Page 165 of Right Man, Right Time
“That’s how I like you. Wild. Out of control.”
“You’re going to break me.”
She twists into me and asks, “Are you telling me I have to take it easy on my geriatric boyfriend?”
My brow rises as I turn toward her, causing her to laugh. “I’m not fucking geriatric.”
“Could have fooled me with all the cracking your bones do.”
“That’s just part of being an athlete.”
“A geriatric athlete.”
“Oliana!”
She laughs and straddles me. “Are your feelings getting hurt?” She traces her hands over my pecs.
“Yes.”
“Aw, my poor baby.” She kisses my lips and then hops off, leaving me cold and wanting more.
“Come back here.”
She slips my shirt over her body and buttons the middle button. “I need some breakfast. You’ve fucked me hungry.”
“And you’re calling me the geriatric one.” I slip my hands behind my head and say, “I could go all day, baby.”
“Says the man who was breathing heavily last night and had to take a break between rounds.”
I sit up on my elbows. “I’m the one doing the fucking pumping. Excuse me if I don’t want to cramp up.”
She laughs some more and then goes to her mini fridge, where she pulls out two yogurts.
She tosses one at me and then pulls out spoons. I scoot back to the headboard and sit up while she sits right on top of me, just the way I like it.
I pull off the lid of my yogurt and do the same for her. She hands me a spoon, and together, we eat breakfast.
“Did you turn in your article?” I ask.
“I did yesterday. I haven’t heard anything yet.”
“It was a good article, babe,” I say. “I don’t see how he won’t like it.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate your help on it. Before I turned it in, I made a few changes, but I feel like it’ll give me the credit I need, and then after that, I just have to breeze through the rest of the internship until the end of the year.”
“Your grade doesn’t depend on the rest of the year?” I ask.
“No, the extension of the internship is just experience. That’s why the extension was so good because it’s paid and great for the résumé.”
“What do you plan on doing after you graduate?” I ask.
“Hopefully find a job that suits what I’m working toward . . . not sports.”
I chuckle. “But now your boyfriend is a professional hockey player, giving you the inside look. You could be very valuable to someone looking for a sportswriter.”
“Oh yeah, very valuable. I couldn’t even tell you a single rule about hockey, let alone write about it.”
“So what happens if you get a job that’s not in Vancouver?” I ask, wanting to gauge where she’s at.
