Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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"What do you think of this one?" Rosie asks, coming out of the walk-in closet dawning yet another outfit to wear to my parents' place. At least, that's what I assume she's doing, judging based off of the pitter patter of her footsteps and huff when I don't immediately look up.
Granted, she could also be totally naked and annoyed that I haven't yet caught on that this whole needing my help to figure out what to wear thing is just a ploy to tell me she wants to have sex. Or at least tease me until I can't take it anymore and throw her on top of the vanity table in the closet. Not that I haven't thought about doing that before, a few times.
But no, when I look up I'm met with my fully-clothed girlfriend. Who, don't get me wrong, still looks beautiful as hell - but she's been showing me about fifty different outfit combinations of what she's thinking of taking to my parents place for the holidays; and if I see another turtle neck, I might jump out the window.
"Looks good." I answer, taking a quick glance at her figure before turning my attention back to the laptop screen. I'm staring at the email from Steve, the real estate agent that showed us the house in Newtown Hills a few days ago. And anytime Rosie gets close to me, I freak out a little...because I may or may not have just asked him to put in an offer on it - even though Rosie told me it was too expensive and she needed time to think about it.
So it's not really that I'm not paying attention to my girlfriend, it's just that, if I make too much eye contact with her and she figures out something is up, I'm gonna have to tell her. Otherwise she's just gonna spiral and think I'm cheating on her or some crazy shit like that. Which let me tell you, I have never and will never do. I'd rather become a Munk than touch someone that isn't her, let alone have sex with them.
"Erik." She whines, her footsteps coming closer, forcing me to quickly switch screens. "You didn't even look at it." She points out, scowling down at me as I give her my signature smile. She's looking less than impressed to say the least, which is never a good thing for me.
"Because you look good in everything, baby." I tell her, chewing on my lip as I glance up from the screen. She's wearing this oversized red turtleneck that goes up to her chin; and even then, I can still make out the figure of her body. Probably because it's the only thing I think about - well, that and her laugh. And her smile. And the way she looks at me when she's having an orgasm; or when I surprise her with an iced latte - which oddly enough, aren't very different looks.
She crosses her arms over her chest, causing her boobs to go on full display. She looks so hot when she's mad; like I'm gonna need to make it up to her. I'd love to make it up to her by eating her out; or making her come all over my fingers. My fingers pumping in and out of her; two fingers is almost too much for her to fit. I guess my hands are a bit bigger than most.
"Erik." She says my name again, and I realize I've zoned out while staring at her tits. Not exactly the best thing to do when your girlfriend's already borderline mad at you. Or when she's about to be even more pissed off with you, when she finds out you bought a place that she didn't want to. But I can tell she loved the place, she was just freaked out by the price; and the prospect of me providing for us and our future children.
"Sorry." I feel my cheeks turn slightly red, and I run my fingers through my hair in an effort to keep my cool. "My family's gonna love you, regardless of what you wear." I assure her, closing the laptop and placing it onto the nightstand.
This is apparently not the right thing to say. "You can't know that." She retorts, sitting on the edge of the bed and beginning to crack her fingers. It's a habit that she does whenever she's stressed out about something, similar to chewing on her lip. Yeah, definitely not the right time to tell her about making an offer on the place. I'll tell her another time.
"How could they not?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows at the thought of them not liking her. I mean, it's not like I've brought a girl home before for the holidays, but my brothers have and despite a little grilling, my parents have always been okay with them. Then, they proceed to shit talk them as soon as they're out the door. Except for Link's wife, they liked her because she called him out on his shit.
"Oh, I don't know. The Only Fans thing. The not a model thing. The, working for the same organization that you play for?" She says, blurting out her worries like they're a non-stop train. She finishes cracking the fingers on her right hand; then moves onto the left. I briefly glance down before gently pulling her towards me.
"They're gonna love you." I tell her, knowing that at the very least if they do hate her for whatever reason, it wouldn't change a thing. I'm not gonna tell Rosie that because I don't want her to start worrying about them hating her, or spiral anymore into this anxiety than she already is. "They'd be crazy not to." I say, having been in love with her since before I even met her, a few months ago. I've been head over heels for her since we first started talking a few years ago. And even though we went through a period of time where we didn't talk and I thought things were over, I thought about her everyday. She's why I came to Portland.
Granted, I've never told her that.
"I'm serious, Erik." She protests, staring at me with these massive green eyes that make me forget everything I've ever thought. Sometimes, I can't even speak around her because of how beautiful she is. I still get this like weird nervousness like I'm some kid in high school with a crush. "What if they don't like me?" She worries, looking at me as if she expects me to say things would be over if that happened.
Which I can guarantee you, they wouldn't be. Plus, with my parents latest extra-marital affairs, the last leg they have to stand on is that they don't like my girlfriend because she used to do Only Fans. I think they're too preoccupied with my little brother and his latest hiatus from the ice to give a shit about anything else that's going on. But Link and his wife and kids will be there, which I think will be a good place for Rosie to join in. They're both relatively easy-going, minus their five kids.
"Like I said." I breathe, my mouth moving closer and closer to hers, until I can feel her breath on my lips. "They'd be crazy not to." I lean in, closing my eyes and wanting to close the space. I'm ready to get some one-on-one time, given that I've been on the road for the last couple days and we haven't seen each other too much, minus FaceTime.
Which despite it's interactive platform, still isn't as good as the real thing. And she's also not the most comfortable with having phone sex. Plus, I usually have a roommate and there's not a chance in hell I'm gonna risk another man seeing my girl naked.
Rosie, not being exactly the best at reading social cues, takes this opportunity to stand up and start pacing towards the mirror. "Does this look okay, though? I was thinking about wearing it for Christmas dinner." She tells me, examining herself in the floor to ceiling reflection of her. And before you ask, no, we haven't done that thing with the mirror in here.
But even if we do get the place, we'll still be living here for at least another month. Plenty of time to get up to change that.
"Can you come closer? I just wanna see something." I tell her, having to use whatever sliver of acting skills I have to keep a straight face. I suck at lying, especially to Rosie. I swear, she could write a book just by looking at my face.
She furrows her eyebrows together, but agrees. "What? Is it too tight?" She asks, tugging at the turtleneck in an effort to create more loose fabric in the middle. But wherever she puts it, it seems to cling to her.
I maintain my composure until she gets close enough that I can grab her by the waist and pull her on top of me. Then I pull some next level Karate Kid shit and roll on top of her. Anyone that says hockey players don't need precision, has never seen me at work.
"Erik." She exclaims, breaking her stressed out demeanor and allowing herself to laugh. Sometimes Rosie just stresses out too much over nothing and she needs someone (me) to help her relax. In what way? Well, I'm sure you can figure that part out.
