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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Looks really good, Ro," I tell her, watching in adoration as she pulls the remaining sleeve over her arm, then moves her hair to one side. When she does, the smell of her shampoo blows directly into my face and I feel like Edward Cullen when he first smelt Bella: hard as fuck whenever she's in the room, and only able to handle my erection by thinking of disgust.
Except, it's hard to think about anything but Rosie as she briefly tries on the jacket in front of everyone, probably more to appease Cassidy than anything else, before sitting back down beside me. Rosie's hard to read, for most people; but for someone that spends every waking moment with her, I can tell she's not a fan.
I'm not sure if it's because it's obviously very expensive and she feels bad about me giving the gifts on behalf of both of us; or because she just doesn't like the actual jacket, but whatever it is, I'm sure I'll be hearing about it later.
"Maybe you can wear it to one of my games, sometimes." I quietly suggest to Rosie, my voice low enough so that she's the only one that can hear. Not that I'm whispering some dirty details of what I'd like to do to her later (kiss her until she can't think straight), but I don't really wanna get into a full-length explanation of why she hasn't come to any of my games yet, to my family.
Although I may feel differently, as far as they're concerned, it's usually the woman that supports the man with whatever he does. It might not be printed on a throw pillow or stamped across their door mat, but that's how it's always been and it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.
My mom hasn't worked since she married my dad. Cassidy hasn't worked - like ever, seeing as she and Link got married right out of high school. And Connor, whenever he decides to get his shit together, will likely have the same fortune. Even with Quentin and Makena, despite her going to school and graduating with a degree soon, she's likely gonna be a stay-at-home mom, as well.
The truth is, that that's the hockey life. Hell, not even the hockey life but the life of a spouse that marries a professional athlete. Maybe some keep up a career persona by posting on Instagram or being a model, but in terms of having a real nine to five like Rosie currently works, those are few and far between.
And when I think about our own future, it's hard to imagine how we would handle her working full-time and having kids. I mean, other than getting a live-in nanny that would basically replace her, how would we handle it? There's no way she would be able to manage taking care of the kids while also working; and as much as I would do my best to help and as much as people may like to think that playing hockey isn't a real "job", it requires a lot of training, traveling, and hard work.
But I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there.
"Maybe." She responds, leaving the jacket on in what seems to be forgetfulness. It's nice: denim, embroidered with bright colors and sparkles, and all that girly sort of stuff that I know she likes (judging by the planner she keeps on our desk).
The next person that opens a present is my mom, who - along with my dad, gets an air fryer from Rosie and me. I know, could I be any more original? I'm not exactly the best at knowing what to get people, mostly because the people around me already have everything they need. There's nothing they're circling their calendar, saving up for, wanting gift cards to stock away until they can walk into Best Buy and buy it. Or whatever store it may be from.
Rosie, on the other hand, is easier to shop for, because I know what she needs. They say that you should get someone something they would want, not something you think they should want - which is a key difference for any parents out there. Like, I want baby clothes and Rosie to hand me a stick she just peed on with a plus sign on it; while Rosie wants an unlimited supply of Starbucks and to never hear the word moist, again.
"Thanks, hun." My mom tells me, tells us, is more like it. I got the idea for an air fryer from some random list online: 10 things to get your parents if you're last-minute shopping. When did I order it? Later than I should've, that's for sure.
I'm not the best at planning and picking things out; if it weren't for the help of Google and some overly enthusiastic woman looking to backhand compliment her in-laws, I would've gotten her an Amazon gift card. Which, if you ask me, isn't such a bad deal.
The more important person, the most important person, I had to buy gifts for was Rosie. And I got her stuff about a month ago; I know, I'm proud of myself. One thing did show up late in the mail but that's only because they're backordered like fuck and it was a pain in the ass to get it in the first place. But I think it'll be worth it...for both of us.
Link and Cassidy go next and they get an espresso machine; they should get condoms.
When I go, I get a turtleneck about two sizes too small and socks.
When Rosie goes, I hold my breath waiting to see what my parents got her.
"You may need to pay a carry-on fee," Mom explains when Ro picks up the box and almost drops it from how heavy it is. What did she buy her? A rock? Weights for dead-lifting? "I would send it to you, but I just couldn't forgive myself if it got lost in the mail." Okay, so something important.
After offering Rosie help to bring it closer to her - and being outright rejected, I sit back and scan my brain trying to figure out what it could be. It's not like there's some family air loom or special plates she would want to hand down. The only thing I know my mom sometimes talked about giving to my future wife was recipes for my favorite dishes, but I know she wouldn't give that as a Christmas present.
And I think she was joking, or at least hope she was joking when she said that.
"Wow, that's really nice," Rosie says, after having broken a sweat dragging the box over to us. I'm kind of pissed at myself for not insisting to take it for her. But sometimes (all the time) it's hard to tell when she wants my help and is just pretending to not want it as some weird relationship test; and when she actually wants me to fuck off.
"What is it?" I wonder, leaning over in search of the answer to my own question. I move my armchair closer to her (since she insisted on not sitting on my lap, which I guess is fair but we could have shared a chair, still.) and our shoulders touch.
Anytime our bodies touch, it feels like my heart speeds up from being behind a grandma to merging on the freeway. There's a piece of hair that's fallen past her shoulder and in front of her face from all the work of moving the box, and I seriously want to reach over and tuck it back for her. But if I do, I'm gonna have a hard time not kissing her.
"It's a...box?" It comes out as both an answer and a question, itself. I'm confused too until I move the wrapping paper out of the way and see the gift in question. My fuck. "It's really pretty, though." She adds, running her fingers over the top of the wooden cover.
I look over at my mom, who's beaming like the sun is shining directly out of her ass. "You're sweet, dear. But the gift is what's inside." She explains, motioning for her to open it and inspect the contents. I wish she would throw it in the fireplace, a few rooms down, and burn it to shards.
"Mom." I begin, wondering how in the fuck she would think that would be a good present to give someone, the first time meeting them. It would be like me buying Rosie a vacuum, smacking her on the ass, and telling her the living room's dirty.
People say it's the thought that counts; the thought, however, doesn't always consider how the other person may feel.
