COMPLETED. A university student. A professional hockey player. They've proved they can be friends. Can they be more?
Although they're both in their early twenties and living in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, their lives couldn't be more different. Cami...
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It was a little cruel, having to return to mundane, everyday life so soon after coming back from the most blissful four days that have ever taken place in the city of Pasadena. As much as I wished that all those good vibes could have come back home with me, I wasn't hopeful. Because when you start off the new year straddling Taylor Hudson's lap with his hands gently caressing your body, I'm afraid there's nothing—and I really do mean nothing—that dark, cold Winnipeg has to offer that could beat that.
After Taylor whispered in my ear, "You should get some sleep," and stroked my back until I was in a sitting position, we walked side by side into his house. Although there was still some lingering pain at the back of my head, the pleasant tingles in the pit of my stomach were much more dominant, and they only intensified when Taylor gave me a lazy, sleepy smile as he opened his bedroom door for me. Unlike my first night in Pasadena, I managed to have a peaceful, deep sleep and when I woke up in the morning, I was headache free. Taylor's hands had done magic.
The next few days were warm and sunny—as Taylor had promised—and the five of us spent them outdoors. Mornings were spent on the golf course that James and Mark were members of and Taylor taught me how to putt the ball straight into the hole from ten feet away. Even though the scene in movies where the guy has to put his arms around the girl to correct her position makes me cringe every single time I watched it, I couldn't deny that it felt pretty damn good to have Taylor's large, tanned hands tweak my hold on the putter. We'd stay on the green until it was time for lunch, and we'd eat on the patios of bistros and small, independent restaurants. At least four of us would eat; Sofia seemed more preoccupied with telling me stories about her son as a small boy than with the chicken salad in front of her.
So, even though Taylor and I didn't have oodles of one-on-one time, I still enjoyed every moment of my trip. After all, I couldn't afford to be greedy. This was his family who saw little of him as it was. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel like he had to choose between hanging with his family or me. Besides, his parents and uncle were amazing, not to mention that having them as a buffer allowed me to process my feelings for Taylor without having him so up and personal in my space.
Because maybe it had been the headache influencing those L-word feelings, or the fact that Taylor had touched me, really touched me, and was the first boy to ever do so. But when I watched Taylor laugh at something his uncle said while they were golfing, wearing a white polo shirt and navy shorts, I knew that neither of those things were to blame. He had thrown his head back so that the sun caught his strong jawline in the most flattering way and that, coupled with the damp, black curls peeking out from the back of his grey baseball cap, made him the most handsome boy I had ever seen.
I didn't want to look away and truthfully, I probably wouldn't have if I hadn't caught Sofia out of the corner of my eye watching me stare at her son. On that beautiful, fancy golf course, the most empowering feeling simmered in my chest. Love.
On my last day in Pasadena, I packed my things in Taylor's old room feeling in love.
I said goodbye to James, Mark, and Sofia—who made us exchange numbers—feeling in love.
