Page 71 of Axe-identally Married
Cole
We’d come so close the other night. At the rink, of all places. We’d goofed around and she’d shared some of her secrets.
And when she looked up at me and closed her eyes, I wanted to kiss her so badly. But I stopped myself.
Before I did it again, I had to be sure.
I was in deep.
I couldn’t shake the memory of her lips on mine, the way it felt to hold her. I could barely keep my head on straight most days, and every moment with her was torture.
The way she smiled. How she’d correctly answer Jeopardy questions. The short shorts she wore when we worked out. Her body twisting and bending into yoga positions. The warmth of her at my side while she read and absently twirled her hair between her fingers.
We’d had a very adult, very mature discussion. She was right on every point, of course. A physical relationship would be a terrible idea.
And yet…
My ability to resist her was waning
“Lover boy is lost in space again,” Bernice quipped. Our group was small tonight, mostly the die-hards as the weather had been terrible. These ladies had been friends for decades and had lovingly adopted me into their group, but still enjoyed hazing the new guy.
“Look at those stitches,” Erica said. “He’s knitting the wrong direction.”
“And not maintaining proper tension,” her sister Steph added.
“Oh, there’s tension, all right.” Erica snorted. She’d been the first female foreman at the lumber mill and was tough as nails. And she loved to give me shit.
I looked up, finding every eye in the place on me.
We were gathered in the community room at the Lovewell Library, me, along with the usual suspects with tote bags of yarn at their feet and gossip on their tongues. Nothing got by this crowd. I usually sat and listened and moved furniture when asked.
But now they were all focused on me.
Debbie smiled. “Lay off him, girls. He’s in love.”
That woman was a saint, but some of the others could smell blood in the water.
Bernice harrumphed. “You’re ruining that hat.”
I tucked my chin and assessed my work. Oh yes, I was absolutely ruining it. Grumbling, I started to pull out the stitches I’d fucked up. I was making matching crimson hats for all the girls on my team, and I was more than halfway through. My fingers usually did the work while my mind wandered elsewhere. But not tonight. Because Willa was taking up every single neuron in my brain.
“You better not be screwing it up already,” Bernice drawled, taking a hit from the flask Erica was passing around. “You’re still in the honeymoon phase.”
Stopping my work, I glared at her. Although I was a fairly mellow guy, my glare usually shut people up. But not the knitting ladies of Lovewell.
“Flowers,” Steph said. “Steve always used to bring me flowers.”
“A date night. Somewhere nice. Go to Bangor,” Jodie added. She’d been my elementary school gym teacher and now single-handedly ran the town’s recreation department.
While they went on chattering and making assumptions about my marriage like I wasn’t even there, I focused on salvaging this hat. I listened this time, though. Because they weren’t wrong. There was tension. A lot of tension.
Although it wasn’t the kind they assumed it was, and it definitely wasn’t the kind I’d bring up to them.
It was the kind I worked out quietly in the shower after Willa left for work every day.
Because I couldn’t afford to take any more risks, especially when it came to the person who was quickly becoming my best friend.
But I couldn’t shake the affection that grew deeper every day. The awe overwhelmed me when I was in her proximity. And the attraction to her. Fuck. Most days, it was impossible.
