Page 11 of Powder
“I would like that a lot,” he replied. The wharf wasn’t built for dancing, the tables were close, but without a further thought of how I’d probably step on his toes or fall off the wooden dock into the water, I took his hand and stood.
My ass bumped the edge of the table as he melted into my arms. I cupped his sandy cheeks, bringing his lips flavored by the Hudut–Garifuna fish cooked in coconut broth and served with plantains, which he’d had for his evening meal. His tongue held the sweet and spicy taste as I licked into his mouth with a soft, slow intention. I was feeling things. Things leading me to know that this supposedly casual affair with Tian was different. Deep. Not just a sex fling, no matter what rational-Jack demanded, emotional-Jack called it. He was always responsive, and this kiss was no different, but the mad chaotic heat was lessened. Perhaps because we were surrounded by people trying to eat their dinners. Maybe the lust that seemed to have been driving us over the past few days was abated for the time being. We’d been going at it like oversexed rabbits since our chance meeting at my hotel room door.
Whatever the reason, swaying back and forth, his lips on mine, this moment was one of those lasting memories. The one thing that when you hear a song or smell an aroma, or taste a food, it brings you right back to that place in time.
“You want to know something funny?” I asked when the kiss broke, and his head came to rest on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” he replied groggily, kiss-drunk, belly full, he was pliable as a warm wax. He smelled of sun, sand, and man.
“I can’t dance,” I admitted as he moved in perfect syncopation with my less than graceful moves. Sways was the correct terminology. He swayed in time with me.
“No one is good at everything,” he whispered as he nosed at my exposed clavicle then dropped a kiss to the protruding bone. “I think you’re doing just fine. You want to know something?”
“Yeah,” I answered, my hands on his hips, the sun dropping out of sight as workers began lighting tiki torches around us. No one told us to stop dancing in the aisle, so we kept rocking gently back and forth.
“I never liked Harry Styles until now.” He chuckled. “Whenever I hear this song, I’ll think of this day.”
“Yeah, me too,” I replied. I’d remember a lot more of this getaway than just this one day. I’d recall it all and bask in each recollection as a cat lounges in a sunbeam. And yes, I was sure I would purr while doing so…
SIX
Tian
Back at the hotel,Jack and I headed straight for our room. The lobby was buzzing with late-night chatter, but we barely noticed as we were too wrapped up in each other. In the elevator we pressed close, kissing long and lazily as the numbers ticked upward, everydingof the floor making my pulse race. By the time we reached our level, his hand was already warm at the small of my back, guiding me down the hallway. At the door, we paused for another kiss, deeper, lingering, before stumbling inside where the world narrowed down to just us.
And when we made love, it was slow and sweet.
But when it was done, despite the high of the day still buzzing in my veins, the air shifted. When he came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, as I was getting water from the refrigerator, he was quiet, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“You okay?” I asked, tugging my shirt over my head.
“Yeah, it’s been the most perfect day,” he said, glancing up at me as though he needed me to confirm it.
“Agreed,” I said, dropping down beside him. “Perfect.”
He lay back on the bed and stretched his limbs like a starfish.
I trailed my fingers along his thigh and paused when I noticed a pale scar cutting across his knee. “How’d you get this?” I asked softly.
Jack sighed, his hand coming down to brush over the mark, fingers lingering as if he could still feel the impact. His shoulders hunched a little, the easy strength in his body giving way to something guarded. I felt the heat of the scar under my fingertips, the raised line against his skin, and in that small touch I saw evidence of all the battles he’d fought to keep playing. He looked away as he spoke, eyes distant, as if he were back on the ice reliving it, like it still ached. “Training camp, years ago. Took a hit in practice, tore it up bad. Surgery, months of rehab. Thought it might be the end back then.” He glanced at me, eyes shadowed. “But it wasn’t.” He huffed out a laugh without humor. “I fought my way back. Still fighting, every day.”
Something about his tone made me pause. He sounded almost regretful, as if the memory still weighed on him even though he’d fought his way back. For a second, I wondered if the scars on his body were etched into him in other ways too. I held my tongue, sensing he was working up to something and not wanting to interrupt.
“Sometimes I’m just tired.”
“You work hard,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, but not just that. I forget I have enough money to retire on if I wanted, but sometimes…”
“What?” I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Some days… it feels like I’ve been ‘Captain O’Leary’ forever. Like that’s all I am. The captain. The guy who never breaks.” His shoulders sagged. “And I’m not twenty anymore. Hell, some mornings my knees remind me I’m closer to the end than the start.”
I leaned down and kissed his hair, trying to lighten what he was saying. “You still skate circles around half the league.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered.
I brushed it off then, but later those words stuck, burrowing under my skin. I was just coming into my highs—the medals, the chance to maybe make Team USA for the Olympics, the adulation, the new money from sponsors—while he was already talking like his life in sport was winding down. It underlined how different our journeys were, me just climbing the mountain while he was looking down from the other side, wondering how much longer he could keep going.
