"You know, when I asked you over for dinner, I didn't expect you to help cook."

Adding the last of the spices to the ground beef sizzling on the stove, I watched as Jo glanced over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up as they met mine. "To be honest, I wanted to make sure there was something edible on the table," she mused.

A chuckle left my lips as I lowered the temperature of the burner before stepping around the island. Coming up behind her, I snaked my arms around her waist and dropped my lips to graze the exposed skin on her neck. "Surprised I can cook?"

I felt a shiver course through her body. "A little, considering how often you eat at Apollo's."

"Guilty," I said. "It's just not worth it when I'm cooking for one."

"True," Jo said, leaning back against me. Having picked up a bunch of fresh vegetables at the grocery store after leaving the game, she was currently focused on cutting them up. "And I'm sure your schedule doesn't make things any easier."

"Exactly," I replied. "What you're witnessing tonight is special."

"Then I'm honored."

Dropping a kiss to the back of her head, I squeezed her hips before stepping back.

When everything was finished, the two of us laid it all out on the dining table before assembling our tacos. Meat, salsa, vegetables, cheese—they were stuffed in each tortilla, filling them to the brim.

"How are you still eating?" Jo asked as I finished off my fourth and final taco. She'd had plenty herself, but had given up half way through her second helping.

"Hockey burns a shit ton of calories," I said simply, patting my stomach with a bemused smile, "and I've got to refuel." She shook her head with suppressed laughter as she stood, though as she went to grab her plate, I reached out to stop her. "I've got it, don't worry."

"I really don't mind," she insisted.

Sliding the plate away from her, I shook my head. "You already helped cook, and I'm just going to rinse these off before sticking them in the dishwasher," I said, gesturing to pile of dishes on the table. Standing, I leaned in to brush a kiss against the corner of her mouth. "But while I'm doing that, you're welcome to crack open the bottle of wine in the fridge and pour yourself a drink."

"If you insist."

In no time at all, Jo had settled herself into the sofa, a blanket on her lap as she sipped her wine, and once the dishwasher was loaded, I cracked open a beer and joined her.

With only a few inches between us, I rested my arm along the back cushions and let my fingers twist softly through her hair. "Thanks for coming today."

"I'm glad I did." The corners of her lips lifted as she shifted, bringing her legs up and underneath her while turning to face me. "It was a good game and you played great; though I could've done without the fighting."

I laughed. "So could I, but it's a part of the game."

For a moment, Jo searched my expression, her gaze dropping quickly to scan over my body. "Have you ever been injured?"

"No, not really." I took a swig from my beer. "In high school, I had a mild concussion and I've pulled a few muscles over the years, but nothing so bad it couldn't be healed with a few days of rest."

"Then do you ever worry about it? About what getting seriously injured could mean?"

Though I could tell from the panic crinkling her forehead it was really her who was worried about the possibility.

"I can't afford to think that way," I explained. "At this level, I need to be willing to put everything I have into each move I make out on the ice. And though it's a risk, I've seen people shy away from contact and end up worse off because of it."

Jo's mouth opened slightly, as if to reply, though she quickly thought better of it.

"What?" I asked, searching her face for any clues as to what was going through her mind. Lifting my hand from the back of the sofa, I cupped the side of her face, running my thumb slowly across the skin of her cheek. "What is it?"

Leaning into my touch, she dropped her gaze to her lap, gnawing on her bottom lip. "I'm sorry, it's just... is that what happened to your brother?" she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.

Thrown by her question, having not expected it, I had no doubt blatant surprise flitted across my features. "No, actually," I replied evenly, a sad smile pulling at my lips. I took a long swig of my beer before placing it on the table in front of us. "If it had been, he might've ended up better off."

Reaching out, she placed one of her hands on my thigh and squeezed. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she said soothingly, our roles now reversed.

"No, it's alright," I replied, despite the way my pulse pounded. The accident was something I rarely talked about, preferring to leave the past in the past, but if she wanted to know, I wasn't going to shy away. "Cameron was never really into sports growing up and was more into school than I was, but he always came out to support me if he could. Same with my mom and dad. But everything changed during my second year at university."

It'd been the night of the quarter-finals. After working my ass off throughout the season, I finally started getting ice time when injuries benched a few of the upperclassmen, and was using the opportunity as a chance to prove myself. Which made the fact we were playing Harvard—where Cameron attended—even more exciting since my family would be in attendance.

The whole game I was zeroed in on the goal, energy flowing through me, and it paid off. Not only had I played on the second line, but I'd scored the goal that sent my team through to the Frozen Four.

The feeling was like nothing I'd experienced before. I was high on life and excitement, celebrating alongside my teammates in the locker room and thinking about how my parents would inevitably congratulate me the moment I met them outside the arena.

But they hadn't seen the game.

It was the team manager who had interrupted the celebrations, stone-faced, pulling me aside to deliver the news that marked the day as a once-in-a-lifetime moment for an entirely different reason.

"They were all on their way to see me play," I said, choking up even though I tried to hold my emotions back. The memory, however, flashing through my head as though it was yesterday, made it difficult. "I was told it was a drunk driver who swerved into their lane."

A strangled noise escaped Jo's lips.

"My parents didn't even make it to the hospital, but my brother—" I exhaled slowly, feeling the telltale burn of tears. "He was unconscious for three days after an emergency surgery. Days I spent waiting next to his bed, willing him to wake up, but when he finally did, he couldn't move his legs. He'd lost control of most of his lower body, and even after the swelling had gone down, there was nothing more the doctors could do. There was damage done to one of the vertebrae at the base of his spine, and even with regular physical therapy, he was told he'd likely need to rely on a chair. And he has ever since."

Silence—strained and heavy—filled the space between us as she processed my words. "Seb," Jo said, her voice wobbling, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You couldn't have; it's okay," I said reassuringly. "It's just not the greatest memory to relive, especially since the accident nearly caused me to give up hockey."

"Really?"

I nodded. "It was hard to function properly the first couple months after it happened. I was adjusting to the fact my parents were gone and suddenly felt like everything had fallen on my shoulders. I felt responsible for the accident, and even blamed hockey for a little bit, but luckily I still had Cameron around to knock some sense back into me."

Her lips curved upwards. "Ever the supportive brother."

"You know it."

"And thank you, for trusting me enough to tell me."

Resting her wine glass next to my half-drunk beer, she lifted her hands to rest gently on my cheeks, wiping at tears that'd snuck passed my defenses before her lips captured mine.

The kiss was soft and slow for a few moments—her way of taking control and making me feel better. But when I wrapped my arms around her, eliminating the space separating us, a sound that was half groan, half growl escaped me. Tilting my head to deepen the kiss, she parted her lips, allowing me to take over as my tongue slipped inside, stroking against hers. Tasting with an overwhelming urgency.

A languid game of give and take began as her hands drifted down my body. I could feel the heat of her every movement, even with the fabric of my t-shirt in the way, and when she reached the hem, she traced the exposed line of skin for a moment before snaking her fingers underneath. I hissed in a breath and felt her lips turn up into a smile against mine, but her quest never faltered. When the fabric bunched up, I leaned back slightly, my eyes locked on hers as I reached up and yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor.

Jo hummed appreciatively, her gaze trained on my naked chest. "You know, I've never been much of a sports fan, but I'm suddenly questioning why I chose to deprive myself of all of this."

A bark of laughter escaped me, and with the way she looked at me through dark lashes, it wasn't long before our lips were locked once more—this time greedier than before. Moving to straddle me, she began to circle her hips slowly against my growing erection, causing me to groan at the sudden friction. Unable to stop myself, I shifted forward slightly so our hips were perfectly aligned, eliciting moans from the both of us before I pulled my lips from hers and headed south. Trailing a line of kisses down her throat, my hands slid up and underneath her shirt, loving the feel of her smooth skin and luscious curves. When I reached the bottom of her bra, my touch hovering below the lace, a noise escaped her, shooting a spark of want through my veins.

"Take it off," she whispered, and I pulled back to see if there was any hesitancy in her expression.

There was none.

Tugging her shirt carefully over her head, it joined mine before I took the opportunity to change positions. Palming her ass, I lifted her off me in one swift movement and dropped her down on her back beside me. A gasp of surprise filled the room as I brought my legs up onto the sofa and slowly inched up her body, my lips pressing gentle kisses to her skin before meeting her lips once again.

It was only a peck though, because with my hands braced on either side of her head, I lifted myself up to take in the beauty that laid beneath me. Her hair was spread out every which way, her eyes shone with unabashed want, and her skin was a milky contrast to the emerald lace covering her breasts.

"Did you make this?" I asked in awe, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed to enchant me. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she nodded. "It's gorgeous."

A softness settled into her expression, and even though every part of my body was screaming at me to pull the fabric away, it didn't feel right. Instead, I slowed down—tracing the delicate lace, smoothing my palm over it and taking my time. I dipped my head and my lips moved gently across her skin. On her neck, her lips, her stomach, and lower, but no more clothes were shed.

And by the time I pulled back for the final time, Jo was breathing hard, but she didn't complain as I tucked my body beside hers on the sofa, draping my arm across her waist to pull her close.

It was just us, and for now, that was enough.