"My goodness, Taylor, I think I am going to be ready before you. And I need to be there two hours after you."
My girl's not wrong.
I'm having a complete bastard of a time trying to pick a tie to wear with my pre-game bespoke suit. Navy blue with the tiniest white dots. Charcoal with black stripes. What the hell is wrong with plain black?
"Here, go with this one," Camille says as she hands me my favourite tie that is exactly the shade I just thought about.
"You always know exactly what I need."
I brush my hair to the sideâit's getting long and it peeks out of my helmet, and I considered cutting it before Camille told me it turns her onâand look in my floor to ceiling mirror as I put on my tie. I meet Camille's eyes in the mirror and pink stains her cheeks, which causes pink to stain mine.
"Almost perfect." She steps over to me and adjusts the tie an iota. "There."
"I'm so in love with you," I blurt.
Warmth floods Camille's eyes and she runs her hands along my broad shoulders, something she often does during sex.
"I love you too. Want to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
"This mood you've been in. You never have a hard time picking a tie. In fact, you're more fashionable than I am. You've been...I don't know...a little sad today." She bites her full bottom lip. "Is it something about your uncle?"
I gulp. "Tomorrow is his birthday. He would have been at tonight's game."
"He'll be thereâ"
"Yeah, but not like how I want. I didn't fly him in from Pasadena and argue with him about staying with me when he insists on staying at a hotel. I won't get to listen to him for an hour breaking down the game on the way home. He won't be in the stands wearing my jersey."
By the end, emotion has completely clogged my voice. A tear has fallen on to my face, and there are a few on Camille's as well.
"Shit, baby, I didn't mean to make you cry."
I wipe away the moisture on her face with my fingers.
"I'm so sorry, Taylor. He loved you so much. We all do."
"Yeah," I sniffle. "I know how lucky I am."
Camille walks into my arms and I embrace her for the last few moments before I have to head to Canada Bank Arena.
She's been over at my place all day, on her computer doing some schoolwork. She seemed stress, so before my pre-game nap I massaged her shoulders which resulted in me massaging somethingâor more accurately, thingsâand both of us ending up relaxed. Seeing her stuff all over the living area now reminds me that I need to move this girl in with me. I hate thinking of Camille ever being in an apartment alone by herself at night.
She's back on her computer and I turn to give her one last kiss to her forehead. She shuts her laptop immediately, which is fucking absurd. She always closes all her tabs and puts her computer to sleep before shutting it. She's a madwoman.
"Um, Camille, what the hell?"
Her cheeks redden. "Let's forget that happened."
I assess her with a hooded expression.
"Okay, I won't push you. It's okay if you want to keep something private."
"Why are you so understanding?" she practically huffs.
I laugh. "My apologies."
"You know I've been finding school stressful, and I've needed a creative outlet." She pauses. "I'm writing a children's book."
"Baby, that's amazing!"
A hand covers the entire lower half of her face as she says, "Is it? I guess I should say that I'm trying to write a children's book."
"If you're trying to do something, you're doing it. My uncle told me that."
Camille's expression softens and she pushes herself off the couch. She whispers against my lips, before kissing me, "Have a good game, Taylor. I love you."
"Thanks. I hate to leave you, but you better believe I am going to score tonight."
I feel weird considering myself a "WAG," but I have to admit, it's pretty damn fun. It's expensive and indulgent and although we're always aware that we're in some superficial bubble, no one is hurting anyone else so we go with it. We also each have charity endeavours that we support each other with. Mine is providing children with breakfast and books.
"I really hope the boys pull out a win tonight," Syd says.
She, along with Jane Peterson and I, always sit together whenever we attend the home games. Even though there's a large group of us, Sydney and Jane are the ones I get along with the best. Jane is young like me, and Sydney is just one hell of a cool gal.
"They will," Jane says.
"Yeah, I really hope so."
A few young girls wearing Saints jerseys sitting in front of us have been talking in hushed voices for the past few minutes. They're in great seats. They turn around, and one of themâwho I assume is the boldest of the bunchâmakes eye contact with me.
"We're really sorry to interrupt, but are you girlfriends of the guys? We recognize Sydney from Instagram."
I exchange a quick glance with Jane. These girls seem perfectly lovely, and most are, but there have been a few incidents with online slander for one of the girls whose boyfriend used to be on the team. That's why I don't have social media. Partly. The other reason is because I'm hideous in photos. Taylor disagrees.
"Yeah, that's us," Syd says. She's smiling. I think she likes the attention.
"Camille, right?" one of the other girls asks.
I nod nervously. "Yeah?"
"I know you are getting a PhD at the University of Toronto. I think that's awesome. I actually want to go to grad school for biology. Sometimes I worry that it's too nerdy but it if it's hot enough for Taylor Hudson, it's hot enough for me."
Beside me, Sydney stifles her chuckle and Jane hides her smile behind her gloved hand.
"Oh, wow. I'm glad you have those plans. You deserve to pursue what you want to make yourself happy."
"Thanks," she smiles.
After a few more flattering comments about Sydney's leather pants, the girls turn around. The two seats beside me are no longer empty, as Taylor's parents have arrived from the hotel they are staying at. My chest hurts. This is what Taylor was referring to when he was speaking of his beloved uncle earlier. Although Taylor told Sofia and James that they were more than welcome to stay at his place, his mom insisted that they grab a hotel to give us "privacy." I blushed scarlet at that comment.
Sofia wraps me in a strong, comforting hugâthe only hug she knows how to give, and James pulls me in gently.
"We made good timing," he says.
"Yeah, the puck is just about to drop."
The Saints are a skilled team, but they tend to be inconsistent. Tonight they're playing a Florida team that's at the top of their division. If the Saints are going to have a chance, they need to play their best. Taylor has to play his best.
It ends up being a good game, a close game. It's one-one for the majority of the first two periods before Taylor snipes a rocket into the top corner late in the third. Sofia screams and I jump giddily. I know my boyfriend. He's usually not very emotional when he celebrates a goal, but I can tell by the way he screams and punches his hands in the air that this one is special. For a brief second he looks at our section and then upwards. No one probably noticed it but myself and the couple beside me. We know what it means.
Told you I was going to score tonight.
Camille gets home before I do.
Usually we leave together after the games, but tonight I had to do press and then the leadership group had a brief meeting with the team's general manager. It was a congratulatory meeting, a "keep doing this thing" sort of thing.
There was a mixture of pride and sadness in my chest throughout the quiet ride home. My parents' voices filled the vehicle through my speakers, as they confirmed that Camille was safe at my place. We all had plans for breakfast the next morning. Camille and I had offered to do something tonight with them as well, but they said it was late for them. Hell, it's late for Camille and I, too. But still, I was surprised to hear my mom turn down an opportunity to spend time with Camille. I'm pretty damn sure she likes her more than me. And that's perfectly fine. I don't blame her.
Camille. Damn, I want to be with her so damn badly right now. She's the only person I want to see right now.
When I open the door to my condo, my first thoughts are that it's quiet, dark, and scented like one of Camille's candles that she refers to as "dark vanilla." It's pretty fucking sexy. Immediately a bulge forms in my pants.
"Camille?"
"In here," she calls.
I bite my lip and run my hand through my freshly washed hair. I know she likes it when the strands are wet. It makes her wet.
There's only one place where "here" could be.
Sure enough, the door to my bedroom reveals Camille sitting by lamp and candlelight on my bed wearing one of my white t-shirts. My mouth instantly waters.
"What are you wearing there, Camille?"
"This t-shirt serves no purpose other than for you to take it off."
Fucking hell.
Camille watches me with flushed cheeks and wide eyes as I undress to only my chain and boxers. As I approach the bed I say, "I don't think we need to take it off now."
"What?"
Her question is answered as soon as I lift the hem of the shirt and place my mouth on her.
"Uhmygod," she moans.
I spread her thighs wider and she bucks her hips up to me. I snack on her like a starved man. I work my tongue on the outside, up and down, and on the inside, in and out. Camille's holding on to my hair, like she's guiding me to what she likes best. She's always so responsive.
Sometimes I can't believe how great our sex life is. It's the best sex I've ever had. It makes sleeping with any girl other than Camille a mistake.
She orgasms on my tongue and I swallow it all. I apply light pressure only as I let my girl come back to earth.
"My god, Taylor, that was amazing," she says as I kiss the top of her forehead. "But I think you broke me."
"I told you I was going to score tonight."