Full Body Check

by S. E. Hall

  “I was starting to think that stupid bitch in the front row, same. seat. every. damn. game, was never gonna miss a game, or sit her fat ass down long enough for you to see me! But first time she did, and you found me. How perfect is that?””

  She lunges for me, but I easily dodge her, sorting out the good parts — the only ones I heard — in my head. Front row. Same seat every game. That can only mean one thing — season tickets. All the season ticket holders’ information is tracked in the team’s system.

  Well, well, this night just turned on a dime. Not the exact serendipitous meeting I’d hoped for, but close enough. A clue, hope, and if I have anything to say about it, there will still be a meeting. I pull out my wallet and toss a handful of bills on the table. “Gotta go, man,” I yell at Lance, who doesn’t respond, and all but run for the door. I’ve got work to do… and I can’t wait to get started.

  You can run, but you can’t hide. I’ll find you, my beautiful doe-eyed ginger.

  “Okay, so that was a little weird, and a lot creepy,” Nikki is mumbling, seemly dazed, as she walks up behind me.

  “What was?” I ask, meeting her vacant eyes in the mirror as I add a few finishing fluffs to my hair.

  “Some lady just called, said she was with Freeze Hospitality, or something like that, and she wanted to confirm that I’d be using both my seats for tonight’s game.”

  “That’s not creepy at all,” I laugh. “And since when are you prone to paranoia? I’m sure they’re just calling around to see if anyone can’t make it tonight so they can give the seats to someone else. It sounds like maybe somebody important came in town or something; nothing to worry about.” I give her reflection a reassuring smile.

  She shrugs, an iffy smile of her own gradually building. “Just struck me as odd since they’ve never done it before, but you’re probably right. Okay then, you ready to go?”

  “Yep.” I cap my lip gloss and pivot, ready to roll.

  Now her smile’s built; big and bright. “Just like that, huh? No trying to talk me into doing something else? No bitching about the cold?”

  “Nope.”

  “All rhetorical questions, G,” she laughs. “Knew you’d be more than up for another game before I even suggested it. Before the last one was even over, come to think of it. Oh” — she stops at the front door, glancing back at me over her shoulder — “and just in case you were wondering, yes, I did notice the mysterious lack of twelve layers over your low-cut sweater this evening.”

  I flip her off and push her out the door, ignoring her ongoing laughter as we hurry to climb into her car. No, I didn’t balk at going to a second game; what’s the big deal? And yes, I might’ve put a little extra effort into my appearance tonight, but again, why’s that noteworthy? Because Nikki’s a pain in the ass, that’s why. She just always has to say something, but I don’t mind; I became immune to her ribbing years ago.

  Besides, like her, I too, am a single, grown woman… who, unlike her, hasn’t been on a decent date, or had sex, in almost three years, dammit! Eight-hundred and ninety-seven days, to be exact! So, hell yes, should the sexiest man I’ve ever seen happen to flirt with me again tonight, I fully intend to do everything in my power to encourage him to not skate away this time.

  Well, he’ll probably need to skate away, because of the game and all… but if I have my way, he’ll skate right back over at some point. And maybe, if the guardian angels assigned to oversee my vagina haven’t given up hope and applied for a transfer, he’ll slap a note with his phone number against the glass. Or just break through the meager barrier and carry me away. A girl can dream.

  And although Nik loves teasing me, I know she’ll back my plan one-hundred percent. “You’re slipping; you never got around to guessing my favorite player the other night.”

  “I didn’t?” I feign innocence, if Nikki can dish it out, non-stop, she can certainly take some ribbing. “Oh, that’s right. I decided not to risk it because I was torn, still am, if you were lying about it being my winker, Brewer, for my sake, of course, or if it’s number fifty-two. Guess I’ll have to pay closer attention to Mr. Five-Two’s fine ass tonight to decide.”

  Right on cue, she halts mid-step in our trek across the parking lot and gasps. “What? The hell you will, selfish. You only get one, and it’s not gonna be Lance Fox. He’s mine. You keep your eyes off his fine everything, Miss!”

  What’s this? I’m right? Of course I am, and her reaction’s even better than I expected. Too bad I can’t prolong her suffering just a bit longer, but I can’t hold in my snicker. “You make it too easy, Nik. I pegged your pick of the litter before the first goal in the last game and I was just waiting to see if you’d spill first. You held it in a lot longer than I figured you would, or could, so good job. I’m impressed.”

  “Bitch,” she grumbles, shoulder-bumping me. “Now move your ass, funny girl. I don’t want to miss warm-ups.”

  Don’t have to ask me twice — neither do I.

  I should’ve known better than to get my hopes up so dangerously high — once-in-a-lifetime moments are called that for a reason — once being the key, operative word in the phrase. It’s already the first break thingy, where the announcers invite the kids out on the ice to play a few games… and nothing from my favorite Freeze player.

  He didn’t so much as glance my way, all through warm-ups and the first period; and now, I’m really wishing 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 early? Or now? I’m cold, and-”

  “Disappointed? Pouting?” she finishes for me honestly, versus whatever other transparent excuses I was about to make. “Yeah, I would be, hella mad; but for you, not at you. Because that’s some bullshit, G. 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, sister. And dammit, we’re gonna have fun. All the fun!”

  All right then, guess I’m staying. And, from the sound of it, possibly marching in some sort of Women’s Movement parade later. I can only hope the march includes a radicalistic demonstration where we burn our bras, because again, I. AM. FREEZING… so any type of fire would be a nice bonus.

  “Miss Everett?” We both turn our heads at the sound of her name, a smiley usher standing beside us.

  “Yes?” Nik replies.

  “I was asked to give you this.” He hands her a small envelope. “Enjoy the rest of the game, ladies.”

  “What is it?” This earns me a sarcastic, ‘really’ look from Nikki, followed up immediately by…

  “Well, I seem to have misplaced my see-through-paper-powers, so maybe I should open it, and we can find out together!” Love her, but she is the biggest smartass ever born. “I probably won a “lucky seat” drawing or something. Please, please, let it be a, meet the players, pass,” she chants as she rips it open. Once she has, I try my best to read over her shoulder, but, like the impossible brat she can’t help but be, she shifts away so I can’t see the note.

  “What’s it say?” I finally shriek, out of patience after waiting way too long for her to finish reading the damn thing. She knows how to read, dammit; she’s torturing me on purpose. I make a grab for the paper, but she dodges just as quick, then whirls around to hit me with the glare of a serial killer… who luckily, has a soft spot for me.

  “It says, ‘you really are a bitch.’ Seriously, Gracie, how do you even sit down with a giant, golden horseshoe up your ass?” she bites, but not hard, shoving the letter at me.

  I do a quick scan of the letter, now wondering what’s got her so grouchy more so than what it actually says, but then… holy shit… it registers, and I read it again, slowly, savoring each and every word.

  It’s a handwritten note, meant for me. Written to me. By his own hand.

  Nicole,

  I’d apologize for this perhaps being too forward, but that’s the
direction I know best — 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. Can’t stop thinking about. You managed to escape me once, but it won’t happen again. 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 near hard enough. I mean, all he did was track down her name, and apparently her address, where he’s stated, you know, versus asking, that he’s going to pick her/me up. Not if I accept, not an invitation… basically, just a courtesy copy of his agenda.

  I can see how some might consider it a bit forward.

  And I should probably be freaking out right about now, maybe even looking into a “safe place” to hide out at, or how to file a restraining order and/or pre-active missing person’s report, yet I’m far from doing any of those. Oh, my heart’s threatening to bust out of my chest, whole body’s trembling, and large beads of sweat, while sitting in an ice hockey arena, are trickling down the back of my neck, but none of it’s from fear… all of it from exhilarated anticipation.

  “Okay, now we can leave,” Nikki squeals, telling me, with her bouncing and huge smile, that she’s finally recovered from her case of the grumps. “We’re going to have to work hard and fast to get you Brewer-fucking-Hayes-is-coming-to-pick-me-up ready, because I know your cat-lady-ass hasn’t been keeping up on maintenance. Just out of curiosity, and to best strategize my plan of attack, tell me, which is longer, the hair on your legs or your chach? Oh, and don’t worry, I have a sexy bra and thong set you can have, since I also know you didn’t pack any of that or own any.” She stops blasting my business, to everyone around us, long enough to take in some air, stand, and yank on my arm. “Somebody superglue your ass to that seat? Get up, we’ve gotta go! You don’t want him thinking he’s fucking a hippie grandma, do you?”

  “For God’s sake, Nikki, could you maybe not speculate as to the length of my pubes loud enough for the whole arena to hear?” I hiss, yanking her arm, harder, forcing her to sit back down. “Just, just say nothing else, calm down, and wait here for a sec, okay? Can you do that? I need to run to the bathroom.”

  “What? No! You can piss when we get home.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

  “Can’t hold it, sorry,” I call over my shoulder, already out of my seat and on my way — away from her. “I’ll be right back.”

  I’m in much better spirits tonight than I was after our last win at home — and this time we’re on break for three days —that I’m hoping like hell to spend with her. All of it; seventy-two hours, not a second of it wasted. I can’t make sense of it, but I learned a long time ago to trust my gut, and my gut and I both have a real good feeling about this woman, a rush like never before, things seeming to fall into place by themselves.

  Such as…

  “I don’t give a shit if you’re in the mood or not, we’re taking our asses out to celebrate tonight. Probably tomorrow night too. And your ass is gonna smile the whole goddamn time.” Lance is feeling salty, playing right into my hand.

  “Okay,” I pour it on thick, “I suppose I do owe you one.”

  “Damn right you do!”

  “I’m not arguing, Dipshit. Let’s go if we’re going; I’ll drive.”

  He follows me out to my truck, mouth moving a mile-a-minute, rattling off suggestions of what clubs we should hit. I don’t bother to set him straight, inserting a hum of fake interest every so often as I drive, as fast as the law allows, to our already-determined destination. It’s not until I park the truck that he finally clues in… that he was too busy naming off places to notice… I didn’t head toward a single place he named.

  “What’re we doing here? And where the hell is here?” he asks.

  “Only one way to find out; come on.” I open my door, grinning to myself. “You can thank me later.”

  He keeps grilling me as we walk to the door, and while we wait after I knock; but I give him nothing, getting a kick out of watching him fuss like a teenage girl. Lance is mid-another question when a very pretty woman with long, jet-black hair opens the door. I have to fight to hold in a laugh as she glances from me to Lance, her jaw dropping and eyes bulging as she does it one more time, as if making sure she’s not hallucinating.

  “Hi, you must be Nicole,” I help her out, smiling and extending my hand.

  She manages to pull her eyes off Lance long enough to meet mine. “I-, wh-, yes,” she pauses to gather herself, “I’m Nicole. Nikki. Both. Uh, I mean, call me Nikki, but yes, I’m Nicole too.”

  Make that, tries to gather herself.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Nikki; I’m Brewer Hayes,” I shake her trembling hand. “Sorry about the mix-up before; I just assumed they were her seats. Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but Lance here tagged along,” I chuckle, positive she doesn’t mind one damn bit. “Lance, this is Nikki Everett. She’s a die-hard Freeze fan, season ticket holder, and, rumor has it, is under the delusion that you’re quite the player. Nikki, Lance Fox, worst player on the team, best at being a pain in my ass.”

  “Well hellooo, darlin’ Nikki. Very nice to meet you,” Lance schmoozes, taking her hand and lifting it to his mouth to kiss it like some sort of a gentleman, the insinuation in his voice just having told her he’s anything but; if she was listening to that part.

  I’m about to apologize for him, but stop short when I realize… no, she wasn’t listening… his bullshit actually worked. She blushes from neck to forehead and giggles, all while moving closer to him. I shake my head and smother a scoff — they’re gonna get along just fine.

  “Is-”

  Nikki somehow hears me, amidst her Lance Fox Fog, cutting me off by holding up a single, stiff finger, and motions for us to come inside as she sweetly smiles. Then, she further proves, beyond a shadow of any doubt, that she’s a little pistol, and absolutely perfect for Lance — calmly closing the door before turning her head and screeching, “Gracelyn Amanda Bolton, get your ass out here!”

  Gracelyn. Beautiful. Just like her. But she’d signed her note as ‘Gracie;’ I can’t wait to ask her myself which she prefers.

  And then I see her… poking her sweet, stunning face around a doorway down the hall, her eyes finding mine. ‘Hey,’ I mouth, my grin too wide to look anything but foolish, I’m sure.

  ‘Hey yourself,’ she silently replies, her smile one of delicate charm. Reminding me — hands-down the most random, and yes, cheesy as fuck thought I’ve ever had — of the vintage bombshells in the old, black-and-white movies my parents used to watch. Classic women, authentic beauties, no color or special effects needed to hide, or enhance, anything about them.

  I ask her to come out, with a crook of my finger, and drink it in — 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.

  Damn, I could watch her do that over and over and never grow tired of the sight.

  All too soon, and much like the annoying shrill of an alarm clock interrupting a great dream, my reverence is shattered when Nikki launches in again… “Well, well, look who finally decided to join us, Little Miss Full of Surprises! Look, G; Lance Fox, of all people, standing in my living room; can you believe it? Shocking, right?” Nikki tilts her head and taps a finger to her chin. “So why is it that you don’t look the least bit shocked? And, how nice would it have been if I’d have known, so I could’ve gotten ready too?”

  I’ve only known this woman a minute, so I can’t tell if she’s kidding or genuinely furious, and I’m not willing to risk the night being ruined, so I step up, praying it works, or it’s the former. “Um, Nikki, I hate to interrupt, or butt-in to your business, but… I need to interrupt and butt-in your business.” Her head snaps my way, her eyes deadly slits and lips pursed, so I turn my smile and charm up several notches. “I have no idea what ‘ready’ me
ans in woman-speak, but, Nikki, I can’t imagine you looking any more gorgeous than you already do. And please, blame me, not Gracelyn. Lance and I always go out together to celebrate a win, and since no one else can stand to hang out with his ass, I took a chance and brought him along. My idea, my fault.”

  “Could you be more full of shit?” Nikki calls me right the fuck out, no hesitation whatsoever. “He is full of shit, isn’t he, G?” 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 new hunger. “Just say thank you, Nicole Elaina Everett, then zip it. Oh yeahhh, sister, I know your full name too!”

  “Okay, I definitely missed something. What was it?” Lance asks anyone, everyone and I bust up laughing; can’t be helped. “Also, 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,” my fascination snickers, “I’m Gracie Bolton.” She steps forward and offers her sweet little hand which he wisely only shakes, well aware I’ll rip his lips clean off his fucking face if they go anywhere near her hand. “You’ve obviously met my best friend, Nikki, your biggest fan. This is her place, her season tickets, and she’s thrilled you’re here, I can assure you. Please just ignore her bitchy, over-the-top reaction; she’s never been good at getting surprises. Loves to dish them out though. Anyway,” she shifts into serious-mode, hoisting her shoulders, chin and voice, then moves so she’s standing in good view of us all and holds up her phone, “I’m letting you know now, I just called and texted my mother all pertinent information on both of you. And it’s only fair to also to inform you, my mom is that lady; the nosy neighbor type peering through her curtains, keeping a notebook of the comings and goings of cars in the neighborhood, with license plate numbers of course, just chomping at the bit to catch any suspicious activity that she feels is her duty to immediately report to the police.”