Page 6 of Full Body Check

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, orenhance, 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, LittleMissFull 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’ means 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.”

“Oh my God, please tell them about the fruitcake,” Nikki urges, already laughing.

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