’m home thanks to the music blasting through the speakers. This isn’t Alex’s usual music choice. I listen to the lyrics as I stare at his ass—his super-tight ass, enveloped in red cotton.

I realize I know this song. It’s from my favorite movie, and it’s about Oreos. Actually it’s about beaver licking, and it’s super dirty. Alex busts out when the chorus comes on and shakes his ass a little. It’s awesome. And cute, and kind of sexy.

It isn’t until he flips the pancakes that I realize his arm isn’t in a sling, and his ribs aren’t taped. The bruises are gone, apart from a few yellowish spots on his shoulder and legs.

“What’s going on here?”

Alex startles and looks over his shoulder. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come in.” He grabs the remote from the counter and turns the volume down.

“You’re not wearing your sling.”

I drop my purse on the counter and come up behind him. Snaking an arm around his waist, I press my boobs against his back. His skin is warm, and he smells like my favorite body wash.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you! Doc gave me the all clear. No more sling.”

It’s been over a month since the accident, but the doctors projected at least six weeks before he’d be out of a sling. “Really?”

Alex moves the pan off the burner and turns around so my boobs are pressed against his abs instead of his back. And now his snuffie is pressed against my stomach.

He tucks my hair behind my ear with the hand attached to the injured arm and shoulder. “Really. And it looks like there isn’t any negative residual impact from the concussion either.”

I hug him tightly, relieved. More than the broken body parts and obvious physical wounds, this was the part we were most anxious about. “That’s awesome news. Doesn’t this mean you’re ahead of what the doctors projected?”

“Yeah, by almost two weeks. The doctor said I can start a modified workout schedule to rehabilitate my arm.”