Page 11 of Full Body Check

Brewer Hayes, the man, the person. Not the captain of an NHL team; she looked miserably cold and clueless at both games. Not in public, where everyone can see her on my arm; she ran from me, out of the public and into hiding, twice. And not after, or because, I spent piles of cash on her; hell, I didn’t even buy her dinner; she declined.

My previous flash of skepticism is gone — Gracelyn Bolton is the real deal, her motives null, her intentions clear — all she wants is me. In the privacy of my home… that really doesn’t impress her.

She bobs her head wildly, making sure her very enthusiastic ‘yes,’ is clear, too out-of-breath for a verbal response. My grin stretches wide as I walk us to the door; for the obvious, obviously, but not solely — it feels damn good to be wanted at face value. Shifting her in my arms, I dig my keys out of my pocket, and she stops running her tongue along my neck long enough to razz me some more. “What’s this, no butler to let us in? What about Alexa? Surely she’s streaming through your whole h-, mansion; just yell at her to unlock the door.”

“Only woman in this house is you,” I growl, swatting her ass.

No sooner than I get us inside, by using a key, all by myself, she wriggles to be put down. And the high I was on starts to fade faster than it’d risen. Here we go… now she’ll want to see everything… be given the “grand tour,” gasping and fawning her way through the house that no longer disappoints her.

With a hefty sigh of my own disappointment, I can’t remember the last time I wanted something as badly as I wanted Gracelyn to be special, I toss my keys on the counter and take her by the hand. Guess I’ll start by showing her the backyard; the main reason I bought this place. Back there waits a giant pool, complete with a rock waterfall, hidden coves, and a hot tub. Throw in the kickass landscaping, hammock, cabana gazebo thing, and an amazing view that always helps me escape, any time I actually have time to come back here, and… okay, so maybe I won’t hold it against her if she ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ over the backyard. Other than on the ice, it’s my favorite place to be, so it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to fault her for being struck by it too.

But again, and realizing such keeps getting better and better every time, my pessimism’s nothing but another bout of wasted time, and the hunch I’ve had since first laying eyes on her proves its validity once more. We haven’t moved. Her hand in mine, she’s not tugging on it, in a hurry to inventory my possessions. In fact, I’m now positive, she wouldn’t notice, or care, if every wall in here was painted neon green and there were flashing disco balls dangling from the ceiling. Because she’s not looking at my house. No, those same big brown eyes that shared my attention in a crowd of hundreds are trained solely on me.

It’s settled, staying settled, and kick-fucking-ass — I’m right about her.

Gracelyn Bolton is indeed something, someone, special. More than worth spending the time to explore and get to know… inside and out.

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