Page 29 of Spiral
“I really like you,” fell out of my mouth.
His hot gaze grew warmer as his fingers, still in my hair, tugged me back down for a kiss that nearly set the couch cushions on fire. “We all have flaws, nicks, and chips, love. I’m just happy to be the gold dust being sprinkled over your healing heart.”
He was way more than mere dust. He was a huge vein of precious metal, rich and shiny, filling my life with golden warmth.
The shouts of a happy team filing into the showers pulled me from the memories. Smiling at nothing in particular, I hustled around, eager to scour the sweat and stink of sixty minutes of hockey off my skin. Jamie and I were going to a local jazz club where some of his associates were having drinks. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. Jamie was introducing me to his brainiac friends. The niggling voice of self-doubt from the little boy who was teased unmercifully by the other kids for being slow for not being able to read always poked its head up when I was faced with this kind of situation. I swear Leon used to drag me to every damn big brain club gathering he could to ensure my ego stayed trodden down.
Tension radiated off me on the drive to pick up Jamie. I pushed it aside—no sense in filling his ear with my worries—and kissed him hello when he crawled into the front of my SUV looking as spiffy as ever.
“Do you ever not look like someone who waits on the king?” I asked as he buckled up.
“Better a footman than a barrister. Those powdered wigs are itchy,” he replied with a smile that made me forget my name. “You look rather fetching. Congratulations on that game-winning goal! The girls and I were hooting like silly owls. Oliver has dropped hints that I need to keep kissing you so that you keep scoring goals.”
“I like the sound of that,” I replied earnestly.
“Then we’ll have to ensure we keep kissing regularly for good goal health.”
That made me laugh nervously.
“Are you sure everything is okay? You’re sending off some weird vibes,” Jamie asked.
I waved his worry off. There were a hundred jazz clubs peppered throughout LA and the surrounding counties. Leon was probably at one of the ritzier ones nestled tightly in Pacific Palisades or Bel Air where he lived. I was acting like a victim again. That had to stop.
By the time we arrived at Plum Pit Jazz Emporium on South LaBrea Avenue, it was well past midnight. I was starved, as I always was after a game, and was praying this club had food. Thankfully, it had a full menu as well as a funky little quartet sitting on a stage backlit with plum-colored lights. The Plum Pit was two stories with a spiral staircase leading to the second floor. Servers in dark purple shirts hustled about delivering cocktails and platters of bar food. My stomach growled.
If it had been just us I would have tried to get Jamie upstairs for more privacy as people sort of knew my face. I wasn’t LA-famous, but hockey folks knew me on the street. I loved the fans, I did, but when I was out I tended to be a little on the standoffish side now and again. Sometimes a person simply wants to be a person, unknown, left alone to enjoy his food or the music, or whatever was going on. I know it’s all part of the pro-athletething. Play in a big market town, and you belong to the fans, or so many Storm backers felt.
Thankfully, the incredibly pushy fans were outnumbered a hundred to one by people who respected your privacy. Kids didn’t count, obviously. Kids were always welcome no matter what I was doing.
Jamie found his people right off, a table of eight tucked behind an ivy-covered trellis in the corner, and he led me to them with his fingers meshed firmly with mine. Okay, this was a nice set-up. We were hidden from the front door and all those eyes. The stage was to our right, the bar and kitchen close at hand.
I smiled and nodded at the people waving at us, pleased as punch to be introduced to this group of scientists and math folks as his new boyfriend. It may have been a slip as we’d never discussed using the B-word for each other, but if it was a slip, then it was a slip I was fully behind. The names flew at me, and I tried to match the name with the face. Four men and three women, all seemingly polite and kind. We sat, ordered drinks, and asked for a menu for me. Then I lost the flow of conversation as Percy-with-the-freckles, a math professor of some sort, began talking about the general anti-science mentality overtaking the country, which led to everyone tossing things into the verbal hat. I had no clue. Socratic discussions about varying theorems and how to incorporate them into the college classroom left me sitting and sipping my ginger ale with a slice of lemon.
Jamie seemed to be enjoying himself. It must be hard to be such a learned man spending your days with two kids, a grumbly cop, and two hockey players. Not that we weren’t smart, I mean Jackson, Oli, and I all had degrees. Granted they weren’t in advanced mathematics or quantum math, but they were still degrees. Seeing Jamie getting so into the discussions, I settledback into my chair to enjoy the music. The beat was up-tempo. Brass horns filled the air.
I ordered a burger and fries from a passing server, then sat back to nurse my soda.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie whispered in my ear a few minutes later when the band was taking a small break. “I’ve not tried to include you in any of the conversations.”
“It’s fine. I took you to Charlie’s house last weekend, where we did nothing but sit on the floor, eat junk food, and playNHL ‘24for five hours. It’s equalizing itself out.”
He grinned, kissed me on the lips, and then moved his chair a bit closer. “Well, I’m going to steer us into something less maths-oriented as soon as Rachel wraps up her bitch fest about teaching quantum mathematics to young adults who struggled with linear algebra yet somehow passed into college.”
“That was me. The kid struggling with algebra.”
“Jamie, are you dating a man who can’t whisper enumerative algebraic combinatorics as pillow talk?” Freckled Percy asked, then sniggered into his Cosmopolitan.
Jamie ruffled like an angry rooster. I gave his thigh a pat under the table.
“I’m a hockey player, not a math professor, but so far, my pillow talk seems to be pleasing my man,” I replied just as my burger and fries arrived.
“I just love it when you ask me to handle your big stick,” Jamie purred.
Everyone at the table, aside from whom I suspected rather liked Jamie, roared. I pecked my boyfriend’s scruffy cheek, then dove into my food. Things at the table quieted down after Percy left. He suddenly recalled he had papers to grade, and I was slowly brought into a lively discussion about the charity work the team and I were involved in.
The band returned as I ate my last seasoned French fry. I made a mental note to come here again—the food was so good. The music was nice too, not my general vibe but catchy.
“I’m going to go wash my hands,” I told the table as I rose.
