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 split the ice right down the middle.
“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, small-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.
“Kind of, yeah.” His pouty grunt’s not only adorable, but dare I 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-”
“Gracie, I’m a hockey player. I’m always hungry,” he laughs. “I wasn’t even thinking about the time, sorry. Don’t worry, either; I’ll live.”
Anddd… we’re back to smothering, dead air—parked on the side of the road, late at night—both thinking the same thing, equally afraid to broach anywhere near the subject aloud. I steal a peek at him out of the corner of my eye, and he chooses that exact moment to turn his head toward me, a timid, endearing grin slowly curling his mouth.
“Gracie.”
“Brewer.”
“I need you to help me out here. I’m in unfamiliar territory, and I don’t have a clue where or how to get a map.”
God, he’s sexy. A real-life, steal-your-breath-and-wet-your-panties wonder—somehow able to mold his vulnerable and chivalrous request into a seductive, manly temptation.
A temptation I don’t want to resist, or waste any more time that I could be using to enjoy it, him, by feigning ladylike innocence. Life is too short for any of that nonsense, and I’d be a damn fool to pass up a shot at so much as a second of bliss with Brewer Hayes. Men like him aren’t exactly waiting around the corner.
So accordingly, shamelessly, I froth at the mouth like the bitch in heat I am—my safety-net excuse already tucked in my pocket— crazed by the cobwebs.
“You know the whole ‘I don’t usually do this sort of thing’ speech that some women give, even though they shouldn’t have to, since men never feel the need to justify themselves?” He smiles, bright and wide, eyes alight with mirth, and nods. “Okay, take that spiel, which sadly, is one hundred percent accurate in my case, then tack on…” I clear my throat, take a few deep breaths in, out, then let loose what will undoubtedly be, and remain, the most mortifying utterance of my entire life.
“Up until last week, I was a cat lady; full-fledged. I even inherited my grandma’s rocking chair and the afghan that’s still hanging over the back of it. The only reason I finally came to visit Nikki is because Tink, my cat, died. It really was her time to go; poor thing was so old, half-blind, ran into walls-” I stop mid-ramble and squeeze my eyes shut from a whole new batch of humiliation… having just made it even worse than already forecasted. But somehow, I forge on—too late to turn back now.
“In case I didn’t quite cover it and there’s any confusion, yes, my cat died.” I attempt to play it off with dry wit. “My parents moved to a swanky retirement community by the ocean a while back, and I’m an only child. So, other than my students—oh, I’m a third-grade teacher by the way—Tink was all I had in my everyday life. Being single is hard; dating just isn’t what it used to be, with all the technology and websites there are now. And, I live in a pretty small town, so I dated, and vetoed, any single, halfway decent guys a long time ago.”
I take another break in my babbling and pry my eyes open, determined to keep them open this time, to gauge his reaction. You know, on the off-chance he might like a turn to speak—for the first time in several minutes. It seems not, though. He simply stares, a certain glimmer in his eyes that might just fool a girl into believing he actually finds her nonsensical soliloquy interesting.
Finally, in the baritone of scandal, he prompts, “Go on.”
Huh. Either he’s a glutton, just as lonely as I am... or has a very skewed opinion on what’s interesting.
“Too late for this, I realize, but… long story short?” I sigh. “I haven’t had sex in three years. Three. I want to. With you, Brewer Hayes. Not because you’re a hockey star. I’ve been to two games in my life—both yours—so clearly not a deal maker for me. I want to have sex with you because… the wink, smirk, picking me out of the crowd, hunting me down, sending the definitely forward note” —we both lightly laugh—“all of it; turned me on. I felt pursued, exhilarated, more excited than I’ve been about anything in a very long time. And, it doesn’t hurt that you are, without a doubt, the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life. I want your big strong body on top of me, under me, overwhelming me. And I’m not gonna apologize or feel ashamed about it.”
There, I said it. Laid all my cards on the table—which honestly, felt pretty damn good. To at last, for once, cast aside any and all ridiculous rules, stigmas, double-standards or fears… and just go for it.
It’d probably feel even better if he’d respond, reassure me, laugh, cough, sneeze— at this point, I’d take anything—but he gives nothing.
Not a peep.
He shifts in his seat and starts the truck, then pulls away from the curb and onto the main street… all while continuing to give me nada. I’m guessing it’s because he’s too focused on beelining straight to Nikki’s to drop my jabbering, harlot ass back off where he found me.
And if that’s the case— so be it. I’m still proud of myself; for taking a chance, a bold, brave shot at what I want.
“I’m sorry your cat died.”
That’s what he says to shatter the silence.
My head snaps to the left in utter bafflement, and of its own spontaneous shock, full-body laughter bursts out of me.
“What? I am sorry. I can tell you really loved your cat and losing it broke your sweet little heart. That breaks my heart for you.” He reaches over and blindly finds my hand, giving it a squeeze.
I catch my breath enough to reply, “It did, yes, and thank you, but… I wasn’t expecting that to be the part to catch your attention. Thought maybe it’d be my blatant proposition that snagged it first.”
“Oh, it did, and that’ll be happening, repeatedly, as soon as we get to my house. But offering my condolences seemed like the least I could do, considering.”
“Considering what?”
He waits until we’re caught at a red light to look over at me, sporting a disarming grin, and answers. “Gracie, if I’m not into you enough to feel bad that you lost your little kitty buddy, then I’ve got no right to do to you all the things I’m about to.”
He winks… and drives.