Page 11 of Gross Misconduct

I stay focused on his gorgeous features and try to ignore the other feelings brewing inside me. Just because we connected over hockey…just because I told him stuff that I never talk about…just because my palms are sweaty and my heart is racing, and I’m wondering what those lips will taste like…none of it means anything.

“You guys have such a nice downtown. I grew up a few towns over. All we had was a Walmart.” Jack keeps walking, allowing me to check out his ass.

The cute downtown of Sourwood has lots of nooks and crannies. Despite the town attracting affluent citizens, the main streets maintain a quaint charm, especially with their view of the Hudson River. I appreciate that it hasn’t changed too much since I was a kid. People describe it as a small town feel that’s only a train ride away from Manhattan.

We stop at a two-story building at the edge of the road, right before Maple Street turns into a neighborhood of houses. A “For Rent” sign hangs in the empty storefront window.

“Here we are,” Jack says. Not what I was expecting at the end of our stroll.

“We’re going inside?” I peer in the window. “Isn’t that trespassing?”

“I own this building.”

I try to play it cool. Real estate so close to downtown can’t come cheap. How much money did he make in the NHL to buy random buildings?

“Yeah, I was looking for new asset classes to invest in. That’s something my teammates and I were always discussing. You can’t go wrong with real estate.”

The only “asset class” I have is the small house I could barely afford after the divorce, a house that’d make Jack run the other way if he ever saw it.

“I’m thinking about getting a private plane, too,” Jack says. “It’s worth it to avoid flying commercial.”

“I may wind up working for you then. I’m a mechanic at Jenson Regional Airport.” I laugh at the irony, only to mask the twinge of embarrassment I feel. I’ve never been ashamed of my job, but I’ve also never personally known someone who owned one of the private planes I serviced.

“Small world,” Jack says. “If I do buy a plane, I’ll consider storing it at Jenson. You seem like a guy who’s good with his hands.” Jack flashes me another smile, and I damn near go googly-eyed.

“I mostly learned on the job. I needed something to do after high school when hockey didn’t pan out.”

“Learning how to fix a plane or a car is much more valuable than shooting a puck,” Jack says. Shooting a puck has gotten him multiple asset classes, so I don’t know how true that is.

I walk up to the front door and pull. It’s locked.

“We’re not going in the front door.” Jack signals for me to follow around the building to the fire escape. He puts his hand on my lower back to guide me, sending a jolt of heat up my spine.

“You first,” he says. “I’ll make sure you don’t bust a hip and fall.”

“I’m not that old.”

“I was thinking of old hockey injuries flaring up. Don’t worry. I’m not going to check out your ass as you go up.” He seesaws his head. “Well, no more than twice.”

This guy has zero flirting shame. It makes my head fuzzy with dirty ideas.

“It’s okay. I checked out your ass while walking here,” I say back. Jack’s smile goes extra wide on that one.

The rusted metal of the fire escape chafes my hands, but a rush of excitement makes me push through. As does the knowledge that Jack is likely checking me out.

“I can’t believe I’m climbing a fucking fire escape.”

“Life is full of surprises. Embrace it,” he says.

I haul myself over the edge of the roof. When I stand up, I go speechless.

Moonlight reflects in the ripples of the Hudson River framed by a row of mountains on the other side. A flush of trees canvases the mountain, and bright stars salt the clear, black sky. It’s so peaceful and captivating that I forget I’m in civilization at all. This town I’ve lived in forever can still find ways to surprise me. It’s a reminder that we are but a tiny cog in the great machine of nature.

“Worth the climb?” Jack asks, returning his hand to my lower back.

I give him the barest nod yes, as I continue to drink it all in. The older we get, the fewer moments we give ourselves to stop and enjoy ones like these.

Jack watches me. Gone is the cocky flirt for a second, a softer grin lighting his face.

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