Brekker's Shadowsinger

Today, you had let boredom take the reins and found yourself influenced by a viral trend.

Your boyfriend was one of the most attentive men on the planet. In fact, you’d go as far as to say he was the most attentive. Which meant him forgetting about date night was simply impossible.

If Garrett made a commitment to you, he followed through. Every single time.

Sometimes, it was honestly a little annoying how attentive he could be, because he remembered everything.

The day you first kissed. The first time you said “I love you”. Even the exact moment you stole one of his hoodies and never gave it back.

You weren’t sure if he kept some secret list hidden somewhere or if an entire section of his brain had simply been taken over by thoughts of you, but one thing was certain: if there was a date night planned, Garrett Graham would remember it.

Which was exactly why it would be so funny to convince him he’d forgotten one.

You could already picture the confusion and disbelief on his face. The way he’d rack his brain trying to figure out how he could have possibly let something like that slip his mind.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded at your door.

You quickly adjusted the black dress you were wearing—far too formal for the quiet movie night you’d originally planned with Garrett—and crossed the room to answer it.

The second you opened the door, a smile tugged at your lips.

Your boyfriend stood there, bag slung over one shoulder, looking unfairly handsome for someone who had just spent hours getting checked into boards by grown men.

Almost immediately, his brows drew together as his gaze swept over your dress. But before he could ask any questions, you rose onto your toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

The effect was immediate.

His bag slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud as one hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer. He kissed you back without hesitation, already melting into the familiar greeting.

When you finally pulled away, you tilted your head.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Garrett blinked, then he looked down at himself. Gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. Standard post-practice attire.

“Uh... yeah?” He said slowly. “Why?”

You arranged your features into the best combination of confusion and disappointment you could manage. “Did you forget?”

His frown deepened as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and shrugging off his hoodie. Beneath it was the black compression shirt he always wore after practice.

A criminal piece of clothing, in your humble opinion.

The fabric stretched across his shoulders and arms far too well, making it significantly harder to stay focused on your prank. For a brief moment, you considered abandoning the whole thing altogether in favour of admiring your boyfriend.

Unfortunately for Garrett, you were committed to the bit.

“Forget what, honey?”

His eyes drifted around your dorm room, taking in details automatically. From the makeup bag spread across your vanity, to the leather jacket draped over your desk chair that looked suspiciously similar to the one currently missing from his closet.

Then his attention returned to you.

“Our date?” You said, tilting your head as if he was the one being ridiculous. Which was especially unfair considering you had invented this entire situation purely for your own entertainment.

You watched him go completely still for a second. 

Then, very slowly, he repeated, “...Our date?”

“Yeah.” You smiled brightly. “I’m really excited. You picked a good spot.”

“I did?”

The uncertainty in his voice nearly made you break. He bent down to grab his phone from his bag before sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah,” you said casually, settling onto your desk chair in front of your makeshift vanity. “You didn’t really forget, did you?”

“No. No...” He shook his head, already scrolling through his phone. “Just checking our reservation.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

“I’m so glad you picked that restaurant. We haven’t been there in forever, and their food is amazing.”

Continuing your performance, you grabbed your mascara and began applying it as if this conversation were completely normal.

Across the room, Garrett was staring at his phone with the concentration of a man trying to defuse a bomb.

“What did you…” He lowered the phone and cleared his throat. “What did you order last time?”

“We ordered a bunch of things to share, remember?”

He hummed, the sound coming out noticeably higher-pitched than usual.

To be fair, it wasn’t an incredibly descriptive answer. Garrett’s appetite was enormous thanks to hockey, and you could never decide what looked best on a menu. Most date nights ended with the two of you ordering half the restaurant and splitting everything between yourselves.

Still, you could practically see him filing the information away, desperately trying to determine whether this was a real memory he’d somehow lost or one you were creating in real time. 

“You’ve been looking forward to this for a while, huh?”

“Mhm.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Do you remember the last time we went?”

“Not really, no.” You unscrewed your lip gloss and began applying it. “But it’s been a while.”

“Huh.” A few seconds passed, then he asked, “And I can’t wear what I’m wearing right now?”

“Garrett, you planned this date.” You turned in your chair to look at him. “You specifically told me to dress semi-formal.”

“Yeah, obviously. I know.” The immediate response was reassuring, but the lingering frown wasn’t. “Just checking,” he added quickly. “Keeping you on your toes and all that.”

You stared at him and he stared right back, attempting what was perhaps the worst act of confidence you'd ever seen.

“Sure…” you said slowly, fighting to keep a laugh from escaping.

Garrett nodded once, as if he’d successfully recovered the situation, immediately grabbing his phone again. Apparently, whatever fictional reservation he was searching for had yet to reveal itself.

“Are you excited?” You asked innocently. “Because from where I’m sitting, you don’t exactly look excited for our date night.”

His head snapped up. 

“What? I’m so excited.”

Before you could respond, he pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room, coming to stand behind your chair.

“Honey,” he said, resting his hands on your shoulders, “This is going to be the best date of your life.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” The answer came in the most ‘duh’ tone imaginable.

As if the very suggestion that he wouldn't be excited to take you on a date was completely absurd. As if he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes conducting a full-scale investigation into a restaurant that didn't exist.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

At that point, you decided it was probably best to abandon the prank before things escalated any further. Because now Garrett Graham had something to prove.

And knowing your boyfriend, that was a dangerous thing.

Another five minutes and he’d probably be making dinner reservations, buying flowers, and somehow chartering a helicopter just to demonstrate that he was, in fact, capable of pulling off the best date night of your life on a moment's notice.

“It's just…” You rose from your chair and turned to face him, leaving only a few inches between you. Tilting your head back, you met his gaze. “How can you be excited for a date that doesn't exist?”

For a second, Garrett simply stared at you, and then you watched the realization hit in real time. Confusion flashed across his face first, followed quickly by suspicion, before finally settling into understanding as all the pieces clicked into place and he realized exactly what you’d been doing.

His eyes narrowed at the burst of laughter that spilled from your lips.

“Baby, there’s no date,” you admitted, burying your face against his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist. Looking up at him, you were immediately met with the most offended expression you’d ever seen on your boyfriend.

His mouth opened, then closed again as he searched for a response. For a moment, it looked like he was about to launch into an argument, but instead he simply shook his head, pulled you closer, and wrapped his arms around you.

“There can be, though.”

Another laugh escaped you.

“It’s okay. It was just a prank.”

“Yeah, but you’re already dressed up for that fake date, so…”

“So?” You prompted.

“I’m taking you out.”

You blinked. “Oh, really?”

“Yup.” 

The answer came without a second of hesitation. Still holding onto you with one arm, he reached over and grabbed the leather jacket hanging from your chair, along with his bag.

“Let’s go,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’ll stop by my place so I can change, and then we can go to that place you’ve been wanting to try.”

You huffed out a laugh.

“There is no place, Garrett.”

“Then make one up.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and pointed at you. “You’re the one who invented an entire date night. Surely you can invent a restaurant, too.”

You laughed again as he reached for your hand.

Somehow, despite being the one who’d gotten pranked, your boyfriend had still found a way to turn it into an actual date.

Which, admittedly, was a very Garrett Graham thing to do.

Ever since he got you away from the crowd, his attention has been totally focused on you, so he’s still fully dressed. Wanting him closer, you help him out of his t-shirt between fevered kisses, running your manicured nails over the rippled muscles of his back.

Every time he grinds his hips against the heat of your barely covered pussy, you can feel him getting harder under his sweats. The firm outline seems impressive in size, but you’re not really sure what to expect because it’s your first time together and you haven’t seen him naked yet.

When he turns onto his side so that you’re facing each other, you let a curious hand run down his well-defined stomach, fingers tracing the fuzzy trail of hair below his navel and then over the sizable bulge that’s stretching the front of his pants.

The sound that he makes against your lips when you cup his cock through the cotton is so addictive, the thick outline pleasantly warm as it overflows your palm.

“Can I see you?” you murmur sweetly. Without another word he’s pushing down his sweatpants and boxer briefs in one smooth motion, flipping onto his back so that his cock springs up semi-hard to slap against his stomach, the tip already leaking drops of shiny precum onto his soft treasure trail.

Lips parted in wonder, you let out an audible gasp at his size. Amused by your reaction, he runs a hand through his tousled hair and chuckles softly, his almost shy expression still underlined with its usual cockiness.

In your opinion, he’s deservedly proud—thick and long, slightly curving to the left and lined with delicious veins and ridges that you can’t help but imagine tracing with your tongue. Nestled against a dark thatch of neatly trimmed hair, he’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen before and with a sinking sensation you realize he’s not even fully erect.

“Garrett…I don’t know…” you trail off, eyes widening as you try to imagine how you could possibly manage to take something so big, knowing from experience that your pussy is pretty tight. Thinking back to earlier in the day, you curse yourself for skipping out on your morning yoga class. You probably could have used some stretching exercises.

Garrett is patient with you, rubbing a soothing hand along the curve of your hip. “It’s ok, we can take our time,” he promises, nuzzling his full lips against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “We have all night. There’s no need to rush.”

“But, I don’t know if I can do it,” you whimper, voice nearly trembling with disappointment. Finally a chance to hook up with the hot guy you’ve been crushing on for months and now he’s going to think you’re terrible in bed.

“It’s just—everyone always tells me that I’m really tight,” you pout in a sulky voice, watching his eyes grow noticeably darker with the knowledge.

“I’ll make sure you’re ready,” he promises with a patient smile.

And he does his very best, down on his stomach between your soft thighs, thick tongue delving through your dripping folds, luxuriating in your taste. As he suckles on your clit and scissors his fingers inside you to stretch you open, you run your hands through his curls calling out his name as you cum for the first, and second, time.

“Oh god, Garrett—fuck.”

Lips still shiny with your release, he crawls back up your body once he’s had his fill. As he hovers, your eyes catch on the golden chain around his neck, glimmering in the warm lamp light as his heavy-lidded eyes gaze into yours, almost pleading for more.

“Need you so bad.” His voice is raspier than usual, thick with want, and you can feel the heat of his cock pressed against your thigh. “Do you think you’re ready for me?”

When you nod, still glassy-eyed in your post orgasm haze, he grasps himself and runs the tip of his cock back and forth through your folds, coating himself in your arousal so he’ll be nice and slippery for you.

Each time the fat head bumps against your sensitive clit, it makes you moan in the sweetest way. Unable to hold back any longer, he slowly pushes the tip inside, keeping his eyes on yours as they widen along with the increasing burning stretch.

His gaze never leaves yours, in tune to every subtle change in your expression.

“Ooh—you’re so…big,” you exclaim, sweaty fists gripping onto the bedsheets beneath you.

“Shh, it’s okay.” His lips brush over yours as he soothes you. “You’re doing so well. Just relax and breathe.”

The whole time, the strong muscles of his buttocks are clenching with the effort of holding himself back because you’re so warm and tight around him that it’s making it hard for him to go slow. All he wants in the moment is to slam his hips into yours and bury himself deeper inside you than anyone has ever been before. Fuck you so good that you’ll be screaming out his name for everyone to hear.

But instead, he’s going to be patient. Work you up to it.

He’s been into you for a while and now that he has you where he wants you, he doesn’t want to rush things and scare you away. Other girls might be able to take him with ease, but that doesn’t matter because he’s not interested in them. He only wants you, so he’s going to make it work.

“Ohhh…” you gasp as he slowly inches his way inside your still-pulsing cunt. You’ve never felt such a conflicting sensation—the stretch slightly painful but somehow exceedingly pleasant at the same time.

Your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders as he continues to whisper soft praise in a low, rumbling voice against your ear.

“You’re so fucking good,” he murmurs as his hips slowly buck into yours. “So good for me.”

Only once he’s fully seated does he start to move. You grasp onto him tight, letting out sweet little gasps with each slow thrust. Soon it’s like your body is opening itself up to his rhythm, relaxing into the overwhelming sensation of fullness that’s making your head feel a bit fuzzy and warm.

The way his cock is hitting you so deep inside has you seeing stars and sighing his name like it’s the only word you remember.

Garrett can barely hold on, stamina failing as his hunger for a release builds with each smooth roll of his hips. You feel too good for him to last much longer with the way your cunt hugs tight around his cock like you were made just for him.

“Oh fuck—” he groans right before he cums, pressing his forehead to yours and panting as his hips jerk against you, filling you up with everything he has to give.

Afterwards you share a tender kiss that lingers while your sweaty bodies are still entwined in a tangle of limbs, then he pulls out, watching your pretty cunt clench around nothing as his cum drips down your puffy folds and onto his sheets.

“D-did I do good?” you ask in a quiet voice that tugs at his heart with its earnestness.

He smiles as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. “You did so good, baby. So good.”

The relief on your face in response causes an unfamiliar warmth to spread through his chest. You’re so perfectly sweet and now that you’re his, he’s going to take his time with you, teach you how to take him in so many different ways.

Garrett might not have ever been interested in relationships or girlfriends in the past, but with you it’s going to be different.

You’re exactly what’s he’s been waiting for—the perfect fit.

The invitation had been taped to the fridge for a week, a glossy cardstock reminder of your impending doom: The Annual Briar Hockey Kickoff Pool Party.

To anyone else, it sounded like the event of the semester. Sun, music, free alcohol, and a house full of elite athletes. But to you? It felt like a public execution.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in Garrett’s bedroom, staring at your reflection in your swimsuit. The fabric dug in slightly at your hips, and every perceived flaw, every soft curve, and every insecurity you usually hid beneath oversized sweaters felt magnified under the harsh bedroom lighting.

Everyone there is going to look like a Sports Illustrated model, your brain whispered. You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.

A wave of sudden, suffocating panic washed over you. Your throat tightened, and before you could stop them, hot tears spilled over your eyelashes. You quickly sat on the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands, trying to breathe through the sudden tightness in your chest.

You didn't hear the door click open, but you definitely felt the shift in the room when Garrett walked in.

"Hey, beautiful, Tucker is downstairs honking his horn like a maniac because—" Garrett stopped dead in his tracks. The easy, cocky grin vanished from his face, replaced instantly by pure concern. He dropped his gym bag to the floor with a heavy thud. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong?"

In a second, he was on his knees in front of you, his large hands gently prying your wrists away from your face. His gray eyes scanned your tear-stained cheeks, full of a fierce, protective worry.

"I can't go," you choked out, your voice small and thick with embarrassment. "I can't go to the party, Garrett. You should just go without me."

Garrett frowned, his thumbs softly wiping away the tears tracking down your cheeks. "What do you mean I should go without you? I don't want to go without you. Did someone say something? Did Tucker open his mouth? Because I will punch him, I don't care if it's preseason—"

"No! No, no one said anything," you interrupted, looking down at your lap because looking at his perfect, sculpted chest—already shirtless and clad in boardshorts—was making you feel infinitely worse. "It's just… the swimsuit. And the party. Everyone is going to look perfect, Garrett. The hockey girls, the cheerleaders… and then there’s me. I just don't feel good. I feel… big. And soft. And I don’t want people looking at me and wondering why you're with me."

The room went dead silent.

For a terrifying second, you thought you had annoyed him. But when you finally dared to look up, Garrett wasn't annoyed. He looked completely heartbroken.

"Is that really what you think?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register.

You shrugged miserably, a fresh tear escaping.

Garrett let out a long breath, leaning forward so his forehead rested against yours for a brief, grounding moment. When he pulled back, his hands moved from your face down to your waist, his palms warm against your skin. He didn't pinch, he didn't adjust—he just held you, his grip firm and steady.

"Look at me," he commanded softly. You met his gaze. "You are hands down the most beautiful person in every single room you walk into. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your boyfriend and it’s my job. I’m saying it because it’s a fact."

"Garrett—"

"Nope, shut up, I’m talking," he interrupted, a faint, tender smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You think I give a shit about what anyone else at that party thinks? Half of those guys are idiots who couldn't find a book in a library, let alone dictate what’s attractive. And the girls? They aren't you. I don't want them. I want you."

His hands slid back up to cup your face again, forcing you to take in the absolute sincerity radiating from him. Garrett Graham was a lot of things—cocky, competitive, a golden-boy captain—but he never lied to you.

"Every single inch of you is perfect," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips before snapping back to yours. "If anyone dares to look at you and wonder why I’m with you, it’s because they’re wondering how a guy like me scored someone so completely out of his league. Because that’s the truth. I’m the lucky one here."

Your breath hitched, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest finally starting to unravel under the sheer weight of his devotion. "You really mean that?"

"With everything I've got," he said fiercely. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It tasted like mint and felt like safety. When he pulled away, he gave your waist a playful little squeeze. "Now, if you want to stay home, we will stay home. I’ll text Logan and tell him we’re out, and we can order a pizza and watch whatever terrible reality TV show you want. I don’t care about the party. I just care about you."

You looked down at your swimsuit again. It didn't magically change, and the insecurities didn't completely vanish—that's not how anxiety works. But looking at Garrett, seeing the absolute worship in his eyes, made the voice in your head feel a whole lot smaller.

You wanted to go. You wanted to see him be the captain, wanted to laugh with his friends, and honestly? You wanted to wear the damn swimsuit.

"Can we… can I wear one of your oversized button-downs over it? Just for a bit?" you asked quietly.

Garrett’s face lit up with a brilliant, blinding smile. "You can have my entire wardrobe. Hold on."

He bounced up, walking over to his closet and tossing a lightweight, unbuttoned white linen shirt onto the bed. "Here. It'll look hot on you anyway."

You let out a wet laugh, wiping your eyes one last time as you slipped your arms into the shirt. It smelled entirely like him—mahogany, cedarwood, and clean laundry. It draped down past your hips, giving you the perfect amount of comfort.

"Better?" Garrett asked, walking back over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, looking at your joint reflection in the mirror. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his chest pressed flat against your back.

You looked at the two of you in the glass. He looked big and protective; you looked safe and held.

"Better," you whispered, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

"Good," Garrett smirked, his usual playful arrogance returning now that he knew you were okay. He nipped playfully at your earlobe. "Because you look incredible. And honestly, I’m probably going to spend the whole night trying to keep my hands to myself, so really, you’re the one causing the problems here."

"Oh, shut up, Graham," you laughed, shoving his chest playfully as you grabbed your sunglasses.

His shoulders sagged slightly, and there were faint shadows beneath his eyes despite the victory tonight. A smile tugged at your lips as you tried to get his attention. "There he is, my favorite boy."

Garrett looked over at you and immediately groaned like he seemed the idea off of you. "Please don't ask me to do anything." You laughed at his words, shaking your head. "I wasn't going to, I swear."

"Good." He pointed toward the bed dramatically. "Because that's where I'm dying." Without another word, he shuffled forward and collapsed face-first onto the mattress, the entire bed bounced beneath his weight. You shook your head once again, a little smile on your face at his attitude. "You’re soooo dramatic."

"I'm an athlete," he replied into the pillow. "It's basically part of my job."

"You won." You voiced at him, to which he simply hummed an answer into your pillow, so you spoke again. "You scored twice." And he hummed again, not caring to move an inch from his position, making you smile to yourself. "The crowd was chanting your name." That finally earned a response, Garrett rolled his head enough to look at you with one eye.

"Okay, but did the crowd get checked into the boards three separate times?" You snorted and shook your head at him. "No, they didn’t." You answered your boyfriend softly. "Exactly." His face disappeared back into the pillow, the movement shifted his position slightly, exposing the tattoo stretched across his upper back.

Nullum Gratuitum Prandium.

Your smile softened immediately.

Garrett only had one tattoo, and despite how simple it was, you had always loved it, maybe because it was one of the few things about him that felt private. Most people saw Garrett Graham the hockey star: the confident captain, the guy who always seemed larger than life but moments like this were yours. Quiet moments with the real Garrett.

You scooted closer and lightly traced one of the letters with your fingertip. Almost instantly, his shoulders relaxed. "I was waiting for this," he murmured into the pillow. "Uh? For what?" You voiced, curious about what he was talking about.

"The post-game treatment." You laughed softly at the words leaving his mouth, almost rolling your eyes at him. "Oh, is that what this is?"

"Absolutely."

Your fingers continued tracing the tattoo and Garrett practically melted beneath your touch, and honestly, it was adorable. You watched as his eyes lifted up to your face, his own still into your pillow, nose taking your smell.

For a guy who spent most of his time throwing himself into six-foot-tall defensemen and taking body checks without complaint, he was surprisingly needy when it came to affection. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against the beginning of the sentence.

Garrett's eyes closed immediately and another kiss of yours followed. Then another; slow, soft and patient. Each one lingering for just a second longer than the last.

A quiet sigh escaped him. "I love when you do that." He said quietly, you smiled against his skin. "Kiss your tattoo?" Your question was said so softly that he could have missed it with how relaxed he was at the moment. "Yeah." His voice sounded sleepy now. You rested your chin lightly against his shoulder, skin against skin.

"Why?" Garrett was quiet for a moment, long enough that you thought he might not answer but then, he finally shrugged. "I don't know."

"That's a lie."

"It is." You laughed at his words and Garrett turned his head slightly, enough to glance back at you. "It just feels different." He ended up saying, eyes focusing on your face and trying to remember all the edges and shapes. "Different how?" You asked then, curious about how he currently felt, about how he saw the moment happening. 

His gaze softened, then he whispered. "Because it's you." The simple answer made your chest ache.

You looked down at him for a moment before brushing a hand through his damp hair. "You're sweet." He shook his head then, the tiniest smile on his face before replying, amused. "No, I'm exhausted." His words made you chuckle and you shook your head too, amused. "Same thing, I think." A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth again.

"Maybe."

For a while, neither of you spoke—the room settled into a comfortable silence as your fingers rubbed circles across his shoulders. Every now and then you'd lean down and press another kiss against the tattoo, earning another content sigh from Garrett. It amazed you how quickly the tension disappeared from him; the rigid muscles, the stress, the adrenaline from the game.

Little by little, it all faded beneath your hands and eventually Garrett rolled onto his back and reached for you, without resistance, you let him pull you into his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically, holding you close as if he'd done it a thousand times before (which he had).

You brushed a hand across his cheek. "Tired?" He hummed, nodding at you. You can see the sleepiness in his eyes, something he either tried to hide or brush off.  "A little." He shrugged but you knew better than that. "A little?" You repeated to him.

"A lot." You laughed at the words escaping his mouth, almost proud of yourself for that one. "Thought so."

Garrett tilted his head upward and captured your lips in a soft kiss. There was no urgency behind it; he was not teasing, he was not playful, there was just so much affection in his action. The kind that came naturally after months together, the kind that made home feel less like a place and more like a person. When he pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly. "Turn around." He asked, voice quiet and soft. Still, you blinked at the demand and your eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Turn around." He says again, moving on the bed so you’d shift your position too. "Why?" You still ask, and Garrett’s expression softens, looking at you with tender eyes. "Just trust me." Suspicious, you tell yourself but you shift anyway. The moment your back faced him, you felt Garrett's hands settle gently on your waist.

Then his lips brushed against the tattoo hidden near your shoulder blade. Your breath caught immediately; the kiss was soft and lingering. A second followed, then a third and Garrett smiled against your skin.

"There." You looked over your shoulder when he spoke. "There what?" You end up asking, almost smiling at the kisses he had left on your skin.

"Now we're even." Your heart nearly melted at that.

For someone who spent most of his life being loud and confident and impossible to miss, Garrett always seemed to save his softest moments for when nobody else was looking. 

You shifted in his lap until you were facing him again and the movement earned a small smile from him, one that looked softer than any expression he ever wore in front of cameras or reporters. "What?" he asked quietly and you shook your head as you replied. "Nothing."

"Liar." A laugh escaped you; soft but loud just like your boyfriend liked it. Garrett reached up, letting his fingers trail down your cheek. The touch was gentle enough to make your chest ache. "You keep looking at me like that." He spoke again, eyes focusing on your face and the expression you had on.

"Like what?" His smile grew when you asked that, like you damn-well knew what he was talking about.

"Like I'm something special." You immediately rolled your eyes. "Garrett Graham, captain of Briar hockey, adored by half the campus, thinks I'm the one acting ridiculous?" Your words were said with amusement, making your boyfriend smile.

"Yeah."

"You're impossible."

"Maybe." His thumb brushed against your cheekbone as he shrugged. The teasing slowly faded from his expression then, replaced by something quieter, something honest. Garrett swallowed. "I mean it, though." He said, quietly, fondly. You frowned slightly. "Mean what?" You could only reply to him, curious.

His eyes held yours. "I love you." The words came easily, no hesitation in his voice. As though he had thought them a thousand times before and finally decided to say them out loud.

"I love you when you wait up for me after games. I love you when you steal my hoodies. I love you when you pretend not to care about hockey but somehow know all my stats." His smile returned briefly. "And I definitely love you for the tattoo kisses." A surprised laugh escaped you, though your eyes were already beginning to sting.

"You're such a dork." You said, voice trembling a little at the words that had left his mouth. "Yeah, but I'm your dork." The fondness in his voice nearly undid you.

You reached up, cupping his face between your hands. "I love you too." Garrett's expression softened immediately. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I love how competitive you are." Another kiss found the tip of his nose. "I love how much you care about people even when you pretend you don't." A third landed softly against his lips. "And I love you."

Garrett's eyes closed for a moment, all content and comfortable with all the kisses. When he opened them again, there was something almost boyish in the smile he gave you. "Good." He nodded his head and you laughed. "Good?"

"Yeah." His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn't an inch of space left between you. "I'd be in a really awkward position if you didn't."

"After that speech?"

"Exactly." Your laughter filled the room again, and Garrett couldn't help smiling along with you.

As the evening stretched on around you, with the noise of the hockey game finally fading into memory, he settled deeper into your embrace. Your fingers found his hair, his cheek rested against your shoulder, and for the first time all day, he felt completely at peace.

Wins were nice, championships would be nice too.

But sitting here with you wrapped in his arms, hearing your heartbeat beneath his ear and knowing you loved him back?

Garrett was fairly certain nothing could ever top that.