Trainwrecks & Back Checks

by Heather C. Myers

  I chuckled despite myself. This woman was ridiculous. But it made her adorable. And I liked that about her. She was different. She was honest and sweet and clumsy and she had baggage. But I was a goddamn trainwreck and she didn’t judge me for it. She had no expectations of me.

  “They are all very nice,” I agreed. “I always tell the guys not to fuck anything up with them since women like them are so hard to come by.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Not really,” she murmured.

  I glanced down at her. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “There are good women all around, Art,” she said as though it was obvious. “I just don’t think you’re looking for them.”

  “You think?” I asked.

  She nodded her head against me, her eyes slipping shut.

  “You’re a cliché,” she said. “You want beauty but only for a temporary amount of time. I may not be as beautiful as the women you’re with but I’m sure I’d stick around, even after this whole hockey thing was over.”

  I was surprised by her admittance and I felt my heart quicken. When I looked down at her, however, I realized she had fallen asleep against me. Which probably meant she had no idea what she was saying.

  It would be wrong of me to move her, to wake her up, so I didn’t. Instead, I pulled her closer to me and fell asleep surprisingly quick.

  11

  Chloe

  I woke up the next morning with a slight ache in my neck. It was only then that I realized I was covered by the exact same blanket I had brought down for Art to use. Which didn’t make any sense because I got cold easily, so my bedroom is filled with blankets and quilts and covers since I rarely turned on my heater.

  And then I felt movement underneath me. And then my mind finally registered the fact that I slept with Art. Not in the sexy sense of sleeping with him, but we fell asleep together. My head was on his chest and his arm was wrapped around my waist and I felt safe. Protected. I wasn’t even afraid if Tim ever caught us this way because Art’s arms just made me feel like no matter what happened to me, everything would be okay. He would protect me no matter what. Tim couldn’t get to me anymore.

  I could feel him shift underneath me and I turned my head, picking it up so I could look down at him. His tawny gaze was already on me, studying me with an intensity I had never seen before. I felt myself turn red at the feeling of those eyes on my flesh and wondered what, exactly, he saw when he looked at me.

  Without warning, he reached up and curled a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I felt my eyes close..

  I barely knew this guy. I hadn’t really even talked to him until the beginning of this week. I went to one of his hockey games and he gave my ex shit for what he did to me. It felt as though we had been through a lot more than just five days.

  “Do you want some coffee?”

  I knew I killed whatever it was that was sparking between us. I knew it and I still did it anyway. I pushed myself off of his incredibly muscled body - oh my God, his muscles had muscles - so I could stand on my own two feet and headed into the kitchen. I didn’t even wait around to hear his answer. I just needed to get away from him. To give myself a little bit of space.

  Once I got to my kitchen, I started preparing coffee. I tried not to think about last night even though we didn’t do anything except talk. Who knew that something as innocent as talking could have such profound consequences? Who knew I could barely be around him without feeling like I was going to hyperventilate?

  This wasn’t good. We were supposed to pretend to be lovers. How could we be lovers if I couldn’t even stay in the same room as he was because... because...

  Because I thought he could shatter me with one glance. He was too beautiful for his own good and beautiful guys did not look at me twice.

  “We should probably talk about this.”

  His gruff voice made me freeze in my tracks and I looked over my shoulder and found him standing there. He looked completely casual, his muscular body leaning against my doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and bringing to life new muscles, muscles that I didn’t think I had seen before.

  How was he so calm? How was he so nonchalant?

  “Okay,” I forced myself to say, turning back around and finishing up the coffee. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Us.” I heard him step into the kitchen even though he was barefoot. “Expectations. Rules. A plan.”

  I nodded my head in agreement but didn’t turn to face him. “Okay,” I agreed. “Why don’t you start?”

  “We’re supposed to pretend that we’re in a relationship.” He was getting closer to me. I felt my body tense just hearing his feet softly pad against the tile. “And yet I feel as though you get uncomfortable if we’re close together physically. Like I make you uncomfortable in some way.”

  “It’s not...” I let my voice trail off and shook my head. “It’s not what you think.” I picked my eyes back up to look at him. “I just... I’m not used to guys like you being around me in general, let alone being around me intimately, even if it’s fake. So I get uncomfortable because I honestly have no idea how to react.”

  “You have to get that out of your mind if we’re supposed to be believable,” he said. His voice was still gruff but I recognized his attempt at being gentle. “I need to be able to touch you or kiss you without you blushing or flinching. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable so if this does, even if it’s fake, even if this is pretend, we can stop if you don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “No.”

  I didn’t mean to snap but that was how my voice came out. My eyes jumped into his. I wasn’t sure what they looked like, if they were wild and desperate, but us stopping whatever this was, even if it was fake, was the last thing I wanted.

  I closed my eyes, feeling my cheeks heat up. “What I meant to say,” I began, slowly opening my eyes. “What I meant was...”

  I let my voice trail off when I realized how close he was to me. How did I not notice that he was less than a foot away? I swallowed but my throat was still dry.

  “You do make me feel uncomfortable.” I opened my eyes so I could lock them with his. “If I’m being honest with you, you make me uncomfortable. But that’s only because you’re gorgeous. I can’t even speak in full sentences around you. I babble and I can’t seem to stop talking because I’m afraid that when I do, you’ll realize that I’m the last person you might want to hang out with. I’m, like, nowhere near your league. Even if we’re just pretending. And that’s fine, that’s perfectly fine, it’s no disrespect to me because I think I’m a pretty awesome person. I’m just... I just don’t know if that means you and me would be good together because I’m not quite sure what you expect from me.” I took a breath, realizing that maybe I’d overshared. “And now, I realize that there’s a good chance you’re going to interpret this as me wanting to be with you for real because why the heck would I keep talking about this when this just is pretend...” I forced a smile. “And now, now, I have nothing more to say so I’m going to shut up and get you coffee.”

  “Hey.”

  He was standing so close to me, and before I knew it, he reached out and cupped my cheek with his hand. It was so big, it covered one-half of my face. It was also callused and rough, but had a comforting warmth I should have expected but didn’t. And all the words that bundled together on my tongue were gone, vanished, because he was touching me.

  It was hard for me to look in his eyes now, which was stupid considering throughout my entire embarrassing soliloquy, I had no problem. But now that his hand was on my cheek and he was looking deep into my eyes...

  It was like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t function. Which was stupid because this was how I felt in eighth grade when I had my nonsensical crush on Parker Camden. I was an adult who had matured from bleach-blond spiky haired brooding guys I had never spoken to in my life. At least, I thought I had.

  “I know this is overwhelming for you,” he murmured. His voice wa
s scratchy but somehow, it was soothing. “I know you have no idea what to do and what to expect. I’m here to work this out for you. Is this touch, is this okay? Or is it too much?”

  “I,” I began and then sighed. “I like it.”

  He nodded. “Okay.” He didn’t drop his hand from my face. “Okay, good. I like it too.” He took another step towards me. “Am I too close to you?”

  Yes. Entirely too close. Too much for me to take.

  But I couldn’t tell him that. I wanted to, I wanted to be honest, but my mouth refused to move.

  “I, um.” I cleared my throat. “I’m fine.”

  “What about this?”

  He took the hand that had been cupping my cheek and curled an errant strand of hair behind my ear. He had done the same thing last night. The effect was the same. I was stunned speechless. I was paralyzed. I was a tree, rooted to the ground.

  I nodded. Again, I couldn’t speak.

  “And this?”

  He took the same hand and placed his fingers gently on my chin, tilting it back until his lips softly met mine and he stole whatever breath I had left away from me. My eyes slipped shut. I knew how to kiss but it was like I forgot to.

  I just...

  I had been kissed before. Obviously. I knew great kisses and I’d had my share of the kind that swept you off your feet. And yes, a couple of them came from Tim, much to my chagrin.

  As cliché as it was to say, no one kissed me the way Art kissed me right now. I couldn’t put it into words. Honestly, I had no idea what to say and luckily, no one required me to offer a description. Because the truth of the matter was, it was perfect. Flawless. It was everything little girls dreamed about, it was what every princess felt in the Disney movies, it was what I imagined it would the great romances described in books.

  Art was just...

  And I realized, to my horror, that I had no idea how I would ever be able to kiss anyone ever again after Art. Because this was just pretend. A great facade because my crazy ex found me and Art, being the gallant hero he was (although he probably would never claim the title) decided to step in and do what he could for my sake. And we were practically strangers.

  We still were.

  No. No we weren’t. I was just saying that to write off these feelings like they meant nothing. To remind myself that these feelings were ridiculous and untrue and -

  But it wasn’t untrue. My feelings were real. Maybe they were crazy. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through me and the fear I had about Tim and the way Art was kissing me right now just made everything in my life so beautiful that I kept telling myself I couldn’t breathe when, the truth of the matter was, he gave me a reason to breathe. Brought me back to life. Helped me when he didn’t have to.

  When he pulled away, it took me a moment to realize that he was no longer kissing me and that realization made me feel a great and surprising disappointment.

  I slowly opened my eyes and locked them with his. He didn’t look away from me. He didn’t move out of the way. His hand cupped my cheeks and his thumb was gently caressing my jawline.

  “And that?” he asked.

  His voice gave me goosebumps and I hated how it had such an effect on me. Like he could say three words and his wish was my command simply because of how he spoke.

  “Was that too much?”

  His eyes were hazy. I could see desire in them. Desire for me. Which made me feel both insecure and powerful at the same time. And I realized that I had some kind of power over him too. That it wasn’t just me feeling this way.

  “No,” I managed to get out. “No, that was just enough.”

  I wanted to tell him that I wanted him to do it again. One more time, just for good measure. Just to make sure that it was right.

  But he would see through me. He would see through the white lie and know that all I wanted was to kiss him and I would hate if he looked at me like I was another girl who only wanted him because he was a hot, rich, hockey player.

  “I should go,” he said, finally disentangling himself from me.

  I nodded my head. I still couldn’t speak.

  I knew it was for the best, and yet there was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to call him back and remind him about the coffee getting cold on my kitchen counter.

  12

  Art

  We lost our second game.

  I, for one, was pissed.

  We came out strong. We came out ready to play. But the refs started calling us for everything - offsides when it could have gone either way. There was a goal that was waived off even though it was clearly over the line but under the goalie pads of the opposing goalie. Brett Evans and I agreed to go, agreed to fight, but the linesman gave me an extra two minutes for roughing even though it was a gentleman’s agreement. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

  However, those thoughts, that anger, went out the window when I stood in the locker room, listening to Cherney talk about playing a more controlled, more disciplined game when we went over to Seattle.

  I realized I would be leaving Chloe alone. I should have already known this. Playoff schedules didn’t change. We were lucky we had home ice during every single game so far. But I was uneasy leaving her.

  Which was -

  I was going to say stupid. But it wasn’t stupid. I was protective of her. That much was true. There was no denying it now. I liked her. Probably more than I should.

  After we were dismissed, I showered and left as quickly as I could. A couple of media people had questions for me, something I wasn’t used to unless they wanted to talk about a goal I scored or a hit I made. But considering I had a good fight and got called for a penalty, I was sure someone had questions. I answered them as quickly and as tactfully as I could.

  I wanted to see Chloe. I had to see her.

  It was a strange sensation only because I felt almost desperate. Like I was paranoid something had happened to her during the game even though I got her the same seat as before and every now and then, I would look up to check on her.

  And when I walked out of that locker room, as calmly as I could though I was certain there was urgency on my face, I looked for her again. Like I was some desperate fool. And maybe I was. But I just had to see her. I had to make sure she was okay.

  And there she was, looking at me in a red Christmas sweater with a white Mickey Mouse outline, tight jeans that hugged her form, and white high tops. She had natural makeup and her blonde hair was under a Gulls cap in pigtails.

  She looked... wonderful.

  I hoped she couldn’t see the awe on my face. It was petty but I didn’t want her to know that I had these feelings for her. I didn’t want to scare her away.

  Because these feelings - these fucking feelings - were not something I anticipated in my entire life. I wasn’t the sort of guy who fell for a girl no matter how cute or how desperately hopeless she was. And not hopeless in a pathetic helpless she-can’t-do-anything-on-her-own type of hopeless. More like a she was clumsy and intelligent and babbled and awkward and beautiful and it was me that was fucking hopeless.

  Me. Not her.

  Jesus, something was wrong with me. But I didn’t give a crap anymore. I genuinely didn’t care. I liked this girl. I wanted to be around her. I wanted to be with her. I wanted to touch her and hold her and kiss her and fall asleep with her because we were together, not because we were faking it thanks to her fucking asshole-ex.

  “Hi,” she said, looking up at me with bright eyes and a smile.

  I couldn’t help it. I fucking couldn’t help it.

  I leaned down and kissed her. My hand clutched her cheek - I had no idea but I was obsessed with holding her cheek - and tilted her head back, allowing my lips to touch hers for the briefest of moments.

  This was our second kiss and while they hadn’t gotten passionate, they were everything I needed. It was enough. She was enough. I hoped I was enough for her but I highly doubted I could ever be the man that could deserve her.

 
; But maybe, maybe I could try to be.

  When I pulled back, I could see the surprise in her blue eyes and I bit back a smirk. It was nice to know I still had the ability to sweep a woman off of her feet without the pretense of my fame or money or even my sexuality.

  “Hi,” I said.

  I completely ignored the fact that we had an audience, that the rest of the girlfriends were watching us with smirks on their faces.

  Honestly, I could give a fuck.

  I didn’t care what they thought - though, in fairness to them, I didn’t think there was any maliciousness in their gazes. They all seemed sweet and good for who they were with. But their particular fascination with my love life - or lack thereof - wasn’t any of their business, even if they were trying to quote-unquote help me.

  All I cared about was getting Chloe home safe. And maybe sneak in a kiss or two again under the pretense of practicing.

  Or something.

  Anything that might make it believable.

  Any reason to kiss her again.

  I took her hand in mine without asking and we walked down the long hallway and out the metal doors together into the surprisingly cold May evening. Typically, it was fresh but somewhat warm. Tonight, it was cold where even I wished I had my green zip up somewhere accessible so I could throw it on.

  Chloe didn’t seem particularly phased by the cool evening, probably because she was one of the few women I knew who had actually prepared for it. She had a sweater so she didn’t need to borrow mine. She didn’t need me to prove I cared about her by noticing something as innocuous as whether or not she was cold.

  She allowed me to hold her hand and even laced her fingers through mine. It amazed me how small and delicate her hand was, how if I really wanted to, and with no effort on my part, I could squeeze her hand and break every bone there. It was just another reminder how petite she was, how vulnerable. She was feisty, she had a mouth on her, but her body needed protecting. Maybe there were some self-defense moves I could show her that would allow her to keep herself protected when I was away.