Page 13 of Icing the Cougar
“I’m not. She is.”
Alfie nods, like it’s all coming together. “And you’re willing to risk it all for her?”
“Wouldn’t say it like that,” I tell him. “Just don’t like seeing scum get away with things. Didn’t mean to drag you into it.” The last part is for all of them.
“Consider us dragged,” Riley says, shrugging it off. “Least now we know why you’ve been such a grump lately.”
We head back inside to dry off and warm up. I could use a drink, but it’s Alfie who orders the round this time. Like maybe he thinks I need the peace offering. “Don’t think we’ll see that prick here again,” he says. It’s meant to reassure me. It doesn’t.
“Wouldn’t mind another shot at him,” I say.
Chapter 8
Trinity
The back of my right thigh looks like Mars: bright, red, and the most conspicuous thing in the solar system. I can feel it there, daring me to cover it up, reminding me how it got there. Hickeys should have a statute of limitations, but Jasper has never been one to play by the rules. Still, it might be smart to break things off before I get in any deeper, before I’m addicted to his energy and don’t care who knows it. He’s young. Impulsive. Self-centered. I’m in the middle of this convincing lie when I get his text. The damn hickey is practically texting back for me.
Jasper: Are we still on for tonight?
Maybe it's my responsible side finally showing up, but I hesitate to answer. These last few yoga sessions have turnedinto something steamy and new and completely reckless. I’m a woman in my mid-thirties, getting involved with a hotshot hockey player who's probably just looking for a good time. Despite the fact that I'm letting him leave me marked like a teenager on prom night.
He could break my heart, that annoying sensible voice in my head pipes up. Or worse, he could bore me. Which I don’t think would be possible.
I sigh and stare at the screen.
Me: I don’t see why we should meet up tonight.
The three dots blink, and it’s like he’s standing here smirking at me. I glance at the thigh-shaped planet once more before throwing on some clothes and walking out the door.
His response comes a minute later.
Jasper: You will.
I take a deep breath. Okay. Date. One night.
However, I could epically crash and burn. One romantic minute with Jasper, and I’ll want a lifetime of this breathless feeling.
It'll never work.
Maybe I’m too old for this. Too yoga pants and mindfulness, too Netflix and herbal tea, too likely to read every sign that we should break up and, you know, break up.
Maybe I shouldn’t meet him at all.
Then I think of the way he left me panting on the mat last time, skin slick, sweat pooling between my breasts, legs shaking from what we’d done—and what we’d just done before that. A thrill runs through me. Then it digs into my stomach like indigestion.
Oh God. I’m doomed.
As if I needed more confirmation of my impending romantic disaster, I text him back.
Me: Yes, we’re still on.
I might as well sign my death certificate with a bright red heart.
He could get bored and break things off first, I reason. Or he could get traded to a team in Alaska, and I’d never have to see him or any of my own dumb choices again.
The choice feels both inevitable and out of my hands.
This is what happens when you spend too much time in a twisted yoga pose. All the blood rushes to your brain and you get delusional. You end up texting guys with tats and swagger.You start thinking, why not, instead of, let’s be reasonable adults here.
