Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I was insanely proud of my man. He’d medaled in consecutive prestigious tournaments and had been hailed as an elite athlete on the rise in the most recent Sports Illustrated article. It had kept the whole town buzzing. And yeah, that was what Darya had referred to earlier. Rafe’s star was on the rise…just as I’d predicted.
There’d been a few bumps along the way. He hadn’t made the Olympic team two years ago, and he’d been heartbroken. But that hadn’t stopped him. He’d be twenty-eight at the next winter games, and he was going for it. I had a feeling he’d make it this time. Once Rafe set his mind to something, he didn’t let go. I’d never seen anyone focus quite like my man. He was aware of the competition and prepared to put in the work.
The figure skating community was tight-knit. Which was nice, ’cause he was still able to stay in close contact with Celine. Rafe had convinced her to join Central Club in Syracuse with him. They’d trained together until Celine had stopped competing last year due to a persistent knee issue. She worked with younger skaters now and recruited Rafe to help out whenever he was in town.
And yes, he bumped into Eli often.
Some hotshot reporter had done their homework and noted that Rafe had edged Eli out of the college competition and created a rivalry dialogue that resonated with the fans. Someone had even insinuated that they’d been lovers, but that rumor had been quickly squashed. It hadn’t played well since Rafe was obviously taken, and Eli’s boyfriend was a Russian bodybuilder who, apparently, was scarier than I was.
Truthfully, they were friendly-ish. Not buddies, but not enemies. As Rafe put it, “I don’t dislike him. If anything, he makes me try harder because I don’t want to lose to him. I think I do the same for him. He’s healthy competition now. Nothing more.”
Rafe and I didn’t compete. We balanced each other.
Work and real-life balance with a professional athlete could be tricky, but we were good partners and we supported each other through thick and thin. I taped his feet at the end of a hard practice, massaged his quads, made meals…whatever he needed.
And he did the same for me.
Rafe was my champion. My rock who showed up to high school games to cheer on the coach and listened to me gripe about the hormonal teenagers who didn’t read the material. My job wasn’t glamorous, but he knew I loved it. Moreover, I was good at it.
I connected with kids and I liked to think I inspired them to work hard, try hard. Funny as hell coming from the guy who used to have a reputation as Smithton’s party animal. A lot had changed since college. I’d been sober for three and a half years, and I felt like a better me. More clearheaded, more in tune with myself and the people who mattered most.
I had a better relationship with my friends and my family now. More honest. More open. I didn’t skirt around uncomfortable issues anymore. I faced them head on. Of course, my buddies were easy. My mom was the tricky one. I had a feeling she was still hoping I’d give up teaching and coaching for law school, but ultimately, she loved me.
And she freaking loved my boyfriend. All caps. You’d never know she’d ever had an issue with my bisexuality.
My folks traveled to his competitions, and because my mom was a closet softie, they made sure Rafe’s parents were there too. Or I did. I wanted him to be surrounded by the people who mattered most.
“So what’s the plan? Do you need to stay and watch the tape?” he asked, falling into step with me toward my truck.
“No, Grigsby can do that. I have to show up to personally deliver the goods and let the kids razz me for losing a bet.”
“But you won your first scrimmage.”
“Yep. In a twist, hot chocolate is incentive to pay attention…even for seventeen-year-olds.”
Rafe’s sappy smile warmed my insides. “I know I’m jumping ahead a few years, but I think you’re going to be a great dad someday, Gus.”
I almost dropped the container. “Dad? Are we having a kid I don’t know about?”
“Very funny.”
“And I thought you said you wanted to get married first. Are you proposing”—I looked around, my eyes blown wide for comedic purposes—“in the parking lot of Coffee Cave?”
Rafe smacked my arm and growled. “No, I am not. When one of us proposes, it’ll be somewhere totally romantic.”
“I like that idea. Let’s make a game of it. Whoever finds the best place to propose first wins. You lost this round. I’m next.”
He sputtered indignantly, put the latte tray on the hood of the truck, and crashed his mouth over mine in a searing kiss. “You’re so…you.”