Take Me To Bed: Bedtime Quickies

by Alex Grayson

  Annnd there went the season, right down the drain.

  But our wedding is still on.

  And despite his protestations, Brent’s mind needs to be where mine is—on wedding planning.

  We’re a couple, right?

  Yes, we are.

  The wedding is in June, only a couple of weeks away. Plus, Brent’s heading up to Minnesota early.

  Oh, that’s where we decided to hold the wedding, by the way.

  So can you now see why I need Brent engaged?

  And I don’t mean just to me. I want him freaking “engaged” in this whole process. Hell, he got his way on Minnesota as the setting.

  I relented only because that’s where Brent’s from and where his parents still live.

  Well, okay, we have some history there too.

  But that’s a whole other story.

  What’s important is I can’t do this all by myself.

  But there’s one good thing in all this mess. My sister, Lainey, has been around to help.

  Well, mostly.

  Right now, she’s being a real pain in the ass.

  “You should have hired another wedding planner, Aubrey,” Lainey just snapped at me as she was rolling down the passenger window of Brent’s vintage 1969 cherry red Camaro.

  He’s actually letting me drive it. Shocking, I know. He was so disengaged this morning when I asked if I could borrow his classic car—his baby that he never lets anyone drive—he said okay.

  Clearly he wasn’t paying any attention to what I was asking.

  No surprise there.

  That’s par for the course these days.

  So yeah, in a faraway tone, one I’ve heard far too often lately, Brent muttered, “Sure, Aubs. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

  Snickering, I resisted the urge to yell “sucker” as I snatched the Camaro keys and ran for the door.

  And here we are.

  Brent can rest easy, though, as I’m being super careful with his pride and joy, driving far below the speed limit and obeying all the laws.

  I better be cautious, as I’m prone to mishaps.

  I’m actually hoping this whole afternoon goes smoothly, especially the cake tasting Lainey and I are on our way to.

  “Are you even listening to me, Aubrey?” Lainey huffs.

  “Yes, of course I am,” I reply, even though that’s only half true.

  “Then why aren’t you saying anything back?” she whines.

  “Uh, I don’t know,” I mutter.

  Snidely, Lainey says, “Could it be that you agree with me?”

  I snort, “On the wedding planner thing? No way. We had one of those in the beginning, and she and I couldn’t agree on anything. I’m far too hands-on to involve anyone else in my process.”

  Typical Lainey shoots back, “I bet Brent likes that hands-on part, especially when you’re that way with him.”

  “Ha ha ha.” I roll my eyes. “You always go there, don’t you? It’s always sex, sex, sex with you, Lain. You’re such a perv.”

  Outraged, she exclaims, “Like you’re not, Miss Area 51?”

  Ah, she does have a point there.

  I am the one who passed out several green glowing Area 51 sex toys to a bevy of hockey girlfriends and wives recently.

  Distracted by images of my favorite glowy sex device, I lose track of where we are and almost miss the turn.

  “Oh, shit,” I grind out as I cut hard right, sending the Camaro’s tires spinning like a mofo.

  We fishtail left and right, and Lainey grumbles, “You do know Brent will kill you if you wreck his car.”

  I straighten us out and resume driving. “Would you just shut it already?” I snap. “We’re fine.”

  “Barely,” Lainey coughs out.

  I growl over at her.

  A beat later, turning serious, she says, “I only mention it, Aubs, because you know I’m right. Brent is crazy in love with this Camaro. He only bought it like what? Two months ago?”

  “Yes, Lainey, that’s true. And I’m all too aware of how he babies this thing. And of how much he adores it. It was supposed to be his good luck charm for the playoffs, remember?”

  Lainey cracks up. “Yeah, that sure didn’t work out too well, huh?”

  “Don’t act so smug,” I chastise. “Nolan lost out too when the Wolves exited the playoffs early.”

  Sighing, Lainey agrees, “Yes, that’s true. And speaking of my husband, you and Brent could have gone with a quickie wedding like we did. It all went down so quickly that it turned out to be pretty much stress-free.”

  Glancing over at her, I reply, “That’s you, Lainey, my wild child little sister. Brent and I want something more traditional when it comes to our wedding.”

  “Brent and you, huh?” She nods, smiling like the snot she is.

  “Yes.” I sniff. “Brent and I.”

  Suddenly making a show of glancing around the car, she snidely retorts, “If that’s true, where is he now?”

  I point over at her and warn, “Don’t you start.”

  “Ah, come on. Seriously, Aubs, I’m not trying to be a bitch. It’s just that shouldn’t Brent be doing this cake tasting with you? Not to mention, all the other stuff I’ve been helping you out with lately.”

  She has a point, so I lamely reply, “He did come with me to the first cake tasting. You know that.”

  “Yes, he did.” She sighs. “But he’s not here now, is he?”

  “No, he’s not,” I whisper.

  Lainey’s totally right. She and I are on our way to my favorite bakery for another round of cake tasting, when it really should be Brent with me. He loves this bakery as much as I do. That’s why we agreed to have the wedding cake baked here and shipped all the way out to Minnesota for the big day.

  So yes, he should be with me today.

  How can I possibly choose the perfect cake without his input? Not to mention, the first tasting was such a disaster. I got sick after I had a bad reaction to one of the damn cakes.

  When we reach our destination, I turn into the lot, where I park in the first available spot. It’s a safe one, far away from all the other vehicles.

  After I undo my seat belt, I twist to face Lainey.

  “Look,” I begin, “Brent would be here today, but he’s…uh…busy.”

  “Yeah?” Lainey raises a dark, perfectly shaped brow. “Doing what exactly?”

  “Um…” I clear my throat. “He’s heading down to the training facility to hit the ice.”

  “Why?” Lainey rolls her big blue eyes. “Hasn’t he gotten the memo? The season is over.”

  Ugh.

  Again, she’s right.

  A total smartass, yes. But right.

  My sister is like a dog with a bone, I swear. Always drilling down, trying to get to the root of the problem.

  It’s only because she loves me and believes in my ability to fix things. Lainey truly thinks if I can figure out what the real issue is, I can make it right.

  Sighing, I give up on arguing with her, and quietly admit, “I think Brent thinks he can skate his problems away.”

  “He’s such a guy,” Lainey says, shaking her head. “Doesn’t he realize it’s not that easy? There are no simple answers. You need to face these things head-on.”

  “Yeah, try telling Brent that.”

  “Have you, Aubrey?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Told him that?”

  I run my hands through my hair. “Maybe not in those exact words, Lainey. But he knows how I feel.”

  Softly, she says, “Maybe words aren’t enough.”

  “So what do I do?” I implore.

  “Show him! Use more than your words. Make him see the light by taking action.”

  Is she serious?

  Frustrated, I ask, “And how exactly do I ‘take action,’ Lainey?”

  Sounding wise beyond her twenty-two years, she says, “Only you know how to do that. But think about it. There must be a way, a way to make Brent rea
lize what’s really important, more important than hockey, more important than anything on this earth.”

  “But what is more important?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  I just need to hear it.

  I do too when Lainey replies, “You and Brent are what’s most important, Aubrey. The relationship you have, the love that you share. That’s what he needs to see.”

  She’s right.

  I need to find a way to show Brent all of that.

  Before it’s too late.

  2

  Iced

  Brent

  I’ve been such an ass lately. I know Aubrey needs me, yet I haven’t been there for her.

  Fuck!

  Shaking my head, I try to get my damn mind straight so I can stop this shit right now.

  Problem is, I can’t get the Wolves’ crappy playoff loss out of my head—all our missed opportunities, all the bad calls, all our careless mistakes.

  It’s all driving me nuts.

  That’s why I’m on the ice right now down at the training facility. I’m hoping to get in a good mind-clearing skate…for like the eighth time this week.

  And it’s only Tuesday.

  Still, I keep thinking if I skate often enough, it’ll make this obsessing go away. The ice used to make me feel better in situations like these. Skating would bring me back to reality, ground me, and make me realize what’s important in life.

  It’s not working lately, though.

  Not even today.

  It seems no matter how many times I hit the ice, something’s still off.

  “Fuck! I need a solution,” I gripe, kind of on the loud side.

  Not that it matters.

  I’m the only one at the rink.

  Why would it be any other way?

  The season is over.

  My teammates are all off having fun, moving on, like I should be doing.

  If not for me, then for Aubrey.

  I love her entirely too much for this to go on.

  Grunting, I skate up the ice with a newfound determination, taking aim at a line of pucks I’ve set up along the blue line.

  One, two, three, four…

  Whack, whack, whack, whack.

  Every single one goes into the net.

  Of course, it’s easy with no goaltender and no defenders hanging on your ass.

  I retrieve the pucks and set them up again in the exact same way.

  What I should be doing is attending the cake tasting Aubrey scheduled for us. It’s this afternoon and the second time around, as the first one didn’t go so well.

  Poor Aubs broke out in big red hives.

  Shit, it was really bad.

  How could we have known she’s allergic to pineapple?

  “That has to be the reason,” Aubrey said as I was driving her to the ER that day. “It’s the only ingredient in that one cake that I’ve never had before.”

  “You’re joking, right?” I asked, almost wrecking the car.

  Okay, not really. But I was shocked.

  “No, I’m not joking, Brent,” Aubs replied dryly, clearly finding her admission not nearly as amusing as I was.

  She was pissed already, so I went ahead and asked, “How can you have lived a quarter of a century on this earth and never tasted a single bite of pineapple?”

  “I don’t know, Brent,” she snapped. “How can you have lived on this earth almost just as long and not have learned not to aggravate your wife-to-be with silly questions when she’s in the middle of a medical emergency?”

  Aubrey was beyond irate by then, so I wisely shut my mouth.

  See, I’m learning.

  But I’ve regressed lately, falling into old ways.

  I know Aubrey isn’t happy with me, especially when I actually admitted I wasn’t feeling this wedding planning stuff lately.

  Bad move.

  Then I went ahead and booked ice time for today.

  Not smart.

  “Why would you have done something stupid like that?” Aubrey asked, eyes narrowing.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I kind of forgot about the cake tasting this afternoon.”

  What a lame excuse.

  Aubrey knew it too.

  “Brent,” she began, biting her lip like she always does when she’s upset or worried. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  That one caught me by surprise, and I blurted out, “Second thoughts about what? The wedding?”

  “Yes.” She looked sad. “But also about marrying me in general?”

  Is she fucking crazy?

  “Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed.

  Dejected, she murmured, “No.”

  I took her in my arms, wrapping her up in the biggest, warmest hug I could muster, and told her, “Fuck no, Aubrey. I’m not having a single doubt about anything to do with you. You know I love you more than life itself. In fact, I wouldn’t want to live my life without you. So no, I’m not having second thoughts.”

  I promised her then that I’d get my head sorted out.

  That’s why I’m here and not out with her tasting cakes.

  But still, it’s no good.

  I’m no further along than I was before.

  Frustrated, I take aim at the new line of pucks.

  One, two, three, four, five…

  Again, like last time, every last one of the rubber discs sails into the net.

  I skate up the ice then.

  And back down.

  I even ice a few pucks along the way.

  But in the end, the only thing feeling “iced” is me.

  3

  Chocolate Resolve

  Aubrey

  “Ooh, I love this one,” Lainey exclaims, licking her lips. “You have to try it, Aubrey.”

  I stare blankly at my sister as she waves a forkful of red velvet cake in front of my face.

  I’m off somewhere else in my head, fretting.

  Shit, I’m turning into Brent.

  The waving continues, the fork a blur, as Lainey sings, “Aubrey, earth to Aubrey.”

  I shake my head, snapping to attention.

  “Sorry, I was just—” Lainey shoves the cake into my mouth.

  “Mmm, thith ith good,” I try to say as I chew.

  It is too. As were the seven other cake samples we tried.

  Still, I’m not one iota closer to a decision.

  I inform the employee helping us, an older woman named Betty, that though the red velvet is quite tasty it’s not the one.

  Reaching for a napkin, I then ask, “Can we take a short break? I think I need more water also. And a minute too, for my taste buds to recalibrate.”

  Betty, smiling sweetly, says, “Yes, of course, honey.”

  Standing, she wipes her hands on the front of her frilly pink apron, and says, “I’ll have more ice water sent out right away. And I have another cake flavor for you to try. I just need to grab a sample from the back. It’s brand new. Our head baker created it just recently.” Excitedly, she adds, “You never know, it could be the one.”

  “What flavor is it?” I ask, truly curious.

  “Oh, it’s a heavenly concoction of a myriad of chocolates—milk chocolate, dark chocolate. All with a deep, dark fudge filling. We call it Chocolate Resolve.”

  Lainey and I look at each other and burst into peals of laughter.

  Betty appears bewildered, so Lainey explains, “Sorry. It’s just that name. My sister could really use some ‘resolve’ lately.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” I quip. “In more ways than one.”

  “Amen to that,” Lainey concurs.

  Betty glances nervously from my sister to me, clearly still having no clue what in the hell we’re going on about.

  “Uh, okay then,” she says, spinning around. “I’ll be right back.”

  Lainey and I are then left alone.

  Meeting my gaze meaningfully, Lainey says, “Hey, I know we were joking around, but maybe this Chocolate Resolve really
will be the one.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, hoping but not counting on it. “Maybe it will.”

  I know it’s not just the cake that Lainey is referring to. She’s hoping maybe Chocolate Resolve will bring me one step closer to finding a solution to my problem with Brent.

  As of right now, I’m out of answers.

  I have no idea how to reach my fiancé.

  So maybe it will come down to something as crazy as a bite of cake with “resolve” in the name to inspire me?

  Hey, nuttier things have happened.

  I’m thinking all this when a bakery worker, a young kid of about nineteen, comes out from the back carrying a fresh pitcher of ice water.

  He refills our empty cups, then leaves.

  I only have time to take a small sip of water before Betty returns, toting a decadent-looking chocolate cake.

  “Ooh, that looks really good,” I remark.

  Leaning in to my sister, I add, “Maybe this one will get my brain working.”

  “It may,” she agrees. “In any case, it sure looks delicious.”

  It does too. The cake is all the layers Betty promised, along with the rich filling, and covered in a smooth, creamy frosting.

  I can almost taste how delicious this is going to be, even before Betty sets the masterpiece down on the table in front of us.

  We then get to try it!

  And yum!

  It’s fantastic.

  “Wow,” I mutter.

  “This is heaven,” Lainey says.

  It is heaven.

  “May I have a whole slice?” I ask.

  “Of course,” Betty replies.

  She cuts off a modest sliver, which I devour.

  “Is this perhaps the one, then?” Betty asks, smiling kindly.

  Nodding excitedly, I say, “Yes, I think it is. But—” I blow out a breath. “—I’d like to have my fiancé try it before making a final decision.”

  “That’s understandable,” Betty says.

  Since we’re finished, she begins gathering up empty plates. Betty excuses herself then, heading to the rear of the shop.

  It doesn’t go unnoticed that she’s left the rest of the Chocolate Resolve cake.

  “Shall we cut off some real-sized slices?” Lainey asks, smiling evilly.