Page 19 of Full Body Check

Never mind. I thought I knew why one-night stands had always perplexed me, seemed like a bad idea, perhaps even impossible, but now, laying here, still catching my breath, mere minutes post-sex with Brewer… now I truly understand.

I was not cut out for random, blink-of-an-eye trysts, and if I ever stood a chance of conforming, I picked the wrong guy for the trials.

If only a one-night stand, Brewer’s “sweet talk” should be scripted, designed for the sole purpose of getting in my panties, right? Then why did Brewer Hayes mean every single word he said to me?

Ifonly a hook-up, he shouldn’t consider, or care about, my thoughts, feelings, and multiple satisfaction, correct? So, again, why was Brewer honed in on everything from my slightest hesitations to how slow or fast I blinked?

And most of all, the burning question — why, if this was just supposed to be a one-and-done, physical indulgence — did Brewer look at me, look into me, through me, rather than just eye me up and down with scandalous intention… simply surveying the goods?”

I’m not imagining all the… more. I don’t know how I know, without so much as a hint of doubt, but I do. I’m positive. There. Was. More.

And damn me and my fanciful mind, romantic spirit, and mushy heart, all in for a long blue spell I fear, but… it was all reciprocated. Whatever he was feeling, why he veered from the plan… I was right there with him.

“You hungry?” he murmurs, rolling over to wrap his arms around me and nuzzle his face in my neck. Still right there with him.

“No,” I snicker, too light a sound for my heavy thoughts. “Told you before, I’m never gonna be hungry every few hours, big boy, but you must be starving by now.”

“I could eat, but I’ll wait ‘til you’re hungry, no biggie. Are you thirsty?”

I decide to hand him a plausible “out,” saving us both any more awkward limbo. “Yeah, something to drink sounds good, thanks. And while you’re getting that, make yourself something to eat, for God’s sake,” I force another laugh, “that’ll give me time to, um, gather myself, and my stuff. I can call an Uber, no sense in you getting back out this late.”

He bites at my neck, cinches his arms tighter around me, and growls, with a calm force, that erases the “out” I thought it was time for and has me wondering, maybe wishing, all over again. “You turned the fucking page, I see. Well, Miss Bolton, you better turn it right the fuck back, right the fuck now.”

I guess I suck at this even worse than I thought, beyond confused now. I have absolutely no idea I guess on where it is we “stand,” and I’m far from fool enough to assume any further, so I play along, for the much-needed sake of clarification. “What?”

His turn to laugh, he climbs on top of me and pins my arms above my head. “You know exactly what, Gracelyn. Same. Page. Get back on it with me.”

“Brewer,” I roll my eyes, away from his, “you can’t just keep me. That was, that was just testosterone talk, and insane. I’m not Rapunzel, and this isn’t a fairy tale. Besides, why prolong the inevitable?”

“And what is that? The inevitable? I don’t give a shit what Rapunzel is.”

“Well, you most certainly should!Rapunzel is a wonderful story, with an invaluable lesson; The Gift of the Magi in children’s form, to catch their attention. In fact-”

“Gracelyn?” He grins, the most beautiful of devils.

“What, rude?” It is — interrupting.

“Quit changing the subject; especially so damn far off subject.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You can tear off on a tangent like no other, woman. And don’t get me wrong, it’s cute as hell; I could listen all day, but not right now. Right now, we need to talk about our story, and get it straight.”

How badly I want to sigh, ‘whatever you say, Brewer,’ in whimsy, lashes fluttering, and bend to his will — over anything he wants — but I’m scared. Terrified. Because I wasn’texpecting more. Wasn’t prepared for us to have a story. He blindsided me, changed the rules in the middle of the game, and now… now I truly fear the fallout, and the lonely ache of memory I know will come along with it.

He’ll go back to the flashing lights, loud music, and even louder cheers of being a hockey star — a different woman every game, every city — and I’ll go back to an empty life and empty apartment. I’m gonna need to get a new cat.

But I knew what I was getting into… actually, no, no I did not! He threw in a bunch of extra! Extraordinary.

“Hey, no frowning.” His lips brush mine. “Talk it out, babe, out loud, where I can hear you. And help.”

“You sure?” I cock a brow, the only warning he’s gonna get.

“Absolutely; why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know… because no man ever really wants to hear the inner, finite workings of a woman’s mind? And, because, well… I’m a little pissed off at you, Brewer Hayes!” There, two warnings, I’m cleared of any guilt.

“Why?” He laughs another kiss to my lips. “What’d I do?”

“Let me sit up first and I’d be happy to tell you.”

“If you must.” He pouts, playfully rolling off and to the side of me. “You’re fucking adorable when you’re pissy, but I’m not so sure I’m gonna like what you have to say if I can’t naked-plank ya while you say it.”

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