Everything is great with my teammates. In fact, the Reapers have been doing so well that there’s a good chance of us making it to playoffs this year. Coach is beyond thrilled, and so are the rest of the guys. I can taste the victory. We’re close, closer than we’ve been in a long time. I’m not ready to go down without a fight.
I tuck the BLTs I’ve made into the checkered cushion of the picnic basket—a real, antique-looking picnic basket. The great thing about Bristol’s grandma phase is all the cool stuff he’s thrifted so far. Though, he did come back with one of those creepy porcelain dolls, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it might be haunted.
I’m just about to head out of the house when I hear the sound of a throat clearing. Bristol sits with his legs propped up on the coffee table, flipping through some old book that looks like it’s as old as the Salem witch trials.
“A picnic, huh?”
“Is it a bad idea?” I ask, my eyes jumping between him and the basket, only compounding the panic knifing through my body.
“No, no,” Bristol insists, his eyes aflame with curiosity. “I’ve just never seen you work so hard for a girl before.”
Ouch. I mean, he’s not wrong, but he didn’t have to word it like that. I don’t know what kind of voodoo witch shit Aeris has put me under. I’m rethinking all my womanizing ways. Hell, I didn’t think I’d even want to be exclusive with anyone after Macy, but Aeris has proven me wrong.
Holy shit, she domesticated me.
Bristol sets his book face down. “You really like her, don’t you?”
Her unspoken name burns on my tongue like rum. Her perfume is an addictive aroma that electrifies every hormone in my body, and the sensual set of her mouth makes me think the most detestable thoughts. She’s poison in my veins, and I can feel it killing me slowly. So yes, to put it in simple terms, I like her.
“I do. I really do.”
“I’m glad, H. You’re happy. Happier than you’ve been in a long time.”
My heart grows to twice its size, and a smile needles at my lips. “I am,” I sigh, already wishing I was at her doorstep, kissing her in my arms. God, I want to take this feeling and shoot it directly into my veins like an addict.
“Are you going to tell her the truth?” he asks.
And there’s the million-dollar question. I should tell her. That’s what any respectable gentleman would do, especially if he cares about the person he’s hurting. But…it’s too risky now. My improved behavior, my improved reputation, could all go poof at the snap of a slender, well-manicured finger.
Anxiety clangs through me, harsh and jarring, enough to apparently tie my tongue.
Bristol knows what my silence means, and he shakes his head like he’s a parent castigating their badly behaved child. “If she finds out, she’s going to be even more hurt.”
“You think I don’t know that, Bri?”
“The truth always has a way of coming out. Are you going to be the one comforting her when it does, or will you be the one she keeps at an arm’s distance?”
Bile congeals in the back of my throat. He’s right. Fuck. Why does he have to be right? Maybe I can milk this thing for a little longer, then I’ll tell her. A two-week relationship is nothing. The entire hockey world will forget all about it within days, and I’ll be back to being thought of as the unpredictable hothead who has a new flavor of woman each week.
“You know how this ends,” he warns, his jaw clenched. “And if saving your image means more to you than hurting an innocent girl, maybe you need to rethink your priorities.”
I can’t let Aeris peek into the hellscape that is my mind. I can’t let her know that I’m still reeling from Bristol’s words. I want to enjoy this time with her, and nothing kills the mood faster than self-doubt.
Compartmentalize, Hayes.
When Aeris climbs into the passenger seat, my eyes are making pitstops all over her body, taking time on a few parts in between. She’s wearing a flowy sundress that’s a beautiful cream color. The ruffled bodice has a distractingly low neckline, and the hem of the dress flares out over her knees, displaying her gorgeous legs. Gold leaves dangle from her ears, and a matching necklace disappears into the cleft of her breasts.
“Oh, God. Did I overdress?” she asks, setting her purse on the car floor.
“Not at all. You look amazing.”
She releases the tension in her shoulders, and a larger-than-life smile skims over her peachy lips. “Thank you.”
I start to pull out of her driveway and onto the main road, turning on the radio to put us both at ease. I can’t take my eyes off her, which won’t bode well if I end up running over some poor pedestrian.
I’m planning to pop the label question today. I would’ve done it sooner, but I didn’t want to scare her off by moving too fast. I just hope she wants the real thing.
Thanks to a lot of “Carpool Karaoke” with Faye, I can make out the starting notes of Taylor Swift’s “Enchanted.” It must be one of Aeris’ favorite songs, because she immediately turns up the volume.
“I love this song!” she shouts over the music, bobbing her head to the rhythm, dancing against the confines of her seatbelt.
She looks so happy, so carefree. She’s lip-syncing along, her mouth wide open, her teeth glistening from the apricot streaks of sunlight splicing through the window. She’s a work of moving art, and I’ll forever be in awe of her.
Aeris bunches her hand into a fist and uses it as a makeshift microphone, making me laugh. Her singing voice is God awful, and it kind of sounds like a cat being run over repeatedly, but I wouldn’t mind listening to it for the rest of my life. After the song ends, we waste a bit of time talking since the destination is about thirty minutes from town.
“The team’s looking really good this season,” she comments, admiration saturating her words. She’s ditched her wedges and has her legs outstretched on the dashboard, pointing and flexing her painted toes.
“The guys are really stepping up their game. Fully’s had a helluva good season for a rookie,” I say.
Her cheeks glow. “Your first season wasn’t that bad.”
“Did you not see the video of me eating shit when I flew over the boards and into my own teammates?”
“In your defense, ice skating is hard.”
A chuckle jumps up my throat. “You’ve tried?”
“Mm-hm. I went a few months ago. My legs got stuck in a split, and I ripped my pants,” she recalls.
“God, the money I would’ve paid to see that.”
“To see me rip my pants?” she exclaims.
“To see what color underwear you were wearing that day.”
She gives me a playful whack on the arm, and her touch sends my thoughts into overdrive, lust torching my vision in an aurora borealis of colors.
Stop thinking about the underwear she’s wearing right now, dude.
“They were Day of the Week underwear.”
“Stacks, those are the sexiest kind of underwear.”
“You have a pair for yourself, then?”
“I’m wearing Tuesday right now,” I joke.
“It’s Thursday,” she deadpans.