Leif
She got a freaking tattoo.
Better than that? She drew it. One for me and one for her.
That alone makes this ink more special—it’s a bond we share.
I keep running my thumb over the bandage on her wrist.
She grins at me, shaking her bangs out of her eyes.
“I can’t believe you got a tattoo,” I tell her what I’m thinking.
She snorts. “You did, too!”
“Skip’s been working on that piece for months. Every time I’m in Vegas, I roll through,” I remind her. When I first pushed into Skip’s studio with Cami at my side, I figured she’d balk. A small part of me wished she did.
I wanted her to react to my taking her somewhere random—to a place that wasn’t solely for a hookup. To a place I never take women because my tattoos are sacred to me.
So yeah, a part of me wanted her to push back on the tattoo parlor because letting her in and having her embrace it is a head trip I’m not ready to dissect.
I’m a chill guy. I go with the flow. Hence my nickname—Laid-back Leif.
But Cami? Cami is next-fucking-level cool.
She fingers the bandage on my inner wrist. The tattoo she drew for us. “And this one?”
I chuckle. She’s right. “You regret it?” I hope she doesn’t. But, getting a matching tattoo with a stranger on a whim isn’t something most women I know would be okay with. Hell, if my sister pulled shit like this, my brothers and I would have something to say about it!
Her eyes are navy when they meet mine. “Not even a little bit.”
My smile widens and I tuck this gorgeous woman underneath my arm. It’s late and yet, I’m not ready to turn in. I could walk the streets, just talking with her, until the sun rises. And I’d relish it.
The cocktails Marco concocted have pushed me from tipsy to drunk and it feels good. I’m fucking coasting and I like doing it with a woman I want to learn more about.
“Tell me something no one knows about you,” I say as we cross the street.
She looks up, and those bangs fall into her wide eyes. She’s quiet for a long moment. We get to the other side of the street and keep walking. Vegas is still busy at this time of morning but since we’re not in the heart of things, the crowd’s thinned out.
I think she’s going to brush off my question but then she announces, “I really don’t want to be an accountant.”
“Seriously?” I frown. “Then why are you moving your life across the country? I mean, for a job you don’t really want?”
She shrugs. “I lied. I guess people—my sister Jenna, Izzy and the girls—know I don’t really want to be an accountant. It’s what my parents want for me. A steady, reliable career path. The part no one knows is I took the job because I need space from my family. I want distance. I want hundreds of miles in between us so I can… I don’t know. Breathe,” she tacks on, the word coming out on an exhale.
I hold her closer, understanding immediately what she’s talking about. “Want to let the pressure leak out a little,” I surmise, recalling how my dad pushed my brothers and me in hockey. Hockey always came first and even though deep down, I know he would have supported an alternative career choice, especially under Mom’s guidance, the fact that my brothers and I all play in the NHL isn’t exactly a coincidence. It’s motivated by expectation.
“Exactly.” Cami gives me a soft smile. “Tell me something no one knows.”
I snort and dip my head in agreement. A truth for a truth. “I have a big family and I’ve always been known as the chill, laid-back, go-with-the-flow guy.”
“Yeah,” Cami notes, glancing up at me. “I was surprised when you helped that drunk guy instead of getting into it with him.”
I chuckle. “Would fighting with him help the situation at all?”
“Nope.”
“Exactly.”
“But most guys would have felt the need to show off. Especially in front of a woman,” she continues. And she’s right, most guys would.
But… “I’m not most guys.”
“I’m picking up on that,” she admits. “You’re laid-back…” Cami reminds me of my original line of thought.
“I am.” I glance down at her. “But what if I don’t want to be? Or what if I’m only seen that way because nothing—no one—has ever mattered enough to lose it over?”
Cami slows her pace and touches my wrist gently. Encouragingly.
“I nearly got expelled from college and cost a professor her job,” I admit. Her eyes lighten, curious. I sigh. “We were hooking up on the down-low. It was casual. Fun, I guess, because it was forbidden. But when it came time to deal with the consequences, she was gutted, and I was…apathetic. If I got expelled, I got expelled.” My jaw tightens as I admit it. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Because I asked,” Cami says simply, without a shred of judgment. Instead, she’s looking at me with compassion—with understanding—I don’t deserve.
I take her hand and squeeze her fingers. “I want something real enough—something that matters with someone I care about—so I can be more than just Laid-back Leif.”
Cami nods slowly. “I get that. Sometimes, the labels we had in the past follow us into the present.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Exactly.”
Cami sighs. “I was seen as impulsive and even a little reckless in high school. That followed me into college, and I was okay with it. In fact, I liked how others viewed my spontaneity. But my parents hated it. They worried—for good reason—and even though I’ve reined it in, and I’m not nearly as wild as I once was, my mom still views me as her carefree daughter who needs looking after.”
I smirk, swinging our joined hands between us as we walk down the street. This, right here with her, feels natural. Honest in a way I crave. “So, you’re moving to Tennessee to be an accountant?”
“Yeah.” She wrinkles her nose. “But let’s not talk about boring work.”
“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
Her eyes dance as she gazes up at me. “If you want to change the way people see you, what do you want them to see instead of your laid-back nickname?”
“Ooh, tough question, Cam.”
She shimmies her shoulders, proud of herself.
“I guess a guy who is committed. Dedicated. Determined.” My dad pops into my mind and I chuckle. “To be honest, I’m partly describing my father and even though I don’t want to be as serious as he is, I look up to him. I want to be that stand-up guy that people know they can rely on. I want to have kids who trust me the same way I trust him.”
“You want to be a dad?” Her voice is soft.
“Hell yeah,” I laugh. “I want a ton of kids. I want to teach them how to surf. How to skate and swim. How to read. I want to go on epic trips and see a slice of the world through their eyes.” I grin at her. “I love being around kids.”
“I do, too,” she admits. “But most men I know don’t talk about fatherhood.”
Again, “I’m not most—”
“Guys,” she supplies. “You’re not.” She bites her bottom lip and looks up at me, studying my expression. “You’re a million times better,” she breathes out, but her gaze is serious.
“I like the way you see me. Right now,” I admit, not caring how dumb I sound. Cami is looking at me like I could be more than a guy she hooks up with in Vegas. Her expression is wide open—stamped with the same vulnerability that I’m openly sharing. And I don’t want to lose that. This moment with her, it snaps things into place like a puzzle. I can see the big picture and the pieces I’ve been missing. Right now, it’s as though she could help fill those holes.
“I like the guy you are, Leif. And I like the man you want to become. I get what you’re saying. You want something with stakes,” she explains.
“Yeah,” I snort, relieved that she gets it. “I want stakes.”
Cami nods slowly. Her eyes catch on something, and she grins. “How badly?”
“What?” I laugh.
“How badly do you want stakes? We could do something wild.”
“Wild?” I release her hand to hold up my wrist. “Wilder than getting matching tattoos? This ink is permanent, babe. You and me—we’re marked together for life.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, taking my hand again and tugging me toward her destination. “We could up the ante.”
I laugh. “What game are we betting on?”
She rolls her lips together, that sparkle in her eyes bright and tempting. “Game of life, Leif.”
“What?” I snort, letting her drag me to…a fucking chapel.
“Leif.” Cami spins to look at me. Her smile is big and blinding. Excitement dances in her eyes and the hopeful anticipation in her expression hits me right in the chest. “Will you marry me?”
Fuck. My heartbeat kicks behind my breastbone and my ability to breathe short-circuits. This incredible woman—smart, sexy, and so damn enthusiastic—is looking at me like she sees me.
Me. Leif Bang.
Not the hockey player. Not the screwup. Not the fun dude down to shred waves or funnel a beer.
Me. With all the parts no one takes the time to get to know. The parts no one cares about.
A flicker of nerves zips over her expression and before she can voice it—before she can rescind her brave offer—I step forward and take her hand. “It’d be a goddamn honor, Cami.”
She smiles shyly and it steals my breath.
“Hey, is that your full name?”
She rolls her lips together. “It’s Camille.”
“Camille. That’s beautiful.”
Her smile widens. “Thank you. Are you sure about this?”
I smirk and glance at the chapel behind her. “Are you sure, babe? I don’t want you to have any regrets. Ever.” As I say the words, I realize I mean them. I’d hate for her to look back and wish she did something differently. Maybe that’s why I hate the thought of her crunching numbers in a fucking cubicle when she could be out in the world, creating art and inspiring strangers.
“I never have regrets,” she assures me. “Not anymore.” She taps her ribs where her first tattoo is scrawled. “Open eyes, remember?”
I pause for a beat, wondering what happened in her past to make her state a claim so boldly. Yet, for some strange reason, I believe her. I mean, we barely know each other and yet, there’s a connection between us. Something deeper than a random night out. Something more meaningful than a series of tequila shots and general conversation.
I get her; she sees me. And right now, we’re standing in front of an adorable chapel, and I fucking want to call her my wife. Because men like me don’t meet women like Cami.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I tell her. Now would be the opening to admit I’m a hockey player. But, why? She asked me to marry her, not the NHL persona people clamor around. Me.
“I know enough.”
“I don’t have a ring.”
She shrugs. “Don’t need one.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, you do.” I give her fingers a little squeeze and drop her hand. “Give me two minutes. Don’t move.” I point at her.
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t you move, Camille,” I call over my shoulder as I jog back across the street. I make quick work of slipping into the gas station, and eyeing one of those old-fashioned gumball machines that never spits out gumballs. Instead, it’s a handful of Skittles or a small egg with a random surprise in it.
“Hey dude, can I get change?” I hand the cashier a twenty-dollar bill.
He doesn’t even bat an eye. Another night in Vegas, I guess.
He hands me rolls of quarters and I shove some into the machine, turning the dial until a small plastic egg pops out. It’s a little bear. I try again. A dinosaur. Nope.
On the seventh try, I get it. A purple plastic princess ring with a glitter crown. I leave the other toys on the countertop. “Thanks, my man. Give these to some kid passing through!”
Then I run out of the gas station, cross the street, and skid to a stop in front of an amused Cami. “Mission accomplished.”
She giggles and takes my hand, pulling me into the chapel.
But I’m not nervous. I know in my bones that this is the right call. This is having stakes and I fucking want them. Our night—our story—is still young and I’m not done collecting pieces of it with her.
“Hold up.” I pause as I swipe some flowers from a table and pass them to Cami.
She’s giddy, bouncing from one foot to the next. “Now, we’re stealing?”
“Borrowing,” I shush her.
“Let me freshen up.” She indicates the women’s bathroom.
“You look beautiful.” I mean it too.
She smirks but enters the women’s room.
While she’s fixing her makeup, I make the necessary arrangements and pay for our marriage license. Then, I take a second to fix my hair and straighten my shirt.
I never really gave a shit about having a wedding; it was always the marriage I was more interested in. I’ve seen my dad quietly revere my mom in his own way—he’s not showy or overly affectionate as much as he’s steady and reliable—my entire life. He’s never faltered in his support for her. He’s never tried to tame her streak of wild or question her when she dives into a new project headfirst. The time she decided, on a whim, to remodel the guest bathroom or start a pie-making business come to mind. Not to mention this past year, when she traveled between my brothers’ places, meddling in their lives and becoming a matchmaker. Dad has always been her rock.
And in turn, she loves him with every fiber of her being. She supported his career as an NHL player and now a juniors coach. Often, she would wake up at four thirty AM just to share a first cup of coffee with him, the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with their heads bent together, as the snow of a Minnesotan winter fell softly outside the window.
That’s what I want. Deep down, I want the steady and the wild to come together and work. I want what my mom and dad have. Laid-back Leif would be laughed out of fucking town if anyone knew all those details. But I’ve already admitted it to Cami and she…asked me to marry her.
I pull out my cell phone and text my brother, Jensen.
He doesn’t answer and I’m not surprised. Since he’s fallen for his girlfriend, Hollywood sensation Bailey Walker, he’s stopped spending late nights gaming and started spending them with her. I want that, too.
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I wait for Cami. She steps out of the bathroom and looks around nervously. As soon as her eyes latch on mine, she relaxes, smiles.
“You’re like no one I’ve ever met,” I tell her the truth. “Gorgeous. But it’s more than skin deep.”
“You’re unexpected,” she replies, her tone even. Her words are strong but her voice is soft, almost hesitant. “Exactly what I hoped for and nothing like I deserve.”
Her words are cryptic but then again, so is she. It’s part of her charm.
We enter the chapel and Cami sucks in a deep breath. I pause, turning toward her.
“I should kiss you before we do this,” I decide, stepping closer.
Surprise colors her eyes. “We’ve kissed before,” she reminds me.
“Not like this,” I confess, needing to kiss her softly. Reverently. Not in a sweaty club on a dance floor. “You can still change your mind.” I place a hand on the small of her back and pull her into my frame until her hips line up with my thighs.
“I won’t,” she promises, lifting her face.
I shrug one shoulder, feigning more casual than I feel. Then, I dip my head, take her mouth, and kiss her sweetly.
And then, fiercely. Protectively. Thoroughly.
My surroundings cease to exist. The world quiets.
And there’s this fucking moment. When everything I ever wanted is right before me and I’m as desperate to claim it as I am terrified I’ll lose it.
My one hand is pressed against Cami’s cheek. Her arms are wrapped around my waist, clinging to me.
The minister clears his throat, and we break apart, turning to look at him. “That’s for after you say I do,” he jokes, pointing at us.
Cami giggles and I grin.
“See you at the altar?” I whisper.
She holds up the bouquet of flowers I swiped. “I’ll be the girl in jeans.”
I laugh, a genuine, boisterous laugh.
She blows me a kiss and shoos me away.
And I stride to the altar to wait for the woman who will become my wife.
Cami. Camille… Shit, what’s her last name?