by Lily Harlem
He tipped his head. “Mm, I guess maybe not if you’re as fussy as I am about the equipment you use.”
“Oh, I’m fussy all right.” I glanced at my second-floor condo with its small balcony overlooking the tree-lined avenue. Inside it was like a show home. Not a thing out of place and all sparkling clean. Just how I liked it, nice and ordered. It made me feel in control. I was tempted to invite him up but I knew it was too soon.
“Are you hard to please too?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Depends what you’re talking about.” I tried and failed to resist a smile because I had a feeling Brick would find me incredibly easy to please in certain departments. Shockingly so. The touch of a finger, the flick of a tongue…
His mind was clearly wandering down the same route as mine. His gaze slipped from the hollow of my throat to my chest—nipples still erect—to the spot he’d stroked earlier at the top of my stomach. He carried on over my tight Lycra shorts and down my suntanned legs. When he reached my sneakers, he raised his gaze until he was looking at my face again. For the second time that day, he made me feel completely naked even though I was clothed.
“What about food?” His voice was husky as his gaze finally reconnected with mine.
I cocked my head and tugged at my bottom lip with my teeth. “Go on.”
“Are you easy to please in the food department or do you follow some weird training diet?”
“No weird diet.” I hardly dared to hope where the conversation might be leading.
“Good, then you’ll come to dinner with me tonight.” He gave a confident grin.
“I can’t.” I shook my head. “I’m busy.”
“Why?” His brow furrowed into three neat lines. “What are you doing?”
“That’s another very personal question.”
“I want us to be personal.” He shrugged. “Do you have a date tonight?”
“I might.”
“Cancel it. Come out with me, you’ll have more fun.”
“You reckon?” I took a step away and threw him a challenging smile.
“Yeah, I know you will. You know you will. Come on, Carly, come out with me tonight, not with some loser who won’t know how to show you a good time.”
“You’re so full of yourself.” I shook my head, smiling and reaching into my bag.
“Yeah, but don’t you just wish you were full…” He paused and pressed his top teeth onto his bottom lip. A grin balled his cheeks.
I snapped my head up. “Don’t I just wish I was full of what?” Surely he hadn’t been about to say what I thought. Something crude about wishing I was full of him? It was true, hell, I was aching for it. But he didn’t know that. I couldn’t let him know that.
“Nothing,” he said through a broad grin. “How about tomorrow night then?”
“No can do.” I pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled down my mobile number.
“So when?”
“Lunch. I can do lunch tomorrow but not dinner.” Lunch was safe. Lunch would mean I wouldn’t be tempted with wine and wouldn’t go and forget my rules. The harsh light of day and the sobriety of lunch would keep me on track.
He gave a shrug. “A late lunch could work. I’ll pick you up about three after I’ve finished practice.”
I handed him the scrap of paper with my number. “Call me if you’re going to be late. I can’t bear hanging around waiting. You’ll blow your chance, forever.”
He took the number, poked it into the front pocket of his jeans, and slotted his helmet over his head. “I won’t be late,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. “Forever is a long time.” The bike roared to life and gave a deep rumbling bellow as he twisted his wrist.
Quickly I turned. I wanted him to watch me leave, not the other way around. I strutted up the path, hips rolling and shoulders back. My butt was great, so I’d been told. Taut and toned, pert and in perfect proportion. I definitely wanted Brick to get a good eyeful of it encased in tight black Lycra. It would even up the score.
He must have had a good look because I was safely inside the building before the bike burst into action. I smiled and leaned against the wood. Today had gone even better than I’d dared hope.
The cool air-conditioning blew down on my sun-hot shoulders and I relished the thought of a night alone with fantasies and my vibrator. Fantasies that I hoped would soon be realized.
*****
Three o’clock precisely, I heard a bike rumble down the street. I ducked my head through the balcony doors and beat down a thrill at the sight of Brick rolling to a stop.
I smoothed my t-shirt and pushed my hair behind my ears. Pressed my lightly glossed lips together and slipped into flat sandals. I’d made an effort, a huge effort. But I didn’t want it to look as though I had.
I waved to show I’d seen him, then scooted through the condo. Locked the door behind myself and paused in the corridor. I counted slowly to sixty, then hit the button on the elevator. I didn’t want to look too keen.
“Hey, sexy,” he said as I sashayed up to him.
“You surprise me,” I replied, tipping my eyebrows.
“What, ’cause I think you’re sexy?” His gaze roamed down my legs, which were encased in dark denim.
“Oh no, I know I’m sexy.” I treated him to a dazzling smile. “The fact that you’re on time surprised me. I was expecting you to be late.”
“Didn’t want to blow my chance,” he said, handing me a small black helmet and putting on his own. “Come on, let’s get going. I’m starved. Coach really put us through our paces getting ready for Saturday’s big game in Seattle.”
I slipped onto the seat behind him and once again wrapped my arms around his body. Today he wore a black t-shirt with his distressed jeans. It was as soft against the inside of my arms as the one he’d worn yesterday.
The bike pulled forward and I tightened my grip and leaned in closer. As I inhaled his freshly showered scent, I studied the neat angle of blond hair behind his left ear. The skin there looked baby soft. Golden and delicate, a contrast to the rest of his big, strong body. My lips tingled with the thought of kissing that small patch of skin. Of tasting his flesh. Savoring his flavor.
I forced myself to resist the urge.
We hit the main road and I clung to him with my arms and legs, wondering if he was going fast to make me hold more firmly. I wouldn’t put it past him.
He pulled to a stop outside a small, backstreet restaurant with Ciao! handwritten on a wooden board over the doorframe.
“This is my favorite place to eat after practice,” he said, kicking down the bike stand.
I released him and climbed off. “It looks…nice,” I said, studying the net curtains at the window and the peeling paint on the gutters. Since NHL players earned megabucks, this seemed an odd choice of eating establishment.
He locked our helmets to the bike and offered me the crook of his arm with a grin. I took it and he led me to the door. “It’s real nice,” he said. “And the best thing is there are never any photographers around.”
“You mean paparazzi?”
“Yeah, they drive me crazy. Always trying to get a scoop on what I’m up to or who I’m dating.”
“Like when you were seeing Mae French?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the door open and a wonderful aroma of garlic and cheese, basil and oregano flooded out. “Like when I was seeing Mae French.”
He settled his palm in the small of my back and urged me into the restaurant. It was no bigger than an average living room but had dozens of chairs and tables packed in. It was half full and the conversation created a gentle hum. Our arrival didn’t alter the flow. White-shirted waiters darted about with laden trays and a young girl with a shiny chestnut ponytail clutched a notepad to her blouse. She nodded profusely at an elderly couple and pointed at a chalkboard on the wall.
“Oh Brick, Brick. I so glad you here today. I not seen you all week, my boy. I was worried. So worried.” A small woman with a bobbing gray
bun and wearing an apron printed with the Italian flag rushed over. She slapped her hands on Brick’s shoulders and pulled him over almost double at the waist so she could plant noisy kisses on both his cheeks. “You naughty boy,” she said. “You get too thin without my cooking at least three times a week.” She slapped her hands against his concrete abdomen. “We don’t want you skinny. That would be terrible.”
“Sorry, Benita, I’ve had a busy week. You know, training and that.” Brick grinned.
“Not just training, I see.” Benita turned to me with a gappy smile. “You been busy with pretty lady, too.”
“Not as busy as I’d like to be,” he said, winking at me.
“Oh you such a bad, bad boy.” Bonita grinned even more broadly then pulled me into an embrace. She pressed kisses to both my cheeks. “You are beautiful, my child,” she said into my ear. “Simply beautiful. But watch out for him. He likes beautiful ladies a little too much I think.”
“But you know you’ll always be my favorite, Benita,” Brick said, pulling a serious expression.
“Oh such a smooth talker.” She giggled, wagging an arthritic finger at him. “But it will get you nothing more than a table and some food here. A glass of wine if you lucky.” She took a step away. “Corner, yes?”
“Cool,” Brick said, gesturing for me to follow Benita.
We sat on straight-backed chairs at a table covered in crisp, white cotton cloth. Brick placed his back to the room as Benita made a big show of going through the specials board with me. Eventually I decided on salmon pasta with pesto and a seasonal garden salad.
“You want your usual?” Benita turned to Brick. “I give you extra.”
“Perfect, and a bottle of wine, too. Whatever will go with Carly’s meal.”
“No, no, really no wine,” I said. “Water is fine.”
“Oh, go on, honey.”
The way he called me honey had my stomach melting and my knees weakening even though I was sitting down.
“This is our first date, after all,” he said.
I looked at his irresistible grin and it killed my resolve. One glass of wine would calm me down. So much was at stake and it would be foolish to let nerves get in the way. “Well, just a glass then,” I conceded with a nod.
Bonita smiled and walked away. “I don’t usually drink during the day,” I said over the table. “It makes me sleepy.”
“Sleepy, eh?” His eyes sparkled naughtily. “Does that mean I might get to put you to bed?”
“Like you just said.” I rested back in the chair and reached for my linen napkin, spread it neatly on my lap. “This is a date, a first date, so you won’t be going anywhere near my bed.”
“And on the second date?”
“What second date?” I folded my arms.
His gaze dropped to my chest and I followed his eyes. The small amount of flesh my breasts possessed had squashed upward against my forearm and since I was braless my nipples poked at my t-shirt, straight toward him. “On the second date, will I get to put you to bed?” he asked quietly.
“That,” I couldn’t help a flirty little smile, “is for me to know and for you to find out.”
He grinned, reached for a water jug heaving with ice and lemon, filled up first my glass then his own. “You’re a woman of mystery,” he said, shifting on his seat.
“I am?”
“Yeah, I got loads I wanna find out about you.”
“So ask.”
“Okay.”
Something about his dark smile and tone made me wonder just what trouble I’d invited.
“Why don’t you wear a bra?”
I unfolded my arms. “I don’t need to.”
He tipped his head and openly studied my chest.
“My breasts are small. I don’t need the support most women do.”
“You maybe don’t need support but you need something to keep those torpedoes under control, honey.”
“Are you complaining?” Torpedoes, seriously!
“Hell, no. I just wondered if you minded guys ogling them, that’s all.”
“Well, there’s not much to ogle.”
“I promise you there is. There’s plenty to ogle and plenty to think about.” He took a gulp of water. “Did your date last night study your nipples?”
I frowned. “What has it got to do with you what my date last night did or didn’t do to me?”
“You said I could ask questions, I’m asking.”
Reaching for my water, I took a slow, time-buying sip. If only he knew that my date last night had been seven inches long, neon blue and battery operated. If only he knew that while my favorite toy had brought me to a toe-curling orgasm, an image of him standing naked next to his motorcycle had hovered before me. His name had slipped from my mouth on a pant, several times over if I remembered correctly. I wondered what Brick would think if I told him he was my absolute top fantasy, every time.
“So how about I ask you a question.” I pushed the memory to the back of my mind before it gained too much control.
He shrugged. “Fire away.”
A waiter came over and set down two large glasses of pale white wine.
I smiled my thanks, took a grateful slug and looked back over the table. “So,” I said. “Does even your mother call you Brick?”
He laughed. “She does now, everyone does. It’s a long time since anyone called me Ben, and unless I’m speaking to my bank manager I prefer to go along with Brick.”
“It suits you,” I said.
“Which one?”
I smiled. “Ben.”
“I’m glad you think so, but stick with Brick. It’s good for my image plus my agent just had it trademarked.” He took a sip of his wine. “Any more questions?”
“How did you find this place?”
“I grew up a few blocks away.” He gestured out the window.
I knew this fact about him. I’d read enough interviews and articles in the sports rags to know he was a local boy.
“We didn’t have much money. Dad had a car accident, hurt his back and couldn’t work. Mom juggled cleaning jobs but it was hard for her, what with having to look after Dad as well.” He pulled in a long breath. “I did what I could around the house, but by the time I was thirteen I was into hockey in a big way and getting noticed, too. Trouble was, skates and gear were expensive, so was getting to games. So one day I just wandered in here and asked Benita if she could pay me a few dollars to do the dishes.” He smiled. “She must have taken pity on me, scruffy little urchin that I was, and gave me a job. But I worked my fingers to the bone. If I wasn’t at school or on the ice I was here, scrubbing and drying pots and pans.”
I glanced at Benita, who was fussing over guests. I could just imagine her collecting waifs and strays to do jobs and then taking them under her wing. “Must have been hard fitting all that in.”
“Yeah, it was, but Benita has always been my biggest fan, along with her husband Marco—after Mom, of course.”
“Your dad isn’t a fan?” I was surprised.
“We lost Dad a few years back.” He took a gulp of his wine and glanced out the netted window again. “He never saw me reach the NHL. Mom lives down in the Keys now with one of her sisters.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Brick looked back at me and took a deep breath. “We all lose things we don’t want to.”
I nodded, I could relate to that. I’d lost Tim when I hadn’t wanted to. But somehow, sitting here with Brick, all that upset seemed years away and the pain only a memory instead of an actual physical ache.
“When I signed for the Orlando Vipers,” Brick went on, “you should have seen the party Benita and Marco threw me here. All the guys came, it was awesome. More pasta and tiramisu than you can imagine.” He chuckled and I was relieved to see the sadness lift from his face. “I wouldn’t be where I am today without their generosity and belief in me even when things were tough.”
I held up my wine. “To Benita and Marco,” I sa
id, feeling grateful to the two people who had brought light into his life.
He clinked the rim of his glass with mine. “To Benita and Marco.”
“You toasting me?” Benita appeared at our side balancing two enormous white plates on her palms.
“Yeah, I was just telling Carly how we met,” Brick said.
She sighed. “Oh you should have seen him, bella. He worked so hard to buy those skates and those sticks. And he was so thin, too. I fattened him up good though, didn’t I?” She placed down our meals and ruffled her fingertips through Brick’s newly short hair. “What you done to those angel curls, boy? You look all grown up now.”
“I’m twenty-five, Benita. That does kind of make me all grown up.” Brick grinned and turned to me. “Besides, it’s a hit with the ladies. Look at the gorgeous girl I got to go out with me today with this new hairstyle.”
“Well, I liked your curls,” Benita muttered as she walked away. “They’ll take months to grow back.”
Brick leaned across the table. “My curls were the butt of endless jokes in the locker room. They had to go. Phoenix’s wife, Brooke, made a comment that I looked like a beefed-up cherub and the cherub part stuck.” He shook his head. “Brick’s not the best name to be given, but there’s no way in hell I can live with Cherub.”
I giggled. Cherub was the last word I’d use to describe Brick. There was nothing remotely angelic about him.
“You think it’s funny?” He grinned and dug into his steaming lasagna.
“Yeah.”
“Unfortunately so did the guys. I love ’em, especially Phoenix, who’s been an older brother to me. But they show their affection in strange ways. Lots of cursing and plenty of whacks and wrestling.”
I took a bite of my salmon. Delicious. Light and fluffy with the perfect amount of nutty pesto.
“Are you going up to New York next week for the Ray Lenon show?” I asked, even though I knew he was. My agent had told me Brick was doing the interview so I’d put myself up for it, too, hardly believing the opportunity to spend more time with him was being handed to me on a platter. Who knew charity work could be so wonderfully convenient?
“Yeah, I’m going, are you?” he asked.