All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(62)

But, honestly, I think I’m the one who’s grown the most. I no longer care about wild nights out, or the attention I get for playing a professional sport. I care about the woman beside me. The girl I love. She’s what makes me happy.

“Did you hear what I said, Owen?” Mom asks, giving me a curious stare.

“Uh. No. Sorry.”

She presses her lips together like she wants to be annoyed with me, but I can tell she’s not. I can see how happy I’ve made her by bringing Becca home. “I said we should all go to the race and cheer Becca on.”

“Oh, definitely. That’s a great idea.” I’m already planning to be there, but I secretly love that my folks want to come along too.

“You guys don’t have to do that. The parking situation is going to be a nightmare, and it’ll take me at least two hours to run the race, and . . .”

I squeeze Becca’s shoulder, and she turns to look at me. “We’re coming, babe. All of us. Hell, I might even make signs, paint my chest with something like BECCA IS #1.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so sweet.”

“There’s a term I’ve never heard used to describe my son before.” Dad chuckles.

I laugh right along with them. I’ve been called a lot of things over the years—a fierce competitor on the ice, a cocky asshole—I’ve heard it all, but sweet? My dad’s right. That’s a new one. This is all new for me. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

“What do you say we break into that pie?” I ask my mom.

“On it,” she says happily, hopping up from her seat to go fetch it from the kitchen.

Normally, I’d go in there and give her a hand, or just help myself, but I’ve learned that my mother loves fussing over me during the few times I come home a year. And who am I to deny her that? So I watch with a smile as she serves us slices of warm apple pie—two slices for me—and coffee for everyone.

We eat our pie and make small talk. My dad asks all kinds of questions of Becca about the inner workings of the team’s leadership, and I’m happy to see them take a genuine interest in her. She’s a pretty incredible girl, and it’s nice to know they think so too. Plus, she’s got a lot of good stories about the team’s general manager that my dad hasn’t heard before, but is apparently interested in.

We’ve been officially dating for three very happy months now. We spend our days texting flirty messages back and forth, and our nights burning up the sheets together. Everything between us comes naturally. Maybe it’s because we were friends first, I’m really not sure, but what we have just works.

My travel schedule isn’t the easiest on us, but we make do. Becca loves surprising me with homecooked meals, and I love spoiling her any chance I can get. Not with extravagant vacations, or spa packages, or jewelry—those things don’t light my girl up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. It’s usually something simple like surprising her with her favorite candy after I’ve been out of town, or downloading her favorite song to play in my car on the way to dinner, or when we lie in bed at night and talk for hours about our future.

Sometimes she needs to be held, and I love being the one to fold her in my arms and whisper into her hair that I’ve got her. Just like I know she loves being my whole world, and that includes the times when I need to work off some excess stress relief in ways that are uniquely mine. Like when I’m pounding into her from behind, my teeth at her neck, her beautiful ass pink from my hand, her dark hair a mess of tangles around my fist. She’s so beautiful then. So giving. So perfect for me in every way.

And that’s probably my favorite part about being in love with Becca. We didn’t change—not ourselves, not each other. We accepted each other . . . flaws, bruises, bumps, and all.

Once we finish up at my parents’ house, which includes a visit to the den where Mom insists on showing Becca old baby photos of me, we’re back in my SUV cruising back toward the city as the sky turns a vibrant shade of orange. The sun sets later this time of year, and the colors are always incredible.

On the way home, we stop to pick up takeout and end up eating it on the couch at my place. We hang out with Elise and Justin for a little while since my sister wants to know all about our visit back home. Becca is, of course, too modest, and I tell Elise that Mom and Dad loved her and insisted on coming to her race.

Once it’s late, dark outside, we make our way into my bedroom. I expect that we’re going to change into pajamas and brush our teeth, busying ourselves with our bedtime routine like we usually do when Becca stays over. Instead, she sits on the edge of my bed and looks up at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting down beside her.

“I’m just . . . so grateful for you.” Her eyes well with tears.

“Don’t cry, angel.”

She shakes her head. “I’m serious, Owen. What would I have done without you?”

I smile and cup her face in my hands. “I didn’t do anything, and that’s the honest truth. You tore your walls down yourself.”

She shakes her head. “You did everything. Everything. And it was perfect.” Her voice is soft, and I’m not sure what’s gotten into her, but maybe me bringing her home to meet my family meant more to her than she let on.