by S. E. Hall
Right on cue, she halts mid-step and gasps. “What? No, no, no, selfish. You only get one, and it’s not gonna be Lance Fox. He’s mine.”
I’m aware—exactly why I said it—and her reaction’s even better than expected. Too bad I can’t prolong her suffering just a bit longer, but I also can’t hold in my snickering. “You make it too easy, Nik.”
“Bitch,” she grumbles, shoulder-bumping me. “Now move your ass, funny gal. I don’t want to miss warm-ups.”
Neither do I.
****
I should’ve known better than to get my hopes up so high—once-in-a-lifetime moments are called such for a reason— emphasis on the once. It’s already the first break thingy, where they call the kids out on the ice to play a few games… and nothing.
All through warm-ups and the first period, he didn’t so much as glance my way. And now, I really wish I would’ve worn a coat, or two, because I’m freezing to damn death in this stupid sweater he hasn’t even noticed! In fact… “Hey Nik, would you be mad if I wanted to leave? I’m cold, and-”
“Disappointed? Pouting?” she finishes for me honestly, versus whatever excuse I was gonna make. “Yeah, I would be, but only because that’s some bullshit. You’re a strong, independent, gorgeous woman, whose self-worth has never, nor will ever, be defined by the attention, or lack thereof, of a man! We’re staying. And dammit, we’re gonna have fun!”
Alrighty then… guess I’m staying. And maybe marching in some sort of Women’s Movement Parade later. Hopefully, we’re gonna burn our bras too, because again, I. AM. FREEZING… so a fire would be a nice bonus.
“Miss Everett?” Both our heads turn at the sound of her name, to find a smiley usher standing beside us.
“Yes?” Nik answers him with a question.
“I was told to give you this.” He hands her a small envelope. “Enjoy the rest of the game, ladies.”
“What is it?” I ask anxiously, earning myself a sarcastic ‘really’ glare from Nikki.
“Since I seem to have misplaced my see through paper superpower”—another saucy look my way—“maybe I should open it? I probably won a random drawing by seat number or something. Please, please, let it be a ‘meet the players’ pass,” she chants as she rips it open. I try to read the letter over her shoulder when she has it out and unfolded, but like a brat, she shifts away so I can’t see.
“Oh my God, Hooked on Phonics, what’s it say?” I jab, too loudly—really hoping no one who’s actually hooked on phonics heard me—but I’ve lost all patience waiting on her to finish reading the damn thing. I grab for the paper, but she dodges, then whirls toward me.
“It says, you really are a bitch. Seriously Gracie, how the hell do you manage to sit down with that giant horseshoe up your ass?” she snips, shoving the letter at me.
I quickly scan it, wondering what’s got her so grouchy, then… holy shit… read it again, slowly, savoring each and every word.
It’s a handwritten note, meant for me.
Nichole,
I’d apologize for this being too forward but that’s the only direction I move in- forward. Especially when I see something I want, and I. Want. You. To meet you, spend some time with the beauty I’ve been thinking about for days. You managed to escape me once. Not tonight. Tonight, go straight home after the game. I’ll pick you up by eleven.
Until then,
Brewer Hayes
Forward? He’s being too hard on himself… except, not hard enough… I mean, all he did was track down her name, and apparently her address, where he’s going to pick me up. Not if I accept, not an invitation… basically, just a courtesy copy of his agenda.
I should probably be freaking the fuck out, maybe even calling the cops, but I’m far from doing either. Oh, my heart’s racing, whole body’s trembling, and beads of sweat, while sitting in an ice hockey arena, just trickled down the back of my neck… but none of it from fear… all of it from exhilarated anticipation.
“Okay, now we can leave,” Nikki squeals, obviously over her case of the grumps and breaking my train of thought. “Gonna have to work hard and fast to get you ready, because I know your cat-lady-ass hasn’t been keeping up maintenance. Just out of curiosity, which is longer, the hair on your legs or chach? And don’t worry, I have a sexy bra and thong set you can have, since I also know you didn’t pack any. Somebody superglue you to that seat? Get up, let’s go!” She stands, yanking on my hand. “Don’t want him thinking he’s fucking a hippie grandma, do you?”
“Jesus Christ, Nik, could you not speculate as to the length of my pubes loud enough for the whole arena to hear?” I hiss, yanking her to get her to sit back down. “Just, just wait here, okay? I need to run to the bathroom.”
“What? No. Use mine when we get home.”
“Can’t hold it.” I shake my head and jump up before she can argue further. “I’ll be right back.”
Chapter Four
Brewer
I’m in much better spirits after tonight’s win—and we’ve got a three-day break—that I’m hoping like hell to spend with her. All of it; seventy-two hours, not a second of it wasted. I’ve got a real good feeling about this one; a rush like never before, things seeming to fall into place by themselves.
Such as…
“I don’t give two shits if you’re ‘in the mood’ or not. We’re taking our asses out to celebrate, probably tomorrow night too, and your ass is gonna smile the whole goddamn time.” Lance’s feeling salty… playing right into my hand.
“Okay,” I pour it on thick, “guess I do owe you one.”
“Damn right you do.”
“Not arguing, dipshit,” I laugh. “Let’s go already; I’ll drive.”
He follows me to my truck, talking a mile-a-minute, rattling off suggestions of clubs to hit. I don’t bother to set him straight, inserting a few hmms of fake interest every so often, driving as fast as the law allows to my already determined destination.
“What’re we doing here? Wait, where the hell even is here?” he asks when I park my truck.
“You’ll see. Come on.” I climb out, grinning to myself. “You can thank me later.”
He keeps grilling me as we walk to the door, still running at the mouth while we wait after I knock; but I say nothing, letting him stew. A very pretty woman with long, jet-black hair opens the door, and I hold in my laugh while she glances from me to Lance, her jaw dropping and eyes bulging as she does it one more time, as if making sure.
“Hi, you must be Nichole,” I help her out, smiling.
She nods, cheeks now scarlet, and finally manages to pull her eyes off Lance long enough to meet mine. “I-, wh-, yes”—she pauses to gather herself—“I’m Nichole.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Brewer Hayes.” I shake her trembling hand. “Sorry about the mix-up before; I just assumed they were her seats. And I hope you don’t mind, but Lance here tagged along.” I laugh lightly, positive that she doesn’t mind a damn bit. “Lance, this is Nichole Everett. She’s a Freeze fan, season ticketholder, and, rumor has it, is under the delusion that you’re quite the player. Nichole, Lance Fox, worst player on the team; best at being a pain in my ass,” I introduce them, Lance’s punch to my arm deserved, I suppose.
“Well hellooo, Nichole. Very nice to meet you,” Lance schmoozes, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it like some sort of a gentleman, the insinuation in his voice just having told her he’s anything but. What a jackass.
I’m about to apologize for him, but stop short when I realize… his bullshit actually worked. She blushes from neck to forehead and giggles, while moving closer to him. I shake my head and smother a scoff— yeah, they’re gonna get along just fine.
“Is-”
Nichole somehow hears me amidst her Lance Fox Fog and cuts me off by holding up a single, stiff finger, motioning for us to come inside as she smiles sweetly. Then, further proves, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she’s a pistol, absolutely perfect for Lance. She calmly closes the door, turns
her head and screeches, “Gracelyn Christine Bolton, get your ass out here!”
Gracelyn. Beautiful. Very fitting. But she’d signed as ‘Gracie.’ Can’t wait to ask her myself which she prefers.
And then I see her… poking her sweet, stunning face out from around the corner of a room down the hall. Her wide-eyes find mine and I mouth, ‘Hey.’
‘Hey yourself,’ she silently replies, her smile one of delicate, classic beauty. Reminding me—hands-down the most random and yes, a bit cheesy for my male pride, thought I’ve ever had—of the vintage bombshells in the black-and-white movies my parents used to watch. Those women who were authentically beautiful; no color or special effects to hide or enhance things.
Unlike her hellcat friend, I ask her to come out nicely, with the crook of my finger and a warm grin. And I watch—each fleeting, subtle shift in her expression, the soft sway of every single part of her body, the deepening hue on her cheeks—as she slowly approaches.
Then jolt, just like her, when Nichole launches in again. “Well look who finally decided to join us; Miss Full of Surprises! Can you believe it, G? Lance Fox, of all people, standing in my living room! Yeah, I know; shocking, right? So why is it you don’t look the least bit shocked? And, how nice would it have been if I’d have known; could’ve gotten ready too?”
I’ve known this chick for a minute, so I can’t tell if she’s kidding or genuinely furious. And I’m not willing to chance it, so I step up, praying it works, or it’s the former, and the night isn’t ruined. “Um, Nichole, hate to interrupt, or butt in your business… but I’m gonna have to interrupt and butt in your business.” She looks to me, her eyes narrowed and lips pursed, so I turn up my smile and charm. “You look beautiful—like you spent hours getting ready. And, blame me, not Gracelyn, please. Lance and I always go out to celebrate a win together, and since no one else can stand his ass, I risked it and brought him along. Like I said before; my idea, totally my fault.”
“Could you be more full of shit?” she calls me right the fuck out, no hesitation whatsoever. “Isn’t he?” She now turns her glare and temper on Gracelyn.
But my little lady has some oomph of her own, which comes out kicking… and my dick swells with a whole new hunger. “Just say thank you, Nichole Elaina Everett, then shut it. Yep, I went there; full-named ya right back!”
“Okay, what’d I miss?” Lance asks… anyone, everyone… and I bust out laughing; can’t stop it. “Oh, and my middle name’s Christopher. Just throwing that out there; seems like a requirement to play… whatever the hell game this is.”
“Nice to meet you, Lance Christopher,” she snickers, “I’m Gracie Bolton.” She steps forward with her hand extended, which he wisely only shakes… knowing I’ll rip his lips right off his fucking face if they dare touch her hand. “You’ve obviously met my best friend Nichole, or Nikki; what she goes by. This is her place, her season tickets, and your biggest fan. Please ignore her bitchy, over-the-top reaction. She’s never been good at surprises, but is thrilled you’re here, I assure you.”
“I’ve” —she moves so she’s standing in good view of us all, holding her phone up and out—“called and texted my mother all pertinent information on both of you guys. And it’s only fair to also let you know, my mom’s that lady; the nosy neighbor who peers around her curtains, chomping at the bit to scope out any suspicious activity that she feels is her duty to immediately report to the police.”
“Oh my God, please tell them about the fruitcake,” Nikki urges, seeming excited. Way too excited for anything fruitcake-related.
“Guess I have to now.” Gracie rolls her eyes. “So, yeahhhhh, my mother hand-delivers a homemade fruitcake to every officer, every shift, every Christmas. And in return, they… quit encouraging her to stop calling them.”
Precious. Seriously—I haven’t a single clue how, why, or what the hell’s going on with me—but I’m uncontrollably drawn to this woman… each new thing she says or does more intriguing than the last. And accordingly, I simply stare, smiling, while Nikki and Lance both double over in howling laughter.
“Anyway, my point is, don’t say I didn’t warn you, should either of you decide to dismember, murder, or harm either of us. My mother will track you like a bloodhound, make you wish you were dead. So, Lance, can I trust you to keep my friend far from any harm tonight?”
Well fuck… I’m completely screwed, because nothing that anyone says, ever again, has a chance in hell of keeping me even half as entertained as this woman. Which means, I’ve either got to ensure that she never stops talking, to me, or face a life of mundanity.
Lance and Nikki just stand there, frozen, wearing identical, dumbfounded expressions. But I… I am fascinated… beyond restraint, already moving to take her beautiful, intelligent, spunky little self by the hand. Small. Soft. A perfect, feminine fit in mine.
“He’s harmless,” I dip my head and whisper in her ear. “You have my word.”
She tilts her head to look up at me; plump, suck-worthy lips curling in taunt. “What about you, Brewer Hayes? Are you harmless?”
I lean in closer, our noses brushing and gazes locked. “I’d say yes, but I aim to please… and you’re praying that I say no.”
Chapter Five
Gracie
I didn’t acknowledge it or respond when he’d breathed the truth, smug and warm, upon my lips… and neither of us have said much since. Now, as he drives and I do my best not to fidget, a stale silence remains, thickening the air. He’s keeping his eyes on the road for the most part, but I’m hyper-aware of every side glance he flicks my way; what I’m guessing is his form of fidgeting… afraid he came on too strong and offended me, unsure if it’s safe to break the ice yet.
He didn’t, and it is, but he doesn’t know that, so, looks like the ball’s in my court. Or, puck’s in my rink.
“Okay, I can’t take it. You’ve got to tell me to what I owe that sweet little giggle.” His voice is tinged with humor, anticipating the story behind the noise I didn’t realize I’d released… and unknowingly used to crack the ice wide open.
“Umm…” I gnaw at my lip, struggling to come up with something, anything, besides honesty. Just this once.
“Nuh uh,” he chuckles, “out with it.
“Fine,” I sigh, already cringing. “But you can’t laugh.”
“Why not? You did.”
“Touché. Alright, sheesh. But laugh with me, not at me. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Starting to miss the awkward silence phase. That ship sailed though, so here goes… “I was thinking the ball was in my court, to initiate a conversation…”
“And?”
I cover my eyes with my hand, ‘cause that’ll help. “And I changed it to something else, that struck me as funny.”
“What’d you change it to?” The lilt of amusement in his voice is already strong and I’ve yet to deliver the punch line. At this rate, he’ll probably piss himself and run us into a ditch by the time I’m finished.
“Puck’s in my rink,” I mumble, eyes still covered. “Seemed fitting to me, but go ahead, laugh it up.”
Braced for ridicule, met by complete quiet, I talk myself into taking a glimpse at his reaction, of non-reaction, and to figure out why the truck’s stopped moving. I’m too slow, though—my hand being lowered for me—my now exposed eyes meeting his as he holds my hand, rubbing circles in my palm with his thumb.
“That was the cutest damn thing I’ve ever heard. You’re something, Gracie Bolton,” he murmurs, a wolfish hint to his tone that hits me right between the thighs.
“Something…” In a shaky whisper, I beg him to elaborate.
“Worth exploring.” He gifts me with that same sly smirk he’d worn during our very first encounter at his game, even more effective this time around.
Still hesitant to forfeit my inhibitions, or allow myself to become so lost in his husky timbre, bottomless eyes, and suggestive aura that I hurl myself on top of him, I reroute us to boring, s
mall-talk, using full voice. “I’m glad my note made it to you tonight. I would’ve felt awful about leaving Nikki sitting at home alone; especially when the only reason I’m here is to visit her.”
He decides it’s his turn to lead the conversation, hanging a hard right at loud and gruff. “Visit?”
“Yes, visit. I don’t live here, Brewer. I just came up to stay with Nik for a week; been way too long. Then, back home I go.” I smile, and hitch a shoulder, stumped by the harsh bend to his brows. Then with my pointer finger out, I motion about his face and ask, “What’s, uh, going on there, grumpy?”
When he says nothing and his expression further hardens, an absurd thought flits through my mind, causing me to laugh... and ask,
“Surely you’re not gonna try to sell me some load of crap… like, your grouchy face is because you’re just devastated”—I embellish my sarcasm by slapping the back of my hand against my forehead— “to learn that the woman you met a whole hour ago doesn’t live within your grasp,” I end with louder, unstoppable laughter.
“Kinda, yeah.” His pouty grunt’s not only adorable, but dare speculate… genuine?
But how could that be? Oh, that’s right–it couldn’t. My, my, Gracie, someone sure thinks highly of herself. He’s obviously just kidding around, while being flattering… I talk some sense into myself and snap out of it.
“Only a week, huh? Counting back from the first night I saw you, we’ve got, what, four days left?”
Okay, no way did I imagine it this time. There’s definitely an edge of disappointment to his voice. Nor did I mishear him say ‘we,’ meaning him and I, calculating the ticking clock on our possible time together. But I haven’t the foggiest on how to best respond, so I’m beyond grateful when he is the one to speak again.
“You hungry?”
Nowhere in the neighborhood of what I was expecting, a small snicker breaks away from me. “Um, not really. I don’t usually eat this late at night. But if you are-”