Page 8 of Full Body Check

I didn’t respond when he’d breathedthetruth, smug and warm, upon my lips, nor have either of us said much since. Now, as he drives, and I do my best not to fidget, a stale silence hangs, 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… perhaps worried he came on too strong, offended me, unsure if it’s safe to break the ice again yet.

He didn’t, come on too strong or offend me, and it is, more than to safe to bust through the ice, 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, as though anticipating the story behind the noise I didn’t realize I’d made.

“Umm…” I gnaw at my lip, struggling to come up with something, anything, other than honesty.

“Nuh uh.” He chuckles. “Out with it.”

“Fine.” I sigh, already cringing with embarrassment. “But you can’t laugh.”

“Why not? You did.”

“Touché. But laugh with me, not at me; deal?”

“Deal.”

I may have judged theawkward silence phase too quickly, suddenly missing it, but, here goes. “I was thinking, the ball’s in my court, about initiating a conversation…”

“And?”

I cover my eyes because that’ll help, “And then I changed it, to something else, that struck me as funny.”

“And that was?” His question holds a lilt of amusement, before I’ve even delivered the punch line. At this rate, he’ll probably piss himself and run us into a ditch by the time I’m finished. Or, run away, not attracted to dorks. “It can’t possibly be that bad. Just tell me.”

“Puck’s in my rink,” I mumble, eyes still covered. “Seemed fitting, best, yeah, also embarrassingly corny.”

I brace for ridicule, but when I’m met by complete silence, I talk myself in to sneaking a glance at his reaction, of non-reaction, and to see why the truck’s stopped moving. I’m too late, though; my hand is being lowered for me, my now-uncovered eyes meeting his as he rubs circles in my palm with his thumb.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, and not corny, at all. What is was? The cutest damn thing I’ve ever heard. You’re something, Gracie Bolton,” he murmurs, a wolfish note in his tone that hits me right between the thighs.

“Something?” I beg him to elaborate, in a shaky whisper.

“Yeah, something. Unique. Special. That I’d give an arm to get to know more of.” He gifts me with the same sly smirk he’d worn during our very first encounter, at his game; and if possible, it’s even more effective this time.

But, as tempted as I am to forego it all — modesty, manners, or anything even remotely resembling my usual self — already more than a little lost in his husky timbre, bottomless eyes, and suggestive aura that I hurl myself on top of him, I force a reroute to boring small talk. “I sure am glad that return note I scrawled out, while hiding from Nikki in the stadium bathroom, found its way to you tonight. I was a little worried it wouldn’t, and I’d have felt awful leaving Nik sitting at home alone. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have; kinda tacky seeing as how the only reason I’m even here is to visit her.”

“Visit?” he repeats, but adds loud urgency to his version.

“Yes?” Ah, it dawns on me as I finish. “I don’t live here, Brewer; I just came up to see Nikki for the week. Been way too long. And… when the seven days are up, back home I go.” I smile and hitch a shoulder, puzzled by the harsh bend in his brows. So, with my pointer finger out, I motion about his face and ask, “Um, what’s going on with your face there, grumpy?”

He doesn’t say anything, his expression further hardening, and an absurd thought flits through my mind, causing me to laugh... and ask another question.

“Okay, please don’t take this the wrong way; I swear, I do not think near this highly of myself, but… you’re not going to try and sell me a load of crap like, you’re all grouchy faced because you’re just devastated” — and I slap the back of one hand against my forehead, making sure he realizes I’m kidding around and in no way think it’s possible — “to learn that the woman you met a whole hour ago doesn’t live within your grasp,” I end on a snicker.

“Actually… yeah, that’s it exactly. Not real happy about it. Matter of fact, the more I think about it, the more it fucking sucks.” His pouty grunt’s not only adorable, but, dare I believe… genuine?

No, don’t be ridiculous, Gracie. He’s obviously just kidding around too, like me, while being very flattering.

“A week, huh? Counting back from that first night I saw you at the game?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“So, we’ve got, what… four days left?”

“Uh huh,” I mumble, despite my growing shock, because… I didn’t imagine it this time. There’s definitely an edge of disappointment in his voice. And he said ‘we,’ which means him and I by definition, immune to any silly misinterpretation on my part. But, I still haven’t the foggiest on how to respond, so I’m beyond relieved when he speaks… again.

“You hungry?”

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