Page 75 of Never Pucking Ending

I blanch, realizing what I referred to myself as. Are we labeling this? Do adults in their mid-thirties have boyfriends and girlfriends?

“Sorry,” I apologize quicky. “I didn’t mean to say that I’m your g-i-r-l-f-r-i-e-n-d. I just mean—”

“Belle,” Jesse says with a light laugh. Damn. I’m rambling. And spelling things again. I need to quit doing that. “I know you better than I know anybody else. I know your favorite color is yellow, although you’ll claim it changes based on your mood. You say chicken if your favorite food because it’s versatile, but it’s really pizza for the same reason. You hate cauliflower for no real reason—”

“It has no taste!” I defend.

He keeps going without pause. “You love watching reality TV because it’s mindless entertainment and you rarely get to shut your brain off otherwise. You love owning businesses and serving communities, but you stress yourself out trying to be as perfect as possible. Which, by the way, is impossible. Hockey and football are your favorite sports, but you’ll choose ice hockey out of loyalty for me and my career. I know how much you used to be obsessed with Drew Brees and would probably trade your lifetime season passes for our games for just one night with him.”

I don’t even have the decency to feel bad because that’s true. So, I nod. “You can keep going if you want, but I get the point. You do know me better than anybody. Although Mom probably knew the Drew Brees obsession too. I did have his poster on my wall. She claimed I used to kiss it, but I never went that far.”

His lips twitch into a partial smile. “I’m sure you can list just about everything there is to know about me too. Even things I don’t realize you know. And, over time, we’ll keep learning little things about each other. What I’m trying to say is that what we have feels like more than just your typical girlfriend-boyfriend thing. But if you want to label it that, I’m down. If you want me to ask you, I will. Because for a very long time, maybe even longer than I realized, I’ve wanted that. I’ve wanted you. You already know you’re mine, and I look forward to the day everybody else does too.”

A tingling sensation spreads through my arms and legs and settles into my fingers and toes. Warmth probably makes my cheeks pink, but I do my best to combat it. We’ve spent a lot of time pretending like these feelings didn’t exist. We skirted around them and acted like we were family and that was it. Hearing him admit he’s thought of me as more only cements the truth I’ve always known.

“This is not just a one-time thing, Belle,” he informs me, a note of seriousness in his tone. “I will never get you out of my system. It’ll never be that easy for me. You’re engraved into every piece of me and have been for as long as I can remember. What I feel for you, and what I’ve felt for you, is a never-ending factor.”

If we weren’t in the middle of a restaurant, I would kiss him. I would do a lot more to him. Because this man has a vice grip on my heart that will never loosen, and I don’t want it to.

Eventually, I find myself nodding as I fight back tears. Happy tears, of course. “You know how to make a girl sappy.”

All he does is smile softly. “I mean it.”

“I know you do,” I whisper, taking a deep breath. “All right. We’ll take it day by day. Together. We’ll find the right time to tell them…”

Tell them what?

The truth, I guess.

That we love each other.

As more than stepsiblings.

As more than friends.

Jesse’s hand slides over the tablecloth and cups mine, rubbing his thumb over my skin. “It will be okay, Bells. I promise.”

I believe him because he’s never lied to me. But that doesn’t make the fear dampen any less within me. The unknown is a scary place, but it would be even scarier without him by my side.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jesse

Winter quickly bleeds into late spring, bringing warmer weather, greener grass, and a closer end to a less than stellar season. And after getting our asses handed to us by the Golden Knights in Vegas, and then our faces rubbed into it by the Bruins in our home territory, it’s left me more than ready for a break.

The commentators during our last game even winced at how badly we lost to Boston’s team. I wish I could say we tried our best to get one up on them, but we didn’t. We sucked. Bad.

Normally, I’d be in a shit mood knowing that there’s no way we’re advancing. When I know I’m playing my last game, I work my ass off to make it the best one so we can go out on a good note. But, truthfully, I’m tired. My body is tired. I’m looking forward to time off where I don’t have to ice my body every single day or get regular massages because my muscles are too tight.

The only good thing that came from our last home game was the hug Belle gave me when I was freshly showered and walking out of the locker room. Our parents couldn’t make it because they had friends in town who weren’t big sports fans, but I spotted Belle staring with just as much anxiety as I felt the entire game. She didn’t bother with an apology, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss her. I didn’t, of course. There were cameras and spectators who didn’t need to be in our business. Not yet.

I knock on the locked door of the soon-to-be bookstore café when I see the lights on, searching the space for Belle. She’s been spending more time here over the past week after getting the proper permits she needs to begin construction. I see her pop out from the kitchen area, and smile when I see the paint smeared across the overalls she’s wearing.

“Hey,” she greets, opening the door for me and gesturing me inside.

I’m hit with the strong scent of paint as I set the to-go bag down with our lunch. “You need to air this out or you’ll get high,” I tell her with a frown. I examine the wall she’s been busy with.

Two out of the four are made of white brick, the other two are drywall. She’s painting those a pale yellow—polka dot yellow, according to the paint splotch she showed me when she was trying to make a color choice.