by A. J. Wynter
Then the emotions came. Tears welled up in my eyes and Leo blurred in front of me. He let go of my hand and I felt his thumb brush away the tear that had fallen. I nuzzled my face into his warm palm and willed the tears to stop. I had cried enough tears; it was time for the crying to be done. But then I looked up and saw tears also streaming down Leo’s cheeks. I brushed the tears off his cheek, and he let out an embarrassed laugh and swiped at his other cheek.
“It’s okay, Leo. I know that you loved him too.” It was my turn, and I took his hands in mine. They were strong, rough, and calloused. I threaded my fingers through his. The size of his fingers made mine stretch apart just slightly. His breathing was ragged, but so was mine. I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t stop myself. I rocked forward and wrapped my arms around Leo’s shoulders, pressing my tear-stained cheek against his. He held me close and squeezed me tightly. His neck smelled both familiar and new. There was the scent I knew, of an old friend, but there was also something fresh and new, something that lit a fire in my belly. If desire had a smell, it was emanating from Leo at that very moment. Turning my face slightly, my mouth found his cheek but didn’t kiss it. My lips brushed along his stubbled face until they met the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breath meeting mine. I no longer had control of my body and it pushed against him, my breasts pressing into his T-shirt.
“Faith,” he whispered into my mouth and eased my body away from his. “We can’t do this.”
“I know.” My lips brushed his as I spoke. I had never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as I wanted to kiss Leo at that moment.
“We’re friends.” He pushed me away with a little more assertion. “And I want it to stay that way.”
I sighed. The spell was broken. “Me too.”
He stood and reached his hand to help me off the ground. I looked around the park to see if anyone had witnessed our almost kiss. There was a family playing badminton next to a smoking barbecue, but other than that, the park was virtually empty.
Leo squeezed my shoulder and kissed the top of my head as we walked to the car. I knew that it was his way of telling me that what we had was purely platonic. “How do we find this guy named Slim?” Leo asked as we got into my car.
“That’s the tricky part. I gave Reggie my cell phone number. He doesn’t have a phone, but his Slim does. The next time he sees him he’s going to tell him to call me.”
“You didn’t get the guy’s real name?” Leo opened the door. “We have to go back.”
“Stop, Leo.” I started the car. “Reggie doesn’t know his friend’s real name. He comes by and gives him supplies about once a week. Reggie knew Dad, he’s going to get his friend to call. He promised and I believe him. Trust me, if I had one more detail we’d be on our way to Corstead right now.” Part of me wanted to go anyway, but the rational part of me knew that waiting, even if it was for a full week – was the best way to find my father.
Leo shut the door. “So close.”
I didn’t know if he was referring to how far my dad had been all this time; or the fact that we were about to find him; or the fact that we had almost kissed. And I didn’t ask.
We were silent the rest of the way home. I didn’t even bother to turn on the radio with so many things racing through my mind. I wanted to go to Corstead and look at every pickup truck, and find the man named Slim. Part of me wanted to go to the police. Part of me knew that it was all going to work out. But the other part, the feminine side of me that had been awakened, knew that I’d never be able to look at Leo the Lion the same, ever again.
“Did you tell Reggie that I’d come back with food?” Leo finally spoke as I slowed to pull into the driveway.
“I did.” I downshifted. “He requested an Italian sub.”
“Luckily, I know the best place in town to get one of those sandos.”
“Sando? Ugh, Leo.” I shook my head and gave my best condescending look. Sando was the annoying word that all the hockey players used to describe sandwiches. “When did you start speaking hockey jock?”
“What?” he protested. “It’s a good word.” And like that, we were back in the comfort of the friend zone.
Gravel crunched under the tires as I approached the house. A strange car was parked in the driveway next to Leo’s truck. It looked like a character from The Sopranos had stopped in to visit.
Leo exhaled loudly. “Let me guess, your plans are with Gunnar Lockwood?”
The clock on the dashboard read five-fifty. If Gunnar drove that mafia man car, he was early. “He invited me for a drink. He’s got… something of mine.”
Leo pursed his lips and nodded. “Your shoe.”
“How did you know?” I clicked out of my seatbelt and turned off the car.
“It doesn’t matter.”
I couldn’t tell what emotion was coming from Leo, mostly because he wasn’t looking at me.
“Are you pissed at me?” I could feel the anger bubbling inside me. “You’ve made it very clear that we’re just friends.” I lowered my voice. “You made that explicitly clear just twenty minutes ago.”
My words seem to snap him out of his perturbed state. “We are friends, Faith. And Gunnar is a good guy.” He gave me a weak smile and then got out of the car. “Have fun.”
The last thing I wanted to do was go on a date with Gunnar, but Leo’s sudden turn in attitude had made my head spin. He’d rejected me. I was just his friendI could have a drink who whomever I damned well pleased.
Gunnar stepped out of his car and met Leo with a fist bump. The door of Leo’s truck rattled as he got in, and I thought I saw a piece of it fall off onto the driveway. He cranked down the window. “Keep me posted about Slim.”
He wasn’t being a dick, but he was.
“Don’t forget the sando,” I shouted as he drove away. He gave a wave out the window and in a cloud of dust, he was gone.
Twelve
Faith
Gunnar stood beside his car as I watched Leo drive away. How had I had gone from being excited like a kid on Christmas morning, to dreading meeting up with Gunnar?
“Gunnar.” I plastered on a big smile and waved at him.
He was leaning against his car and had it been 1983, it would’ve been a magazine ad for Cadillac. His perfect biceps stretched out the perfect sleeves on his white T-shirt. Did I mention that the man’s body was perfect?
“I’m a little early.” He opened the passenger door. I wasn’t sure if it was an apology. The way it stood; he was just stating the obvious.
“That’s alright.” I decided to treat it as an apology. Before I could get into his car, Gunnar grabbed my hand to help me into the car. His car was from the eighties, but his chivalry was pure 1950s, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not. “Thank you.” I slid into the warm leather seat and Gunnar shut the door.
We had agreed to go for a drink, but at this point, all I wanted was to get my shoe back and wait for the call from Reggie. But I had just been rejected by Leo, and there was an equally hot, yet different guy sitting next to me.
“Are you too hot?” he asked. “The air conditioning doesn’t work anymore.”
“It is a touch warm in here.” I adjusted in the seat; the skin on the back of my legs was already stuck to the leather. Both windows groaned as Gunnar pushed the button. “I’m surprised they’re not crank windows,” I laughed.
Gunnar looked at me. “They had electric windows in the eighties.”
I wasn’t insulting his car. It was cool in an I-don’t-give-a-fuck kind of way, which I appreciated, but his response was so serious.
“Where’s your little friend? What was his name? Henry?”
This brought a smile to Gunnar’s face. “That little guy got adopted. A Shih-Tzu rescue found an experienced owner that fell in love with his face.”
He turned to me and the wind ruffled his dark hair. His eyes were the most unique color I’d ever seen, a true gray, and his lashes were so dark that his gaze, no matter what the subject mat
ter, seemed intense. “Why? Are you looking for a dog?”
“Actually…” My immediate answer was no, but as I studied Mr. Serious, I wondered if a dog would be good for my mom. “Maybe. I’m not planning on staying here long term, but I think my mom would love to have a dog in the house.
“Can you wait a minute for dinner?” Gunnar asked.
Dinner? I had agreed to a drink, but I didn’t point out his assumption. “Sure. It’s still pretty early, why?”
Gunnar smiled; his face lit up with his perfectly white-toothed grin. As a hockey player, I knew that most of his teeth were likely veneers, but whatever dentist did them, was true artistry. “I’ve got someone you should meet.”
He drove past the downtown core, through an industrial park, and we pulled into the yard of a fenced compound. I could hear dogs barking from outside the building, and faster than a superhero, Gunnar was at the side of the car and opening the door for me. When he reached his hand to help me out, I took it gratefully. Something told me his chivalry wasn’t a show. Someone had taught him how to be a gentleman from a young age, and it was ingrained in him. It also literally helped me to get out of his low car. I stretched and rubbed the back of my thighs that had just peeled off the seats.
“Come on.” Gunnar rested his hand on my lower back and guided me to the door of the building. Inside, the noise was almost deafening, and the scene was heartbreaking. Dogs of all sizes barked and pawed at the doors to their cement enclosures. Gunnar led me to a secondary room but stopped as soon as we entered.
“That’s weird,” he muttered.
“What’s weird?” I shouted.
“I wanted you to meet Moofie, but he’s not here.” Gunnar pointed to the empty kennel.
“Maybe he’s just stepped out for a biscuit.”
“He can’t open the kennel himself.”
My attempt at humor flew over Gunnar’s gorgeous head. I started to wonder if Gunnar was as smart as a dump truck – or whether he just didn’t have a sense of humor. I hoped it wasn’t both.
“Maybe another volunteer took him out.”
Gunnar nodded. “Maybe.” He shut the kennel door. “While we’re here do you want to give one of these guys some exercise?”
None of the dogs looked like they had ever seen a leash before. “As long as you hold onto them.”
“I’ll give you an easy one,” he laughed. “How about Killer?”
“You’re joking.”
He finally laughed. “Nope.” He opened a kennel and a small dog that looked like one of the ones owned by the Queen of England trotted out. “Faith, meet Killer.”
“That’s Killer?” I laughed. Killer wagged his tail, but it was so tiny that he was basically wagging his butt.
Gunnar clipped a leash onto Killer and selected a Rottweiler-looking dog for himself. “Let me guess, that dog’s name is Tiny.”
Either my attempts at wittiness were just lame, or another one had just gone over Gunnar’s head. “No.” He knitted his forehead. “This is Samson.”
Killer turned out to be a complete dream to walk. Samson pulled on his leash, but Gunnar corrected him and spoke to him in a low sexy voice.
“He really listens to you.” I marveled as Samson stopped lunging and fell into step beside us as we traipsed through a grassy field. Cicadas buzzed and the sun glowed on the grass as we made our way to a forest trail. Killer’s tongue was hanging out and he kept looking up at me as if I knew where we were going.
The well-worn trail wound through the forest and I was thankful for the shade – I think Killer was too. As we walked, we discussed the hockey season and interior design. Gunnar asked thoughtful questions about why I loved design and gave me a pretty good rundown of what was happening with the Laketown Otters. Every summer they had an exhibition game, but this year they were adding a skills competition. After the heaviness of the evening with Leo, the mundane small talk was refreshing.
We sat on a bench carved from a downed tree. Samson laid at Gunnar’s feet and Killer plopped his fuzzy butt on the ground next to me, leaning his unexpectedly heavy shoulder against my calf. “Why are these dogs in the shelter?” I scratched Killer behind his satellite dish-shaped ear.
“They’ve all been deemed a bite risk. Although, I’m doubtful that either of these guys has ever bitten anyone.”
“I can’t imagine it. Maybe they were defending themselves.”
Gunnar sighed and leaned back on the bench. He draped his elbow over the back and tapped my bare shoulder with his finger absentmindedly as he stared into the moss-covered forest. “Maybe. I think some people just can’t handle the dogs and that’s the easiest way to get them out of their house. Nobody will challenge them if the dog is biting people.”
My heart went out for these two beautiful creatures. “That’s so terrible.”
“I know.” Gunnar rested his hand on my shoulder briefly.
It felt nice. Warm and solid, like a structured wool blazer. Leo’s touch had been more familiar, like my college sweatshirt. Maybe it was time to get into a more mature wardrobe.
When Gunnar stood up, he let his fingers slide down my arm. “We should get going.” He patted Samson’s shoulder, and I couldn’t help but notice that it was the same pat and touch that he’d just performed on me.
Gunnar explained his strategy for shootouts as we walked back to the animal shelter. I tried to pay attention, but my mind kept drifting back to the park. Could my feelings for Leo have been brought on by the revelation that my dad was still alive? Maybe I didn’t feel anything for him at all; maybe it was just overflowing emotion that I’d transferred to the closest person, and that person happened to be Leo.
The blaring sun brought me back to the present. Gunnar was still talking about the difference between a slap shot and a saucer pass.
“…that’s if Coach chooses me for the skills competition.” I only registered the last part of his sentence.
“What do you mean? If Coach chooses you?” Amber had told me that Gunnar was the best player on the team.
Gunnar shook his head as he turned on a tap to fill up a water bowl for our panting companions. “Coach is trying to light a fire under certain players.” Gunnar’s eyes locked with mine and I wondered if he was expecting a reaction. Of course, he was referring to Leo. Everyone knew that he skated through life, literally, on his talent – not hard work or determination.
“Are the players stepping up?” I pretended like I didn’t know what he was talking about. Was Gunnar trying to figure out my relationship with Leo?
Killer was a delicate drinker and after he finished lapping up every drop in the water bowl, we filled it up for the much less graceful Samson, who proceeded to trail a river of water up the stairs and into his crate. The two dogs laid down on the cold concrete and if they could talk, I’d guessed that they would tell me that they were hot and tired, but thankful for the walk.
“I think so,” Gunnar replied as he closed the kennels.
“Are you actually worried about your spot in the competition?”
Gunnar laughed slightly and this time there was arrogance. “Not really. I mean, I’m the only one the scouts are looking at.”
“Is that so?”
Gunnar and I both turned to see Leo with a huge brown dog. They must have come in when we were putting the dogs in their crates.
“Just chirping, buddy.” Gunnar gave Leo a friendly punch in the shoulder.
“Uh-huh.” Leo sounded pissed. He walked by us and led the brown dog into his kennel.
“I thought that you didn’t want to get attached to him.” Gunnar pointed to the dog who looked like he’d been swimming.
“Teresa called and asked if I could do more volunteer shifts with him. I thought it would look good on a resume,” he added.
I screwed up my forehead and gave Leo a look. Since when did he care about a resume.
“We were just heading out.” Gunnar pressed his hand into my lower back. Earlier, the touch had felt comforting; now
, it felt controlling – and I didn’t like it. I stepped away from his palm and pushed open the door.
“Bye, Leo.”
“See you guys,” he shouted.
I squinted into the bright light. Gunnar stepped beside me. “I wonder if he’s stalking us.”
It was his attempt at a joke, and I gave him a courteous smile – not pointing out the fact that Leo had been at the shelter first.
Valerock’s parking lot was already full when we arrived. As Gunnar and I approached, the hostess put on a huge smile and elbowed her colleague, who turned with a coy grin. The redder of the two picked up two big leather menus and was ready for us.
“Mr. Lockwood, your table is ready.”
I turned to Gunnar. “Mr. Lockwood?” I mouthed.
He smiled and shrugged.
The hostess seated us at a table next to the glass railing, directly overlooking the harbor. Well-dressed cottagers were arriving in their wooden boats, attendants rushing to grab the mooring lines as they approached.
Gunnar ordered us a bottle of wine and I was glad that the hostess was writing it down, as she was clearly flustered that the star of the Laketown Otters had just walked into the restaurant. Even though he wasn’t a National League player, everyone in town idolized the Otters.
“Great table, Mr. Lockwood.” I smiled.
“I requested it.”
God, he was dull. “Right, then. Thanks for choosing the wine.” I was torn over enjoying his old school chivalry, which had been starting to shift towards chauvinism. I could’ve gone for a cocktail, but I wasn’t complaining about his wine choice.
When the wine was poured and our order was taken, Gunnar raised his glass. “To Laketown.”
I raised my glass. “Laketown? Why are we toasting the town?”
Gunnar flashed his million-watt smile. “For bringing us together.”
It was cheesy, but a little bit cute. I clinked my glass into his and melted as the apple taste and slight effervescence of the Pinot Grigio met my palette. “You know how to choose your wine.”