Page 9 of Top Shelf
“Shitty, I know. I’m not, like, the best at amigurumi. The stitches they require are small, and the size hooks I have to use are tiny, and my fingers are so clumsy. Um…so they always come out ugly and weird, and?—”
“I love it.”
The words came out a little more fiercely than I’d intended, but the fact that he was shitting over this thing he made waspissing me off. Who was making him feel like his little creations were ugly and weird? I just wanted to have a chat with them. Outside. With my fists.
He blinked up at me, and then his cheeks darkened, and he laughed, glancing away. “You don’t have to say that. I know they’re?—”
Catching his chin, I turned his face back toward me. He didn’t meet my eyes, but he hadn’t really been doing that much since he’d gotten in my car. His gaze fixed on my lips, and I felt self-conscious all of a sudden. I had a couple of nasty scars, and one particular hit about fifteen years ago had healed wrong, and now my jaw was crooked.
But he didn’t grimace. He didn’t flinch. He just…smiled. As though my face was nice to look at.
“I’m not just saying that,” I finally got out, dropping my hand when I realized I was touching him. Shit, what was wrong with me? “I love it. I mean, I don’t know what an Axl-ladle is, but?—”
He burst into laughter. His smile lit up his whole face, and he half doubled over like I was trying to be funny. “It’s a salamander,” he said between giggles. “Axolotl,” he repeated slowly, then looked up at me. “Do you know what a salamander is?”
“Not all D-men are brainless dipshits who never graduated?—”
“What?” he interrupted quickly. “No, I—oh my god, that’s not what I meant, I swear.” He twisted his fingers together, and I took pity on him, throwing an arm around his shoulder.
“Relax. Breathe. I’m teasing you.”
“Oh.” I felt him force his body to unclench, and I tried not to laugh at how literal he took everything I said.
“Let’s go eat. Then you can help me find a place for Axl Rose.”
“Um?”
“Christ, you are young,” I muttered. “He’s the lead singer of?—”
“No. I get it. Axl Rose, Guns N’ Roses. It’s a pun on what you called the…” He gestured at the crocheted creature in my hands. “Not all goalies are brainless either.”
I had no idea what to make of him. I just knew that I wanted to keep him here in my presence for as long as possible. No matter what a terrible idea it was.
Chapter Three
Quinn
“…soinstead of thinking about my problems, I just started crocheting every time I was anxious,” Ferris was saying between huge bites of his burrito.
The guy ate like he’d been living on some Mars colony with only freeze-dried food for the last ten years. At one point, I was terrified he was going to choke, but he seemed to have his chewing-swallowing-speaking down to an art form.
I wondered if it was a college thing. I hadn’t gone until I was nearly thirty, so I was well past the broke-ass student, bottomless pit of a stomach phase of my life. Still, I couldn’t take the stress of potentially needing to save his life if he breathed and swallowed wrong.
“Do me a favor,” I told him. He looked up with raised brows. “Take smaller bites and chew them thoroughly. I don’t remember how to give the Heimlich, and the last thing I need my name in headlines for is a dead NHL player on my hotel room couch.”
His face bloomed bright pink, and his shame was so obvious that I immediately hated myself. He swallowed the bite in his mouth, unable to look at me. “Sorry.”
“No. No, I’m…Christ.” I rubbed an angry hand over my face. “I’m being a judgmental dick. Please ignore me.”
“You invited me over. I can’t ignore you,” he responded, his tone entirely serious.
“I meant my attitude.”
“Oh.” His gaze fixed down on the foil-wrapped burrito sitting in the little dip between his thighs. “I’m not an NHL player yet.”
I frowned. “What?”
“You said dead NHL player. But no one would care yet. I haven’t played one single game with the Bruins yet.”
