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Nowhere in the neighborhood of what I was expecting, a small snicker breaks away from me. “Um, not really. I don’t usually eat this late at night. But if you are-”
“Gracie, I’m a hockey player. I’m always hungry,” he laughs. “I wasn’t even thinking about the time, sorry. Don’t worry, either; I’ll live.”
Anddd… we’re back to smothering, dead air—parked on the side of the road, late at night—both thinking the same thing, equally afraid to broach anywhere near the subject aloud. I steal a peek at him out of the corner of my eye, and he chooses that exact moment to turn his head toward me, a timid, endearing grin slowly curling his mouth.
“Gracie.”
“Brewer.”
“I need you to help me out here. I’m in unfamiliar territory, and I don’t have a clue where or how to get a map.”
God, he’s sexy. A real-life, steal-your-breath-and-wet-your-panties wonder—somehow able to mold his vulnerable and chivalrous request into a seductive, manly temptation.
A temptation I don’t want to resist, or waste any more time that I could be using to enjoy it, him, by feigning ladylike innocence. Life is too short for any of that nonsense, and I’d be a damn fool to pass up a shot at so much as a second of bliss with Brewer Hayes. Men like him aren’t exactly waiting around the corner.
So accordingly, shamelessly, I froth at the mouth like the bitch in heat I am—my safety-net excuse already tucked in my pocket— crazed by the cobwebs.
“You know the whole ‘I don’t usually do this sort of thing’speech that some women give, even though they shouldn’t have to, since men never feel the need to justify themselves?” He smiles, bright and wide, eyes alight with mirth, and nods. “Okay, take that spiel, which sadly, is one hundred percent accurate in my case, then tack on…” I clear my throat, take a few deep breaths in, out, then let loose what will undoubtedly be, and remain, the most mortifying utterance of my entire life.
“Up until last week, I was a cat lady; full-fledged. I even inherited my grandma’s rocking chair and the afghan that’s still hanging over the back of it. The only reason I finally came to visit Nikki is because Tink, my cat, died. It really was her time to go; poor thing was so old, half-blind, ran into walls-” I stop mid-ramble and squeeze my eyes shut from a whole new batch of humiliation… having just made it even worse than already forecasted. But somehow, I forge on—too late to turn back now.
“In case I didn’t quite cover it and there’s any confusion, yes, my cat died.” I attempt to play it off with dry wit. “My parents moved to a swanky retirement community by the ocean a while back, and I’m an only child. So, other than my students—oh, I’m a third-grade teacher by the way—Tink was all I had in my everyday life. Being single is hard; dating just isn’t what it used to be, with all the technology and websites there are now. And, I live in a pretty small town, so I dated, and vetoed, any single, halfway decent guys a long time ago.”
I take another break in my babbling and pry my eyes open, determined to keepthem open this time, to gauge his reaction. You know, on the off-chance he might like a turn to speak—for the first time in several minutes. It seems not, though. He simply stares, a certain glimmer in hiseyes that might just fool a girl into believing he actually finds her nonsensical soliloquy interesting.
Finally, in the baritone of scandal, he prompts, “Go on.”
Huh. Either he’s a glutton, just as lonely as I am... or has a very skewed opinion on what’s interesting.
“Too late for this, I realize, but… long story short?” I sigh. “I haven’t had sex in three years. Three. I want to. With you, Brewer Hayes. Not because you’re a hockey star. I’ve been to two games in my life—both yours—so clearly not a deal maker for me. I want to have sex with you because… the wink, smirk, picking me out of the crowd, hunting me down, sending the definitely forward note” —we both lightly laugh—“all of it; turned me on. I felt pursued, exhilarated, more excited than I’ve been about anything in a very long time. And, it doesn’t hurt that you are, without a doubt, the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life. I want your big strong body on top of me, under me, overwhelming me. And I’m not gonna apologize or feel ashamed about it.”
There, I said it. Laid all my cards on the table—which honestly, felt pretty damn good. To at last, for once, cast aside any and all ridiculous rules, stigmas, double-standards or fears… and just go for it.
It’d probably feel even better if he’d respond, reassure me, laugh, cough, sneeze— at this point, I’d take anything—but he gives nothing.
Not a peep.
He shifts in his seat and starts the truck, then pulls away from the curb and onto the main street… all while continuing to give me nada. I’m guessing it’s because he’s too focused on beelining straight to Nikki’s to drop my jabbering, harlot ass back off where he found me.
And if that’s the case— so be it. I’m still proud of myself; for taking a chance, a bold, brave shot at what I want.
“I’m sorry your cat died.”
That’s what he says to shatter the silence.
My head snaps to the left in utter bafflement, and of its own spontaneous shock, full-body laughter bursts out of me.
“What? I am sorry. I can tell you really loved your cat and losing it broke your sweet little heart. That breaks my heart for you.” He reaches over and blindly finds my hand, giving it a squeeze.
I catch my breath enough to reply, “It did, yes, and thank you, but… I wasn’t expecting that to be the part to catch your attention. Thought maybe it’d be my blatant proposition that snagged it first.”
“Oh, it did, and that’ll be happening, repeatedly, as soon as we get to my house. But offering my condolences seemed like the least I could do, considering.”
“Considering what?”
He waits until we’re caught at a red light to look over at me, sporting a disarming grin, and answers. “Gracie, if I’m not into you enough to feel bad that you lost your little kitty buddy, then I’ve got no right to do to you all the things I’m about to.”
He winks… and drives.
