wow...I'm flattered & just a little scared by how vehement some of the opinions are about how this story should turn out...oh well, I'm just going to have to go with my gut and hope you're okay with it.
Not that this is the last chapter...just saying
“Her boobs aren’t big enough,” I grumble, holding the fabric up with one hand and reaching over to the table with the other, blindly feeling for the double sided tape.
“I’m right here,” the very pretty but very skinny model snipes at me and I afford her one, quick, disgusted glance.
“You’re a clothes hanger and clothes hangers don’t have opinions,” I snap, tearing off a piece of tape and pressing it down against her skin a little harder than is strictly necessary. She opens her mouth to make another smart remark no doubt but one more narrow look from me and she shuts her cherry stained lips and stares straight ahead like a good mannequin should. I press the fabric to the tape but the dress doesn’t look right. It just sits there on her flat chest, gaping in one spot and falling flat in another. “This looks like hell.”
“Mmmm, you’re right, her tits are way too small,” Kensie agrees, looking absolutely drop dead goth girl sexy in a streamlined black gauzy gown that shows off her subtle curves and makes her look about ten inches taller than she already is.
“Maybe we can trade, she might look okay in your dress,” I mutter, standing back to compare the two shapes but when I look up at Kensie’s face she’s wrinkling up her nose and as she stares at the younger, willowy model.
“She’d look like crap in this too,” Kennedy sighs, fingering the barely there fabric stretched over her hips. “She’d make it look like an empty garbage bag.”
“I’m right here,” the girl insists again but both of us shut her up with one of those ‘if looks could kill’ glances.
“You know that was made for you,” Kensie reminds me. “It fits you. Unless we can find a model with a sweet rack like yours….”
“You’ve been hanging out with Jordan too long,” I snort, shooting her a look that I know says ‘I appreciate the sentiment but really?’, before I start looking around at the other models all of whom are even taller, thinner and almost all of whom are lacking almost anything in the boob department. Curvier models are saved for commercial shoots, for FHM, Maxim and Stuff.
“You’ll have to wear it,” Gareth says, appearing from nowhere and tipping his head to one side, “unless you have another piece to put at the end of the show.” I wish I could say that I do but I don’t. I’ve been spending so much time in Pittsburgh that I have a lot of stuff on paper, but not a lot of pieces actually complete enough to put on a model.
“Me? Out there?” I can hear the sounds of the stage and runway being set up, the chairs being put out for tomorrow’s show and all I can think of is if I have to go out there I’m seriously going to need some time with Miss Jay.
“We could do something…we could have like a swing or something rigged to come down right at the front of the stage,” Gareth thinks out loud while he fusses with the bodice of the gown, trying, just as I’ve been doing, to make it fit the model’s boyish figure. “Maybe two swings…Ga Ga on the other….” That makes my stomach hurt. As if the idea of being out there in front of celebs and photographers isn’t bad enough, I’d almost forgotten about Gareth’s favorite new patron being involved.
“Or we could find another model,” I say, hopefully, looking from Kennedy to Gareth and hoping for some sign that they will agree.
“Kennedy’s right,” Gareth grins as he cups my cheek and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You made it for you, you’re going to have to wear it. We don’t have time to do any alterations on it. You’ve got enough to do tonight.” That was true. Almost every garment needed some finishing touches, an inch taken in there, a hem taken up there. Then there was the accessorizing…it was going to be a long night. “Besides, my muse, you outshine most of these girls, especially this one,” Gareth adds, grabbing both of my cheeks and planting a kiss on my forehead. “Now get this off of this girl and get her into something that fits and I’ll see you in the morning.” I stare after him, half filled with butterflies at being called his muse and half filled with dread at the thought of all that I still have left to do.
“C’mon, let’s get a move on,” Kensie sighs, turning so that I can yank her zipper down. “I’ll help as much as I can.”
“Thanks Kens, I don’t know what I’d do without you right now,” I sigh, signaling for the stick thin model to turn so I can undo the laces on the back of the gown.
“Yeah well, I hope you remember that when I want to go to the Bahamas next week with Jordy,” she reminds me and again, those butterflies wake in my stomach. Sidney had hinted at a honeymoon on the white sands of an exclusive resort somewhere sunny. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d still go, maybe with one of the guys, maybe with some other woman….
Shaking my head, I tell myself not to think about that now, or him for that matter.
Every time I start to my stomach started to hurt and my throat started to get tight. There was going to be plenty of time to feel sorry for myself later, after the show.
____________________________________________________________________
The room was quiet. Like, you could hear a pin drop quiet. It was almost worse than losing game seven to the Wings two years ago. That had been the quiet of everything being left out on the ice and not having the energy to say anything. This was the quiet of shock, of disbelief. We’d owned Montreal all year. Well three out of four games anyway. We didn’t think we could lose and yet, here we are.
The urge to point fingers is pretty high, except the first and foremost finger has to point at me. I’ve been telling myself that I’m trying hard but…but with only a few seconds off the clock I was already in the box and I couldn’t get my head on straight after that.
I could blame Mel. This whole thing with her giving me the ring back and then finding out that Max wants her…well it’s thrown me for a loop.
But I can’t. I can’t blame either one of them. I’ve been in a foul frame of mind and it’s my own fault. I knew I was trying to force a round peg into a square hole and I just kept trying to stuff it in there because there was something about having her here, supporting me, that I was looking forward to having for a long time.
“So, a whole summer for a change,” Jordy says quietly, half a smile on his face as if he’s expecting me to jump down his throat and pull his balls up through his throat. Under normal conditions after this kind of a loss, the guys know to leave me alone for a while. At least until I’ve talked myself down off the ledge. It’s pretty brave thing Jordy’s doing.
“Yeah, I guess,” I manage to which he nods and goes back to unlacing his skates. We have played a lot of hockey in the last couple of years. Not that we minded the last two summers being a little short. Not if it meant we were one of the best teams in the league. Actually the last two summers were a lot of fun.
I look across the room to find Max almost entirely out of his equipment already.
“You going straight up to New York?” I ask, causing Max to pause, half way out of his shoulder pads. He glances over at me, wary, like he’s expecting me to go tell him I’ve changed my mind about giving him permission to date Mel. Not that there would be any point, apart from warning her away from him and that thought has crossed my mind, more than once.
“I am,” he says quietly, dropping his shoulder pads into his bag, like he’s not expecting to come back here.
“You gonna ask for a trade?” I ask, staring at his bag. No one else has their bag out. Everyone else will be back in a day or two to clean out their lockers her in the Mellon in a day or two. It doesn’t look like Max is planning on joining us for that particular ritual.
“Thinking about it,” he mumbles, glancing over at Kris and Flower who both stop what they’re doing and stare at him. “Ne me regardes pas comme un traître. What would you do?”
“Tu ne sais pas même ce qu’elle dira,” Tanger points out and Flower gives him that look that says ‘yeah, what about that?’ and Max shrugs.
“Tu pense que je pourrais rester ici et jeu avec lui?” he asks, an accusatory tone leaking into his voice as he points at me.
“I just gave you permission to ask her out,” I point out but the look Max gives me tells me this isn’t just about that.
“Tu la penses qu’elle voudrait tu voir? Chaque jour?” I think about not seeing her, maybe never seeing her again and my there’s a pain, deep in my chest. Not that I’d blame her for not wanting to see me. Not that I could blame him for wanting to steal her away and keep her all to himself. And yet….
“Why don’t you let her decide that?” I ask, hoping Mel might remember that above everything else, that we’ve been friends for a really long time. “If she wants you that is,” I add, unable to stop myself from planting that seed of doubt. I just can’t picture her with him.
“I’d never presume to make decisions for her,” Max snarls, shaking his head. “J’ai le respect pour elle,” he continues, “àla différence de vous.”
“I’ve been her friend forever,” I remind him to which he continues to shake his head.
“Some friend,” Max laughs sarcastically and I find myself on my feet, my hands curled into fists.
“Ralentissement mes amis,” Flower jumps in between us and suddenly that silence is back and the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own blood pulsating through my veins as I stare at Max, willing him to take the first shot so that I can take out all of my frustrations on him, so that even if he does go to her, he’ll be black and blue and I don’t care if that makes him sympathetic. Right now I don’t care about that. I only care about putting my fist through his self satisfied face.
“Tu as raison Flower. He’s not worth it. I have a woman to woo,” he grins at me, showing every one of his teeth, like a threat. “Have fun explaining to the press why you’ll be spending the summer tous par tu-même, mon capitaine,” he adds, reaching out to give my cheek a tap, but I push his hand away. “You don’t want to toss me those tickets to the Maldives do you mon capitaine? After all, you won’t be needing them,” he adds, grinning wide, like a fucking retarded jack o lantern.
“Max, please” Jordy pleads, pushing my sometimes wing-mate towards the showers. “You might still be teammates next year. Don’t make this worse. C’mon, let’s just get ready and get out of here.”
“You’re going with him?” I feel like adding et tu Bruté and reeling backward as if I’ve been stabbed but I decide there seems to be enough theatrics right now.
“Kennedy’s in Mel’s show, they’re expecting us,” Jordy explains apologetically, shrugging his big shoulders as if that is all that needs saying.
“They’re expecting you? Mel’s expecting him?” I point at the furry Frenchman and then look up at the big blonde forward whose blue eyes are a little too wide.
“Well…I mean, no not exactly. I mean…I’m sure she won’t be surprised…I mean…I mean…,” the big farm boy looks around for help and that hush falls over the room again and all of a sudden I get that prickly feeling at the back of my neck telling me that I’m missing something, something that should be obvious, after all, everyone else in the room seems to know.
“What do you mean Gronk? Tell me…I’m curious. Why would Mel be expecting Max?”
“They’re friends,” Tanger reminds me, and, having taken a deep breath, I decide I can accept that argument and decide to drop it in the name of team unity.
“And she knows I’ve been waiting for you to screw up and now that you have…I intend…,” Max’s voice trails away and then he shrugs and just shakes his head.
“What? What do you intend to do Max? Go on, tell me? I’m dying of curiosity now,” I call to him as he turns to head into the showers. “And what do you mean she’s been waiting? What the fuck does that even mean? Mel’s so in love with me….”
“Yeah, so in love with you she’s spent two night in my bed,” Max snarls, whirling on me and crossing the room in two strides to push me off of my feet and onto my ass.
There it is, that silence again. This time I know that everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for me to get up to my feet and shove my fist down his throat. The funny thing is, even though I’m angry, blood boiling angry, I don’t feel like hitting him. I actually feel kind of relieved. I actually feel like I’ve been holding my breath and all of a sudden I’ve come up to the surface of a deep pool and I can actually pull oxygen into my lungs again.
“You…you slept with Mel?” I almost laugh as I climb to my feet and brush myself off and it actually requires a certain amount of willpower not to. Max stands there, staring back at me with an expression on his face that speaks volumes about how much he would like to take back what he’s just said but I can also see that he’s too proud to. “You stood there and lectured me about Charline, and you were sleeping with my fiancée the whole time?”
“You keep calling her that mais tu ne l’aimes pas meme! You starved her of affection. Her eyes dance when you come in a room mais tu l’incites à se sentir comme elle n’est pas mériter de ton temps! Don’t you dare stand there and try to make this something ugly, quelque chose sordid. Je l’aime avec chaque fibre simple de mon être, something you could never understand.” I’ve rarely seen Max quite this passionate about anything or anyone. The usually laid backed, jovial, goofy man I’ve known for years is staring daggers at me. Even when he fought Carcillo, I never saw murder in his eyes.
“Jesus Christ Max…have you felt like this the whole time?” I watch as a bright pink stain creeps up from beneath his collar and finally makes its way to the tips of his ears. “Fuck…you have haven’t you? Fuck man, why didn’t you just say something?”
“Because…because she’s in love with you! Because I was trying to be your friend. Because I wanted her to be happy, quelque chose que tu pourriez avoir pensé pour essayer.” It’s like being stabbed with a knife and not in my back and not exactly in my heart either. More like in my conscience. Suddenly it’s impossible to look at him, to meet his gaze or anyone else’s. “Oui, tu as été un piqûre égoiste. Time to grow up and stop trading on the fucking pure as hell image you think everyone fucking buys into,” Max snarls, brushing past me, heading into the showers.
It’s only then that the normal sort of buzz of activity begins again and leaves me standing there in the middle of the room, staring at my feet, wondering just what kind of asshole I’ve actually turned into.
_________________________________________________________________
“Still up?” Kensie asks, yawning and stretching as she appears around the corner wearing a faded grey t-shirt that I’m guessing probably belonged to Jordan once upon a time. It’s long and miles too big for her, nearly reaching her knees.
“Yeah, but I’ve only got a couple more little pieces to fix,” I smile gratefully up at her as she leans on the edge of the sewing table. “Thanks for staying here,” I add, glancing briefly at the cot in the corner of Gareth’s studio where she’s been curled since about two in the morning. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being here all night by myself.”
“Hey, what are friends for. Speaking of which, how long are you gonna keep wearing that?” she asks, picking up a pair of shears and using it to point at the Claddagh ring on my hand. I stare down at it, holding my hand out like it’s not really a part of me, which at almost five in the morning isn’t that much of a stretch. I’ve been sewing, half asleep, for hours. I have so many pin pricks and needle jabs I could pass for a junkie.
“I dunno,” I answer honestly. “I haven’t really thought about it,” which is a lie. I have. I just keep hoping that somehow…some way we can salvage something from this mess, and not even necessarily anything like the girlhood dream I’ve now come to terms with doing without. Just…friends. “I’d settle for friends now,” I shrug, looking up at Kensie, expecting her to give me one of those sort of big sister disappointed looks. Maybe it’s because she’s tired or I am, but she smiles and reaches forward to muss my hair.
“He’s crazy if he doesn’t at least value you that much,” she adds, moving to pry my fingers off of the piece I’m finishing, putting it and the needle in my hand down on the table. “I’m not as good at this as you but I think I can manage a hem. You need to get some sleep or you’ll have to have as much make up on as GaGa when you go out on that runway this afternoon.” I start to reach for the piece but when I look down at my hands and see them shaking, I give in and let her lead me to the cot. “Oh and by the way, just so you don’t flip out if you happen to see him skulking around tomorrow, Jordan’s coming,” she adds as I try and stifle a yawn.
“Jordy? But aren’t they…?”
“They lost tonight. Man you really haven’t paid any attention have you?” she smiles as she pulls the blanket up over me.
“I’ve been making a concerted effort not to,” I sigh, closing my eyes. “I can’t believe they lost to the Habs…Sidney must be…,” I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying it. I have to stop thinking about him all the time. What would Sidney do? Like some kind of mantra that he’s not really deserving of. “I wonder if Jordy will bring Tanger or any of the guys?” I wonder aloud, as sleep pulls me down into through the haze and into the deep darkness of sleep.
Showing posts with label Marc Andre Fleury. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marc Andre Fleury. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Chapter 40
A special shout out to K whose comments I always smile when I see them and I love that you get the familial and genetic reasons behind the behaviors. Thank you
As for the rest of you thank you for enjoying and craving more.
“Mother fucking son of a cunt licking whore!!” I’d heard Army put together that particular string of profanity once and I’d liked it, but I keep it for special occasions. Having to go to a game seven against a team that we’ve owned all year seems like an appropriate time to use it.
“Sacre bleu,” Tanger laughs, and I round on him, ready to snap and let him have it with both barrels until I see the sardonic look on his face and then I just nod.
“It’s another game,” Gonchar shrugs, putting his hand on my shoulder and leading me away from the defenseman who I can see is already blaming himself. “We can do better next game.”
“Maybe you can,” I grumble, “I can’t hit the fucking broadside of a barn with a fucking map and a mother fucking compass.”
“Maybe if your head was in the right space,” Billy G begins and I feel my upper lip curling at the indictment in my winger’s voice. “Don’t look at me like that kiddo. We’re all friends here. I have to be honest with you and I think you already know it. You’re head isn’t in it. I don’t know where the fuck it is but you haven’t been yourself lately, and I don’t just mean since the other night,” he adds quickly, obviously seeing that I’m ready to argue the point. “I’m not asking you to tell me what’s going on with you but you’d better get your head on straight or it isn’t just going to be that little girl that you’ll be losing.”
“She’s got nothing to do with this,” I snarl but both he and Gonch shake their heads.
“I’m not saying whatever happened between you two the other night is what’s messing with you out on the ice, but I am saying that whatever head space you’re in is and probably had something to do with what’s happening between you and that girl of yours. So do yourself a favor, on the ride home tonight, instead of playing games or whatever, maybe think about what the fuck you’re doing right now and get fucking honest with yourself kid. You’re better than this, on both counts,” Billy adds and then with one, long disappointed father look on his face, he turns and heads to his stall.
I stare at his back, all kinds of retorts springing to the tip of my tongue, but all I end up doing is standing there looking like a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing uselessly with nothing coming out of it because I know he’s not wrong, I just don’t fucking know what’s right. I’ve been off for most of the second half of the season and I can’t figure out why. I’m not injured, not anymore than anyone else, and there have been games where I’ve felt like myself but ever since the Olympics….
“Aaaarrrgh! Fuck it!” I toss my gloves down and run my fingers through my hair because my head hurts and because I want so much to fucking punch a wall and I know if I do I’ll hurt myself and I’m already letting everyone down….
“Quoi de neuf?” Flower asks quietly, looking sheepishly up at me like he’s half afraid I’m going to knock his block off and why wouldn’t he? I can feel the murderous rage pumping through me and I know it shows, it always shows.
“Je suis très confondu en ce moment,” I explain, leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes.
“C’est au sujet de la fille de l’equipe Canadienne?” he asks, almost under his breath and I grunt in reply and it almost hurts to do it, like it’s painful to admit to it and I keep thinking so it should be. I let Mel down. She trusted me and I’ve been fucking horrible to her because of this and she didn’t deserve it. I’ve known it. It’s been there, in the back of my mind, like a fucking cancer for weeks. “L’aimes tu?”
“Don’t ask me that Fleur,” I beg, banging my head against the wall. “I don’t fucking think I know what that is.”
“Tu aimes Mel?” he asks, and this time I don’t even shrug or grunt or anything. I know the answer to that. I’ve known it all along but I’ve been trying to do the right thing, or what I thought was the right thing, but now…?
“No,” I sigh, turning to slide down to the bench before dropping my head into my hands. “I mean…I’ve tried to…I’ve wanted to but…no, no, I don’t think I do.” I raise my head, prepared for whatever disapproving or sympathetic look Fleur might give but instead my gaze locks with Max’s intense and angry glare across the room. He’s supposed to be one of my best friends but lately we’ve hardly been talking and I don’t have to ask whose side he’s on. It’s clear on his face.
“Are you done?” he asks, his voice gruff and low, his gaze level and simmering. “Es tu fini jouer des jeux avec elle?” I open my mouth to argue that I haven’t been playing games, but I guess from the outside looking in, it might look exactly like that.
“I never intended to hurt her,” I begin but Max shakes his head and his gaze grows even darker until it reminds me of the look he had out there on the ice tonight when it was clear the rink had tilted in their direction and we were digging our own grave, fast.
“Je me blâme,” Max shrugs, his gaze still holding mine intently. “I should never have talked you into speaking with you at your partie de celebration pendent l’été,” he continues, a sneer that Billy Idol would be proud of on his face. “Mais cela n’importe pas maintenant. All I want to know now is…is she free? Es-tu fini mettre son bas et la prendre encore?”
“Max…,” Flower’s voice holds a warning but it’s clear from the grim but determined look on Max’s face that whatever is on his mind, he’s going to let it out.
“is. She. Free?” he snarls, his meaty hands curled into fists on his knees.
“You mean…you and…and Mel?” So many things are clicking into place now, how angry he’s been, how disapproving he’s been…. “Have you had a thing for her this entire time?” I ask, still trying to picture the two of them actually together, and not just the show they put on for my benefit a few months ago…at least Mel told me it was a show.
“Is. She. Free?” he repeats, forcing the words through his teeth and I feel a strange mixture of jealousy and relief as I think about giving him my blessing to date my fiancée, if that is what he’s about to ask.
“And if I say yes?” I ask, watching his expression carefully. His eyes narrow and his lips purse and I can see that he’s trying to decide if he’s going to answer the question or not and then he stand, shrugging out of his shoulder pads and half turning away.
“If you do or you don’t, I can’t watch you do what you’re doing anymore. She…she doesn’t deserve you.”
“Oh I see, and she does deserve you?” I ask, thinking about all of the times that Max has had three, sometimes up to five girls on the run at the same time.
“Oui,” Max says quietly, that joker’s grin that’s more threat than smile slowly spreading across his face. “You see, I love her. Je mourrais pour elle, c’est la difference, non?” I find myself staring at him, my breath literally stolen from my lungs as he stares me down, daring me to disbelieve him and I can’t. Not when it’s clear on his face that what he wants to do right now is to rip me to shreds, except that he won’t because he’s loyal like that, because we’re teammates and the team matters more than the individual. “Je peux voir que tu comprends. I’ve tried, god knows, I’ve tried not to feel…how I feel for her because I love you like a brother but…I won’t…not anymore. I can’t stand by and let you treat her like…comme une putain commune, comprends?”
“Oui, je comprends,” I say quietly, feeling like there’s a knife in my back but that I probably deserve it. “Just do me one favor,” I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell her I’m sorry.” Max stares at me for one long, silent, uncomfortable moment and then he nods and holds his hand out towards me. I stare down at it, a little shocked that he’d offer it to be honest. But then I take it and we shake and I know that it will be okay, whatever happens.
____________________________________________________
“You’re not even going to watch it?” Kennedy asks as she drops her leather jacket onto the chair and tosses her keys in the bowl before heading for the kitchen to grab a beer. Every time she does that, I wonder how many girls she beat out for a modeling job today are busy picking away at some plain lettuce and a boiled chicken breast while she’s drinking beer. Life just isn’t fair.
“Nah,” I answer, glancing at the TV set that I haven’t even turned on. “I have some designs I’m working on,” I explain, grabbing another coloured pencil and shading the edge of the jacket I’ve been designing.
“Mmm,” Kensie looks over my shoulder, digging her pointy elbow into it as she does. “It’s good. I’d wear that.”
“But is it haute couture?” I sigh, lifting the pencil away and looking down at it disparagingly.
“Gareth just said he wanted good ideas from you, he takes care of that outlandish crazy shit that people don’t really wear. You’re prêt-a-porter, remember?” she reminds me, tipping the neck of the beer bottle towards me before walking over towards the TV and dropping onto the couch, one foot slung over the back. “So you’re really not gonna even watch? I mean, that’s really it? You’re really done with the love of your life?” she asks sarcastically, grabbing the remote in her free hand and aiming it towards the TV. I wince as I watch the picture flicker to life. It hasn’t been nearly long enough for me to feel convinced of my own will power quite yet, hence the game not being on.
“Don’t call him that,” I mutter, doing my best to focus on the page in front of me and not on the little black and gold figures racing around the ice.
“Well you’re the one that’s been going around all cow eyed,” she smirks, downing half of the beer to try and hide the smile on her face. I know she’s just teasing. Well, teasing and testing me. She was great when I got home, let me cry and didn’t ask any questions, so I guess I can put up with a little good natured ribbing.
“I’ve decided that he isn’t the person I grew up with.” I can’t keep my eyes off of the screen, no matter how hard I try. I find myself watching the screen, searching for his number almost absentmindedly, like my brain is do attuned to doing it that I can’t stop myself.
“He probably isn’t,” Kennedy agrees, pushing herself up to an actual sitting position and regarding me with sympathetic eyes.
“I think that we didn’t give ourselves time to get to know who we are now,” I continue thoughtfully, watching him sitting on the bench, gnawing anxiously on the corner of his bottom lip. “Or maybe I just didn’t want to see who he is now,” I add with a little sigh as he jumps out onto ice and glides easily towards centre ice.
Neither of us says anything for a while. We just watch the Pens running in circles trying to keep up with the obviously more energized, more hungry Habs who, unlike the Pens, are making short, crisp tape to tape passes and successfully blocking shots.
“What about Max?” Kensie asks as the cute furry faced Frenchman slams into the SS Gill behind the net and manages to make it look like he wasn’t trying to cause the big defenseman some serious physical damage.
“Ahhh,” I sigh, feeling that now familiar tightness in my chest.
“What’s that mean?” Kensie asks, leaning over the back of the couch to look at me.
“There can’t be a Max,” I reply, somewhat wistfully.
“Why not?” she asks, dropping her chin onto the backs of her hands and peering at me with pursed lips as if I’ve said something stupid. Tipping my head to one side I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, besides the obvious friendship and teammate things.”
“Does there need to be more?” I ask. “And besides…I’m broken hearted here. I can’t start…I wouldn’t want to start…and it would be too complicated and…and it was just sex anyway.” They’re all the reasons I’ve told myself, words I’ve practiced in my head. They sound right, honest, sane but when I watch him being lead to the sin bin, I can’t help smiling back at the mischievous grin he wears on his face.
As for the rest of you thank you for enjoying and craving more.
“Mother fucking son of a cunt licking whore!!” I’d heard Army put together that particular string of profanity once and I’d liked it, but I keep it for special occasions. Having to go to a game seven against a team that we’ve owned all year seems like an appropriate time to use it.
“Sacre bleu,” Tanger laughs, and I round on him, ready to snap and let him have it with both barrels until I see the sardonic look on his face and then I just nod.
“It’s another game,” Gonchar shrugs, putting his hand on my shoulder and leading me away from the defenseman who I can see is already blaming himself. “We can do better next game.”
“Maybe you can,” I grumble, “I can’t hit the fucking broadside of a barn with a fucking map and a mother fucking compass.”
“Maybe if your head was in the right space,” Billy G begins and I feel my upper lip curling at the indictment in my winger’s voice. “Don’t look at me like that kiddo. We’re all friends here. I have to be honest with you and I think you already know it. You’re head isn’t in it. I don’t know where the fuck it is but you haven’t been yourself lately, and I don’t just mean since the other night,” he adds quickly, obviously seeing that I’m ready to argue the point. “I’m not asking you to tell me what’s going on with you but you’d better get your head on straight or it isn’t just going to be that little girl that you’ll be losing.”
“She’s got nothing to do with this,” I snarl but both he and Gonch shake their heads.
“I’m not saying whatever happened between you two the other night is what’s messing with you out on the ice, but I am saying that whatever head space you’re in is and probably had something to do with what’s happening between you and that girl of yours. So do yourself a favor, on the ride home tonight, instead of playing games or whatever, maybe think about what the fuck you’re doing right now and get fucking honest with yourself kid. You’re better than this, on both counts,” Billy adds and then with one, long disappointed father look on his face, he turns and heads to his stall.
I stare at his back, all kinds of retorts springing to the tip of my tongue, but all I end up doing is standing there looking like a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing uselessly with nothing coming out of it because I know he’s not wrong, I just don’t fucking know what’s right. I’ve been off for most of the second half of the season and I can’t figure out why. I’m not injured, not anymore than anyone else, and there have been games where I’ve felt like myself but ever since the Olympics….
“Aaaarrrgh! Fuck it!” I toss my gloves down and run my fingers through my hair because my head hurts and because I want so much to fucking punch a wall and I know if I do I’ll hurt myself and I’m already letting everyone down….
“Quoi de neuf?” Flower asks quietly, looking sheepishly up at me like he’s half afraid I’m going to knock his block off and why wouldn’t he? I can feel the murderous rage pumping through me and I know it shows, it always shows.
“Je suis très confondu en ce moment,” I explain, leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes.
“C’est au sujet de la fille de l’equipe Canadienne?” he asks, almost under his breath and I grunt in reply and it almost hurts to do it, like it’s painful to admit to it and I keep thinking so it should be. I let Mel down. She trusted me and I’ve been fucking horrible to her because of this and she didn’t deserve it. I’ve known it. It’s been there, in the back of my mind, like a fucking cancer for weeks. “L’aimes tu?”
“Don’t ask me that Fleur,” I beg, banging my head against the wall. “I don’t fucking think I know what that is.”
“Tu aimes Mel?” he asks, and this time I don’t even shrug or grunt or anything. I know the answer to that. I’ve known it all along but I’ve been trying to do the right thing, or what I thought was the right thing, but now…?
“No,” I sigh, turning to slide down to the bench before dropping my head into my hands. “I mean…I’ve tried to…I’ve wanted to but…no, no, I don’t think I do.” I raise my head, prepared for whatever disapproving or sympathetic look Fleur might give but instead my gaze locks with Max’s intense and angry glare across the room. He’s supposed to be one of my best friends but lately we’ve hardly been talking and I don’t have to ask whose side he’s on. It’s clear on his face.
“Are you done?” he asks, his voice gruff and low, his gaze level and simmering. “Es tu fini jouer des jeux avec elle?” I open my mouth to argue that I haven’t been playing games, but I guess from the outside looking in, it might look exactly like that.
“I never intended to hurt her,” I begin but Max shakes his head and his gaze grows even darker until it reminds me of the look he had out there on the ice tonight when it was clear the rink had tilted in their direction and we were digging our own grave, fast.
“Je me blâme,” Max shrugs, his gaze still holding mine intently. “I should never have talked you into speaking with you at your partie de celebration pendent l’été,” he continues, a sneer that Billy Idol would be proud of on his face. “Mais cela n’importe pas maintenant. All I want to know now is…is she free? Es-tu fini mettre son bas et la prendre encore?”
“Max…,” Flower’s voice holds a warning but it’s clear from the grim but determined look on Max’s face that whatever is on his mind, he’s going to let it out.
“is. She. Free?” he snarls, his meaty hands curled into fists on his knees.
“You mean…you and…and Mel?” So many things are clicking into place now, how angry he’s been, how disapproving he’s been…. “Have you had a thing for her this entire time?” I ask, still trying to picture the two of them actually together, and not just the show they put on for my benefit a few months ago…at least Mel told me it was a show.
“Is. She. Free?” he repeats, forcing the words through his teeth and I feel a strange mixture of jealousy and relief as I think about giving him my blessing to date my fiancée, if that is what he’s about to ask.
“And if I say yes?” I ask, watching his expression carefully. His eyes narrow and his lips purse and I can see that he’s trying to decide if he’s going to answer the question or not and then he stand, shrugging out of his shoulder pads and half turning away.
“If you do or you don’t, I can’t watch you do what you’re doing anymore. She…she doesn’t deserve you.”
“Oh I see, and she does deserve you?” I ask, thinking about all of the times that Max has had three, sometimes up to five girls on the run at the same time.
“Oui,” Max says quietly, that joker’s grin that’s more threat than smile slowly spreading across his face. “You see, I love her. Je mourrais pour elle, c’est la difference, non?” I find myself staring at him, my breath literally stolen from my lungs as he stares me down, daring me to disbelieve him and I can’t. Not when it’s clear on his face that what he wants to do right now is to rip me to shreds, except that he won’t because he’s loyal like that, because we’re teammates and the team matters more than the individual. “Je peux voir que tu comprends. I’ve tried, god knows, I’ve tried not to feel…how I feel for her because I love you like a brother but…I won’t…not anymore. I can’t stand by and let you treat her like…comme une putain commune, comprends?”
“Oui, je comprends,” I say quietly, feeling like there’s a knife in my back but that I probably deserve it. “Just do me one favor,” I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell her I’m sorry.” Max stares at me for one long, silent, uncomfortable moment and then he nods and holds his hand out towards me. I stare down at it, a little shocked that he’d offer it to be honest. But then I take it and we shake and I know that it will be okay, whatever happens.
____________________________________________________
“You’re not even going to watch it?” Kennedy asks as she drops her leather jacket onto the chair and tosses her keys in the bowl before heading for the kitchen to grab a beer. Every time she does that, I wonder how many girls she beat out for a modeling job today are busy picking away at some plain lettuce and a boiled chicken breast while she’s drinking beer. Life just isn’t fair.
“Nah,” I answer, glancing at the TV set that I haven’t even turned on. “I have some designs I’m working on,” I explain, grabbing another coloured pencil and shading the edge of the jacket I’ve been designing.
“Mmm,” Kensie looks over my shoulder, digging her pointy elbow into it as she does. “It’s good. I’d wear that.”
“But is it haute couture?” I sigh, lifting the pencil away and looking down at it disparagingly.
“Gareth just said he wanted good ideas from you, he takes care of that outlandish crazy shit that people don’t really wear. You’re prêt-a-porter, remember?” she reminds me, tipping the neck of the beer bottle towards me before walking over towards the TV and dropping onto the couch, one foot slung over the back. “So you’re really not gonna even watch? I mean, that’s really it? You’re really done with the love of your life?” she asks sarcastically, grabbing the remote in her free hand and aiming it towards the TV. I wince as I watch the picture flicker to life. It hasn’t been nearly long enough for me to feel convinced of my own will power quite yet, hence the game not being on.
“Don’t call him that,” I mutter, doing my best to focus on the page in front of me and not on the little black and gold figures racing around the ice.
“Well you’re the one that’s been going around all cow eyed,” she smirks, downing half of the beer to try and hide the smile on her face. I know she’s just teasing. Well, teasing and testing me. She was great when I got home, let me cry and didn’t ask any questions, so I guess I can put up with a little good natured ribbing.
“I’ve decided that he isn’t the person I grew up with.” I can’t keep my eyes off of the screen, no matter how hard I try. I find myself watching the screen, searching for his number almost absentmindedly, like my brain is do attuned to doing it that I can’t stop myself.
“He probably isn’t,” Kennedy agrees, pushing herself up to an actual sitting position and regarding me with sympathetic eyes.
“I think that we didn’t give ourselves time to get to know who we are now,” I continue thoughtfully, watching him sitting on the bench, gnawing anxiously on the corner of his bottom lip. “Or maybe I just didn’t want to see who he is now,” I add with a little sigh as he jumps out onto ice and glides easily towards centre ice.
Neither of us says anything for a while. We just watch the Pens running in circles trying to keep up with the obviously more energized, more hungry Habs who, unlike the Pens, are making short, crisp tape to tape passes and successfully blocking shots.
“What about Max?” Kensie asks as the cute furry faced Frenchman slams into the SS Gill behind the net and manages to make it look like he wasn’t trying to cause the big defenseman some serious physical damage.
“Ahhh,” I sigh, feeling that now familiar tightness in my chest.
“What’s that mean?” Kensie asks, leaning over the back of the couch to look at me.
“There can’t be a Max,” I reply, somewhat wistfully.
“Why not?” she asks, dropping her chin onto the backs of her hands and peering at me with pursed lips as if I’ve said something stupid. Tipping my head to one side I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, besides the obvious friendship and teammate things.”
“Does there need to be more?” I ask. “And besides…I’m broken hearted here. I can’t start…I wouldn’t want to start…and it would be too complicated and…and it was just sex anyway.” They’re all the reasons I’ve told myself, words I’ve practiced in my head. They sound right, honest, sane but when I watch him being lead to the sin bin, I can’t help smiling back at the mischievous grin he wears on his face.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Chapter 39
I think we're probably all reeling from last night. I know I am. I don't think this is going to help like some of you seem to hope it will, but here goes nothing...
“Was there ever any doubt?” TK shouts as he raises his hands above his head, celebrating our victory. I can still hear the crowd leaving the arena, it sounds like the buzz of a beehive.
“Fucking A!” Jordy howls, dragging his jersey off and tossing it in the pile in the middle of the room before making a muscle man pose and growling like a rabid dog.
“It’s one game guys, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Papa G counsels quietly from across the room where he’s quietly taking off his pads. Christ it was good to have him out there again, even if I still came up empty handed as far as the score sheet is concerned.
“I say we drink to our win,” Brooksy announces, one hand on his chest, the other out like he’s holding a shot, and knowing Brooks, it’s going to be named something like sex on the beach and have whipcream on it.
“Drink? We haven’t won anything yet,” Flower points out, looking over to me for support and normally I’d be right behind Billy G with his warnings to cool it but even though I haven’t been able to crawl my way onto the score sheet and even though we’re not handling Montreal as easily as I think we should….
“I’m up for it. So Diesel or Privé?” I ask, watching Fleur’s mouth fall open as I do. “What? It’s not like whatever I’m doing is working and I had sex before a game and we won so…why not?” I feel a cool hand on my forehead and spin to see Jordan looking down at me with a furrowed brow.
“Who are you and what have you done with the Creature?”
“I’d take him up on his offer if I were you.” We both turn to Max who has quietly sat down beside me on the bench and is untying his skates. “Just wait until he has ankle biters, he won’t be so accommodating then.”
“So Privé it is,” TK announces, standing up on the bench. “First round’s on the Captain,” he adds with a grin and wink in my direction.
“You coming Max?” I ask, to which he shrugs as he gets up to put his skates on the shelf above his name.
“May as well,” he sighs, tugging his jersey off and adding it to the growing pile in the middle of the room before eyeing the door to the room with a wariness that isn’t like Max at all. “Is she coming?”
“She who?” Jordy asks, sounding interested, as if he hasn’t been exclusively hot and heavy with my fiancée’s roommate for months now.
“Je ne sais pas,” Max replies, raising an eyebrow as he drops his hockey pants and grabs a towel, throwing it over his shoulder. “Will it be Mel tonight or Charline?”
“Mel, definitely Mel. I’m committed to that now. I’ve decided,” I reply happily, thinking about how acquiescent and sweet she was last night after we got that little matter of ‘our song’ out of the way. It’s nice to be wanted, I’ve decided. Nice to know that she still needs me and that this whole job in New York thing hasn’t entirely distracted her from our relationship.
“Oh so you’ve decided now have you? Well I guess that must be so comforting to Mel to know that you’ve ‘decided’ to commit to her now,” he snorts sarcastically before shaking his head and heading for the showers. “Lucky her, to have you so committed,” he adds, making rabbit ears in the air as he walks away from us. “Quelle fille chanceuse.” I open my mouth to argue but Jordan puts his hand on my shoulder and just shakes his head.
“He’s just…,” Jordan stares after him and shrugs. “He’s having a hard time out there and you two are hardly hanging out now…it’s hard for him,” the big blonde defenseman explains, as if that excuses Max being such a petty bitch.
“Oui, laisseaz-le seul pour maintenant,” Flower agrees, his gaze also following our furry French friend towards the showers. “He’s dealing the best he can.”
“What about me? I haven’t scored…well unless you count last night,” I add with a grin, earning me a hard punch in the arm from Jordan.
“Shut up! When’s the last time Mel brought Kensie with her? Give me your fucking phone. I’m calling your ho and telling her to get that bitch on a plane,” Jordan makes a grab for my jacket and I swat his hand away.
“Hey, use your own phone and my fiancée is not a ho, thanks very much. She’s a very sweet girl from a small town and I’d like you to treat her accordingly,” I laugh, grabbing my own towel and starting to twist it to use as a weapon.
“Okay, okay, I’m going, fuck!” Jordan howls, sucking his gut in and running for the showers. “Hurry up Cap, I wanna get drunk tonight!”
“You boys don’t stay out too late,” Pappa G admonishes us, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We do still have one more game. At least I hope it’s one more game,” he adds with a grin, and then, with only his towel thrown over his shoulder, he too aims for the showers, leaving me and Flower and Cookie alone in the room with reporters breaking down the doors.
___________________________________________________
“This place is…,” I let out a long low whistle as I turned around and around in the middle of the club, the VIP section which didn’t make a lot of sense, being smack dab in the middle of everything where everyone could gawk at us, but who was I to say?
“I think swank is the word you’re looking for,” Jordy tries to finish my sentence as he grabs another glow in the dark martini from the platter being carried by a tall, voluptuous brunette. Not that Jordan even looks twice at her, a fact I remind myself to pass on to Kennedy when I email her later.
“I was thinking more along the lines of classy,” I muse, taking in the luxurious couches, the diffused lighting, and all of the well dressed clientele. “This is way better than that other place you boys like to go and get sweaty at,” I add, taking the drink from Jordan and joining him on the couch next to where Tanger is deep in conversation with a curvy dark haired girl with glasses who is giggling and blushing at whatever, probably profane, things he’s saying.
“You mean Blush?” GoGo asks, returning from the bar armed with a tray of shooters.
“I think she means Diesel,” Sid sighs, rolling his eyes at his teammate, shaking his head at the tray when it’s offered.
“I thought you said you were going to have some fun,” TK sighs, taking two shooters himself and downing both of them without seeming to even swallow. I shake my head, eyeing a whip cream and cherry topped shooter and wondering if Sidney would dive into my cleavage for it but before I actually get my hands on the tiny glass, Sidney’s pulling me onto his lap and sliding his hands up under the hem of the black leather halter dress, one of the pieces from the collection that Gareth has given me that I had had no idea where or when I was going to wear it but clubbing it with the Penguins seemed like an appropriate use of it.
“Have I told you yet how good you look tonight?” Sidney asks, his fingertips tracing the patterns in the lace at the top of my stockings.
“Have I told you how funny you are when you’re drunk?” I ask, glancing furtively around to see who, besides his teammates, might be watching the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins getting overly friendly with his fiancée in public.
“I’m not drunk babe. If I was drunk…,” his voice trails off and he gets that look in his caramel coloured eyes that tells me exactly how much farther his hands would be up my dress if he was well and truly under the influence.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk,” Jordan chimes in, watching the two of us with a mixture of jealousy and genuine curiosity.
“Can’t think of the last time I was,” Sidney replies thoughtfully, his eyes still glazed over, that half smile of his telling me that he isn’t really thinking about that at all.
“I remember,” the voice behind me makes the small hairs on my neck stand up on end. “Diesel, last year, after we won, you were hitting on everything in skirt,” Max adds dryly, reaching past me to grab a shot from the platter, downing it and then reaching for another.
“I seem to remember you stumbling around too,” Jordan reminds him quietly but pointedly, his gaze clearly adding a warning that, with a quick glance up at the bearded Frenchman, I can clearly tell he’s going to ignore.
“I have Mel to keep me on the straight and narrow,” Sid replies with a wink to me, as if I’m in on some kind of secret, his hand sliding even further up my thigh until I emit an involuntary shudder as his fingertips chase along the edging of my panties.
“Stop it,” I hiss, grasping his arm, my hand too small to even wrap around his muscular forearm but my nails long enough to dig in and leave nasty red welts behind. “I am not one of your puck fucks to be toyed with in public,” I growl, struggling to free myself from his grasp but his hold on me is firm and unyielding. “You are drunk,” I snap, digging my nails in deeper to his pale, white skin.
“I am not and you need to relax,” he smile boyishly, as if butter wouldn’t melt, his fingertips now gently brushing the outside of my panties, just at the spot that even the smallest brush steals my breath and makes my body go rigid. “Kennedy, give my girl here another shot. She’s not having fun yet.”
“I was having fun,” I insist through clenched teeth, blinking back tears of humiliation as Sidney continues to softly stroke the center of what seems to be the nerve centre of my entire body. My head, now entirely at war with my body, is sending signals to swat him, to rake my nails across his face. My body, being traitorous, is pressing against his hand, wanting more. “Don’t…just…mmmm,” I bite down on my bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth as his fingers find their way beneath the edge of my panties. Heat flames in my cheeks and I press my forehead into his shoulder. “Please Sidney, don’t,” I beg, but he only chuckles in response.
“You say don’t, but you’re so wet,” he whispers into my ear as his other arm, the one that’s been cinched around my waist, slides up until his hand is cupping my breast, his thumb flicking my nipple, which, also being traitorous, is almost painfully hard. “We could find a quiet, dark corner and have a private celebration,” he suggests, his voice like liquid honey in my ear.
“Stop. It. Now!” I snarl and with one hard shove, dislodge myself from his lap, smoothing my dress down and looking around for an exit. I notice that none of his teammates will even look at me, and the few other WAGs that have joined their men for this celebration are giving me that look, as if I’m some kind of cheap whore who’s crashed their party.
Feeling ashamed and embarrassed and with my eyes brimming over with tears, I stumble towards the velvet ropes, the invisible barrier holding back the ‘riff-raff’ from joining in the Pens’ players celebrations. No one tries to stop me. No one reaches out or turns to ask what’s wrong and Sidney doesn’t follow me. All I can hear is a buzzing in my head, the thrum of my blood surging through my veins, panic and the urge to breathe fresh air sending my body into flight mode, until I hear a voice that, just one moment I think it’s only in my head, that I’m imagining it.
“We have a request here from the superstar of last year’s game seven against the Wings, the Pens very own number twenty-five, Max Talbot, sending a shout out to a lady very near and dear to his heart that he wants to send a special message to tonight. You know who you are. And I have a message for you too, give the guy a break, the poor dude’s wrapped around your finger.”
I stop, my hand on the door as I hear the first bars of the song, a song I’ve been listening to over and over again on my iPod since I first heard it. The song is so incongruous for the place that we’re in that everyone seems to be standing still, confused. It’s probably my imagination but it feels like everyone’s watching me, as if they’ve all turned at once to stare.
What I’d give to take you dancing
What I’d give to make you mine
If you’ve got questions, I’ve got answers
And my answer is yes to you every time
What I’d give for just one minute
My heart is already pounding, my pulse already rapid, my chest already nearly too tight to breathe, but now my knees begin to give way, except that a pair of hands reaches out to steady me, or I’d have fallen, right there on the floor in the middle of the lounge. Instead, I find myself staring into the grey blue of a storm building off the coast that are Max’s eyes and the plea that is crystal clear there, shakes loose the last of my defenses.
His full lips open to speak and I already know what he’s going to say and I know that I can’t hear those words, don’t want to hear them, and I shake my head, tears rolling down my cheeks and I don’t know what or who I’m crying for. All I know is I have to get out of this place. I have to breathe the night air into my lungs. I have to clear my head. I have to think.
“Don’t…please don’t,” I whisper, reaching out to press my fingertips to those lips that I know would raise a fire in me if I let them and Max closes his eyes against the plea in my own expression and lets me go, his hands slipping away from arms as he turns and disappears into the crowd, vanishing before my eyes.
I stare at the place where he’d just been standing, part of me aching to go after him, to have him hold me and tell me again, as he’s always done how it’s going to be alright, but my feet stay rooted to the spot and the next pair of hands I feel on my shoulders turn me to face the crème caramel coloured eyes of the man I want to love as he searches my face curiously.
“What is with you tonight? You’re as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof,” Sidney asks, reaching up to cradle my face tenderly in his hand.
“I don’t think…I don’t think this is what I want,” I whisper, my hands shaking as I raise them, as I stare down at the antique ring on my finger. I glance up into Sidney’s curious gaze and see a flicker of panic pass behind his darkly fringed eyes. But then he controls it, wipes it away, just as he would on the ice. Never let them see you sweat.
“Think about this…before you do something…brash,” he says quietly, like a threat.
“I have,” I whisper as I turn the wring on my finger, pulling it slowly up and over my knuckle. “I seem to do nothing else,” I add as I reach out to cup his hand in mine, pushing the ring down into his palm with my other hand. I stare down at the ring, at how small and insignificant it looks in his hand, and then I force myself to look up into his fierce gaze, trying my best to school my expression. I want to see hurt there. Hurt and disappointment, but all I see in those caramel coloured eyes that I have loved to look into since I was a little girl in pig tails, is anger. Anger and loathing.
“You’ll regret this,” he hisses and I nod.
“I do,” I whisper, blinking through the tears that make it hard for me to see. “You have no idea how much I do,” I repeat and then, going up on tip toe, I press my lips to his cheek and then turn and force myself to walk slowly away, keeping my back straight and my head high.
“Was there ever any doubt?” TK shouts as he raises his hands above his head, celebrating our victory. I can still hear the crowd leaving the arena, it sounds like the buzz of a beehive.
“Fucking A!” Jordy howls, dragging his jersey off and tossing it in the pile in the middle of the room before making a muscle man pose and growling like a rabid dog.
“It’s one game guys, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Papa G counsels quietly from across the room where he’s quietly taking off his pads. Christ it was good to have him out there again, even if I still came up empty handed as far as the score sheet is concerned.
“I say we drink to our win,” Brooksy announces, one hand on his chest, the other out like he’s holding a shot, and knowing Brooks, it’s going to be named something like sex on the beach and have whipcream on it.
“Drink? We haven’t won anything yet,” Flower points out, looking over to me for support and normally I’d be right behind Billy G with his warnings to cool it but even though I haven’t been able to crawl my way onto the score sheet and even though we’re not handling Montreal as easily as I think we should….
“I’m up for it. So Diesel or Privé?” I ask, watching Fleur’s mouth fall open as I do. “What? It’s not like whatever I’m doing is working and I had sex before a game and we won so…why not?” I feel a cool hand on my forehead and spin to see Jordan looking down at me with a furrowed brow.
“Who are you and what have you done with the Creature?”
“I’d take him up on his offer if I were you.” We both turn to Max who has quietly sat down beside me on the bench and is untying his skates. “Just wait until he has ankle biters, he won’t be so accommodating then.”
“So Privé it is,” TK announces, standing up on the bench. “First round’s on the Captain,” he adds with a grin and wink in my direction.
“You coming Max?” I ask, to which he shrugs as he gets up to put his skates on the shelf above his name.
“May as well,” he sighs, tugging his jersey off and adding it to the growing pile in the middle of the room before eyeing the door to the room with a wariness that isn’t like Max at all. “Is she coming?”
“She who?” Jordy asks, sounding interested, as if he hasn’t been exclusively hot and heavy with my fiancée’s roommate for months now.
“Je ne sais pas,” Max replies, raising an eyebrow as he drops his hockey pants and grabs a towel, throwing it over his shoulder. “Will it be Mel tonight or Charline?”
“Mel, definitely Mel. I’m committed to that now. I’ve decided,” I reply happily, thinking about how acquiescent and sweet she was last night after we got that little matter of ‘our song’ out of the way. It’s nice to be wanted, I’ve decided. Nice to know that she still needs me and that this whole job in New York thing hasn’t entirely distracted her from our relationship.
“Oh so you’ve decided now have you? Well I guess that must be so comforting to Mel to know that you’ve ‘decided’ to commit to her now,” he snorts sarcastically before shaking his head and heading for the showers. “Lucky her, to have you so committed,” he adds, making rabbit ears in the air as he walks away from us. “Quelle fille chanceuse.” I open my mouth to argue but Jordan puts his hand on my shoulder and just shakes his head.
“He’s just…,” Jordan stares after him and shrugs. “He’s having a hard time out there and you two are hardly hanging out now…it’s hard for him,” the big blonde defenseman explains, as if that excuses Max being such a petty bitch.
“Oui, laisseaz-le seul pour maintenant,” Flower agrees, his gaze also following our furry French friend towards the showers. “He’s dealing the best he can.”
“What about me? I haven’t scored…well unless you count last night,” I add with a grin, earning me a hard punch in the arm from Jordan.
“Shut up! When’s the last time Mel brought Kensie with her? Give me your fucking phone. I’m calling your ho and telling her to get that bitch on a plane,” Jordan makes a grab for my jacket and I swat his hand away.
“Hey, use your own phone and my fiancée is not a ho, thanks very much. She’s a very sweet girl from a small town and I’d like you to treat her accordingly,” I laugh, grabbing my own towel and starting to twist it to use as a weapon.
“Okay, okay, I’m going, fuck!” Jordan howls, sucking his gut in and running for the showers. “Hurry up Cap, I wanna get drunk tonight!”
“You boys don’t stay out too late,” Pappa G admonishes us, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We do still have one more game. At least I hope it’s one more game,” he adds with a grin, and then, with only his towel thrown over his shoulder, he too aims for the showers, leaving me and Flower and Cookie alone in the room with reporters breaking down the doors.
___________________________________________________
“This place is…,” I let out a long low whistle as I turned around and around in the middle of the club, the VIP section which didn’t make a lot of sense, being smack dab in the middle of everything where everyone could gawk at us, but who was I to say?
“I think swank is the word you’re looking for,” Jordy tries to finish my sentence as he grabs another glow in the dark martini from the platter being carried by a tall, voluptuous brunette. Not that Jordan even looks twice at her, a fact I remind myself to pass on to Kennedy when I email her later.
“I was thinking more along the lines of classy,” I muse, taking in the luxurious couches, the diffused lighting, and all of the well dressed clientele. “This is way better than that other place you boys like to go and get sweaty at,” I add, taking the drink from Jordan and joining him on the couch next to where Tanger is deep in conversation with a curvy dark haired girl with glasses who is giggling and blushing at whatever, probably profane, things he’s saying.
“You mean Blush?” GoGo asks, returning from the bar armed with a tray of shooters.
“I think she means Diesel,” Sid sighs, rolling his eyes at his teammate, shaking his head at the tray when it’s offered.
“I thought you said you were going to have some fun,” TK sighs, taking two shooters himself and downing both of them without seeming to even swallow. I shake my head, eyeing a whip cream and cherry topped shooter and wondering if Sidney would dive into my cleavage for it but before I actually get my hands on the tiny glass, Sidney’s pulling me onto his lap and sliding his hands up under the hem of the black leather halter dress, one of the pieces from the collection that Gareth has given me that I had had no idea where or when I was going to wear it but clubbing it with the Penguins seemed like an appropriate use of it.
“Have I told you yet how good you look tonight?” Sidney asks, his fingertips tracing the patterns in the lace at the top of my stockings.
“Have I told you how funny you are when you’re drunk?” I ask, glancing furtively around to see who, besides his teammates, might be watching the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins getting overly friendly with his fiancée in public.
“I’m not drunk babe. If I was drunk…,” his voice trails off and he gets that look in his caramel coloured eyes that tells me exactly how much farther his hands would be up my dress if he was well and truly under the influence.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk,” Jordan chimes in, watching the two of us with a mixture of jealousy and genuine curiosity.
“Can’t think of the last time I was,” Sidney replies thoughtfully, his eyes still glazed over, that half smile of his telling me that he isn’t really thinking about that at all.
“I remember,” the voice behind me makes the small hairs on my neck stand up on end. “Diesel, last year, after we won, you were hitting on everything in skirt,” Max adds dryly, reaching past me to grab a shot from the platter, downing it and then reaching for another.
“I seem to remember you stumbling around too,” Jordan reminds him quietly but pointedly, his gaze clearly adding a warning that, with a quick glance up at the bearded Frenchman, I can clearly tell he’s going to ignore.
“I have Mel to keep me on the straight and narrow,” Sid replies with a wink to me, as if I’m in on some kind of secret, his hand sliding even further up my thigh until I emit an involuntary shudder as his fingertips chase along the edging of my panties.
“Stop it,” I hiss, grasping his arm, my hand too small to even wrap around his muscular forearm but my nails long enough to dig in and leave nasty red welts behind. “I am not one of your puck fucks to be toyed with in public,” I growl, struggling to free myself from his grasp but his hold on me is firm and unyielding. “You are drunk,” I snap, digging my nails in deeper to his pale, white skin.
“I am not and you need to relax,” he smile boyishly, as if butter wouldn’t melt, his fingertips now gently brushing the outside of my panties, just at the spot that even the smallest brush steals my breath and makes my body go rigid. “Kennedy, give my girl here another shot. She’s not having fun yet.”
“I was having fun,” I insist through clenched teeth, blinking back tears of humiliation as Sidney continues to softly stroke the center of what seems to be the nerve centre of my entire body. My head, now entirely at war with my body, is sending signals to swat him, to rake my nails across his face. My body, being traitorous, is pressing against his hand, wanting more. “Don’t…just…mmmm,” I bite down on my bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth as his fingers find their way beneath the edge of my panties. Heat flames in my cheeks and I press my forehead into his shoulder. “Please Sidney, don’t,” I beg, but he only chuckles in response.
“You say don’t, but you’re so wet,” he whispers into my ear as his other arm, the one that’s been cinched around my waist, slides up until his hand is cupping my breast, his thumb flicking my nipple, which, also being traitorous, is almost painfully hard. “We could find a quiet, dark corner and have a private celebration,” he suggests, his voice like liquid honey in my ear.
“Stop. It. Now!” I snarl and with one hard shove, dislodge myself from his lap, smoothing my dress down and looking around for an exit. I notice that none of his teammates will even look at me, and the few other WAGs that have joined their men for this celebration are giving me that look, as if I’m some kind of cheap whore who’s crashed their party.
Feeling ashamed and embarrassed and with my eyes brimming over with tears, I stumble towards the velvet ropes, the invisible barrier holding back the ‘riff-raff’ from joining in the Pens’ players celebrations. No one tries to stop me. No one reaches out or turns to ask what’s wrong and Sidney doesn’t follow me. All I can hear is a buzzing in my head, the thrum of my blood surging through my veins, panic and the urge to breathe fresh air sending my body into flight mode, until I hear a voice that, just one moment I think it’s only in my head, that I’m imagining it.
“We have a request here from the superstar of last year’s game seven against the Wings, the Pens very own number twenty-five, Max Talbot, sending a shout out to a lady very near and dear to his heart that he wants to send a special message to tonight. You know who you are. And I have a message for you too, give the guy a break, the poor dude’s wrapped around your finger.”
I stop, my hand on the door as I hear the first bars of the song, a song I’ve been listening to over and over again on my iPod since I first heard it. The song is so incongruous for the place that we’re in that everyone seems to be standing still, confused. It’s probably my imagination but it feels like everyone’s watching me, as if they’ve all turned at once to stare.
What I’d give to take you dancing
What I’d give to make you mine
If you’ve got questions, I’ve got answers
And my answer is yes to you every time
What I’d give for just one minute
My heart is already pounding, my pulse already rapid, my chest already nearly too tight to breathe, but now my knees begin to give way, except that a pair of hands reaches out to steady me, or I’d have fallen, right there on the floor in the middle of the lounge. Instead, I find myself staring into the grey blue of a storm building off the coast that are Max’s eyes and the plea that is crystal clear there, shakes loose the last of my defenses.
His full lips open to speak and I already know what he’s going to say and I know that I can’t hear those words, don’t want to hear them, and I shake my head, tears rolling down my cheeks and I don’t know what or who I’m crying for. All I know is I have to get out of this place. I have to breathe the night air into my lungs. I have to clear my head. I have to think.
“Don’t…please don’t,” I whisper, reaching out to press my fingertips to those lips that I know would raise a fire in me if I let them and Max closes his eyes against the plea in my own expression and lets me go, his hands slipping away from arms as he turns and disappears into the crowd, vanishing before my eyes.
I stare at the place where he’d just been standing, part of me aching to go after him, to have him hold me and tell me again, as he’s always done how it’s going to be alright, but my feet stay rooted to the spot and the next pair of hands I feel on my shoulders turn me to face the crème caramel coloured eyes of the man I want to love as he searches my face curiously.
“What is with you tonight? You’re as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof,” Sidney asks, reaching up to cradle my face tenderly in his hand.
“I don’t think…I don’t think this is what I want,” I whisper, my hands shaking as I raise them, as I stare down at the antique ring on my finger. I glance up into Sidney’s curious gaze and see a flicker of panic pass behind his darkly fringed eyes. But then he controls it, wipes it away, just as he would on the ice. Never let them see you sweat.
“Think about this…before you do something…brash,” he says quietly, like a threat.
“I have,” I whisper as I turn the wring on my finger, pulling it slowly up and over my knuckle. “I seem to do nothing else,” I add as I reach out to cup his hand in mine, pushing the ring down into his palm with my other hand. I stare down at the ring, at how small and insignificant it looks in his hand, and then I force myself to look up into his fierce gaze, trying my best to school my expression. I want to see hurt there. Hurt and disappointment, but all I see in those caramel coloured eyes that I have loved to look into since I was a little girl in pig tails, is anger. Anger and loathing.
“You’ll regret this,” he hisses and I nod.
“I do,” I whisper, blinking through the tears that make it hard for me to see. “You have no idea how much I do,” I repeat and then, going up on tip toe, I press my lips to his cheek and then turn and force myself to walk slowly away, keeping my back straight and my head high.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Chapter 37
This chapter kicked my ass, so thanks for your patience. Must have something to do with the Nucks and the Pens both losing...
“How long has that been going on?” I turn from watching Charline and a couple of her other teammates heading down the corridor under Mellon to find Max and Jordan standing behind me, watching me with obvious disapproval.
“Oh don’t go all Mother Goose on me. Half the guys on the team are married and every one of them has some girl in one city or another…,” I begin but Jordan just shakes his head at me and turns away, so I look to Max for corroboration and he just keeps staring at me like I’ve stolen his damn teddy bear. “What? Oh c’mon Max. You’ll fuck anything that moves. Are you going to seriously stand there and tell you wouldn’t hit that?” I ask, pointing at the girls’ retreating forms.
“We’re not…je ne parle pas de moi,” Max breathes, grabbing me by my collar and pushing me out of the way of the trainers as they load our equipment into the shipping containers that will follow us to Montreal. “Look, if you were looking for some…I don’t know…wiggle room,” he sighs, pushing a rolled up newspaper into my hand, “you should have thought of that before you did this.” I unroll the paper, already knowing what I’m going to find and stare down at the nearly half page announcement; so much for a tasteful and trivial mention. “You didn’t even do it properly,” he grimaces, snatching the paper back from me. “Cette image ne ressemble pas la même fille.”
“Okay now you’re just letting your best man duties get the better of you. You’re supposed to be supporting me,” I remind him, feeling like I should be getting a high five, not some kind of lecture on ethics and dating from Professor crabs.
“This is you…and you’re supposed to be above that kind of shit.” He insists, grabbing my shoulders and staring into my eyes like he’s trying to do some kind of Vulcan mind meld.
“Says who?” I laugh, pushing his hands away from my shoulders.
“Says me,” Max snarls indignantly. “You’re supposed to be better than that. You’re supposed to be the good guy, the guy we all try and fucking emulate,” he continues, rambling on like some kind of deranged lunatic, gesturing wildly and then finally running his hands through his short, cropped hair.
“I didn’t sign up for that. I never asked anyone to appoint me a god damned saint,” I tell him, shrugging. “Is this because you’ve gotten close to Mel?” I ask him and he shifts uncomfortably, shuffling his feet as he looks away from me. “Look I get it. It’s kind of…. No, it is bad, I get that but if she wasn’t so damn vanilla in bed,” I begin trying to explain my side of things only to have Max turn back to me, staring at me, wild eyed.
“Vanilla? You must be fucking joking,” Max hisses at me, and for just one minute, I think he’s going to say more and then he looks away. “What I mean is…I mean the way she talks I just thought….”
“I didn’t say she was bad, exactly, she’ just not…I don’t know, it’s not great is what I’m saying. So I have one last fling and get it out of my system, it’s not like it’s something you wouldn’t do,” I point out to him, fully expecting him to give me one of those barely there shrugs that would signal that he didn’t have a comeback. Instead, he shakes his head and glares at me.
“She’s your god damned fiancée,” he reminds me, managing to look both threatening and disappointed at the same time. “You’re about to promise to have and to hold and all that….”
“Yeah about to,” I remind him, taking a step back from my usually easy going friend who keeps looking at me like I’ve just kicked his damn puppy. “Damn Max. I never thought I’d be getting this lecture from you. Papa G yeah but…,” I begin but when Max gives that heavy sigh and drags his fingers through his hair I let my words die away until he looks back up at me.
“I just thought…fuck man! You’re like my hero, d’accord? And I know, I haven’t always treated women...avec autant respect que je pourrais avoir, mais…mais je sais que tu n’as pas voulu un rapport avec une femme célibataire, mais…I just always thought when you did, quand le bon moment est venu, that you would be the guy who’d do la bonne chose, be the Prince Charming, que ton serait la fin hereuse de conte de fées and we’d all look up to you and we’d know…we’d have something to…pour aspirer à,” he explains, falling into Frenglish as he grabs me by the shoulders and literally shakes me.
“So now you’re disappointed in me? I’ve got news for you mon ami, I’m a fucking human being. I don’t want to be your role model. I didn’t ask to be anyone’s role model or Prince Charming or what the fuck ever. I just want to live my fucking life,” I snap back, pushing him away and for just one moment, I think Max is going to lose it and I’m going to get one in the chops, but he takes a deep breath instead and hangs his head.
“What about her? What about being her Prince?” he asks, his gaze meeting mine slowly, the anger that seemed to dissipate while he lectured me begins leaking back.
“I am her Prince,” I shrug. “Whether I deserve to be…I don’t know Max. I’m just a guy. I’m not better than you or Tanger or Dupes. I am what I am. Mel…she knows that. Maybe you don’t think she does but she’s a pretty smart cookie. I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I tell him but I can see he’s far from being convinced.
“So you’ll tell her then? Dires-lui au sujet de ton affaire?”
“Affair? Max…seriously, you’re blowing shit way out of proportion,” I laugh, patting his shoulder and turning away. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her and it’s a one off, I tell myself, and Max won’t tell her either.
Nah…he won’t, bros before ho’s and all that. Max may be a lot of things, including, obviously a way too emotional Frenchman, but he’s no snitch. There’s a code on a team and I’ve always kept my mouth shut when it came to things even I wouldn’t take part in. It does make me rethink the whole best man thing though.
He does have a point, sort of, I think as I walk away, putting some space between his disapproving glare and the burgeoning feeling of guilt sitting in the pit of my stomach. I am about to say those vows, it might actually be time to start thinking about living with that reality. After all, he is right about one thing. If I was going to have cold feet about it, announcing it in the Pittsburgh Tribune was probably not the right thing to do.
Not that I’ve thought about calling it off. I mean, it’s seemed pretty inevitable since we met up again that this was the direction it was going to go, and it’s not like I don’t want to get married it’s just…funny how I can’t close my eyes and imagine myself, standing there in a tux and her in a white dress. For some reason I can’t wrap my head around that idea.
Maybe it’s like winning The Cup. You can imagine it but you can’t, not really, not until you’re holding it.
That must be what it is, I decide as I head out towards the bus. That and we’re not really doing our own planning so it’s all going to be kind of a surprise anyway. If I knew what it was all going to look like maybe that would help.
Or not.
Either way, all I can and should be thinking about now is Montreal and stuffing some pucks past Halak and I know from the Olympics that that is going to be no easy task. I’ll just have to leave that kind of thinking for some other time.
______________________________________________________________
“I’m going to do it,” I announce as I bounce through the door to the apartment. “I’m going to ask Sid to call off the wedding…for now,” I add as I round the corner to find Kensie at the kitchen table staring intently at her lap top.
“Well that should make things interesting,” she replies dryly.
“I think he’ll understand. I mean we shouldn’t rush into anything right? I mean I know I’ve known him forever but we’re just getting to know each other properly and there’s no need to rush into anything,” I continue, feeling confident in the decision I’ve come to. That is until I actually look at the way Kennedy is looking up at me over her lap top with that ‘are you quite done’ look on her face complete with raised eyebrow and impatient gaze.
“While god only knows that I agree about the whole putting the brakes on this circus, but when I said that should be interesting, I meant because of this,” she sighs, turning her lap top to face me. The confident, self assured smile I’d been wearing since my dad had put me on the plane with the promise to be strong is wiped completely an entirely off of my face.
“How…when did this happen?” I ask, my knees giving way beneath me, the air literally being sucked out of my sails as I drop into the chair beside her. I stare at the screen, half of me wishing that I haven’t just seen what I know I’ve seen, but then wishing doesn’t make it so. “I didn’t…he didn’t tell me he was going to announce anything,” I add in a half whisper.
“Yeah, I wondered about that,” Kensie turns the lap top back around, and, with a few strokes of her fingers pulls up yet another engagement announcement, this time in the New York Times, with a picture.
“Oh god…” I cover my mouth with my hand as I stare at the picture of us I knew his mother had taken of us at Christmas.
“I know, very deer in the headlights,” Kennedy muses sardonically as she gets up to look at the pic over my shoulder. “You’d think he could have waited to have something more formal done. It’s not like the Pens don’t have a professional photog on staff,” she adds, giving my shoulder a supportive squeeze before heading deeper into the kitchen to grab two mugs and a box of tea bags.
“I just can’t understand,” I mumble, half to myself. “Why would he go and do something like this without talking to me first?”
“At least give a girl a heads up that she’s gonna be in the New York Times. He had to have done that knowing you work here and like, everyone in Manhattan reads the society pages,” she adds, which does nothing to improve my current state of mind. “So, like I said,” she begins, having turned the electric kettle on and turning to lean her back against the counter, arms crossed, “that kind of complicates your plan.”
“Just a little,” I manage to breathe, wrapping my arms around my stomach. Suddenly the sandwich I’d had on the plane isn’t sitting too well in my stomach.
“So what are you going to do now?” Kensie asks, tipping her head to one side so that her hair falls over her shoulder. “Because this doesn’t mean that you can’t call it off you know,” she adds, and I nod, hearing her but somehow I can’t quite imagine actually doing it now, even though I had it all planned out in my head how that was going to go. “On the other hand, and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” she adds with a half smile, “this might mean that he’s actually taking this seriously. I mean this might be his big romantic gesture ‘cuz god knows he hasn’t really held up his end on that score yet.” I look up at her and I can tell by the way she immediately rolls her eyes that the sudden and overwhelming feeling of relief flooding my body shows on my face. “I said might be” she adds with a smirk as the kettle begins to whistle and she turns to pour the steaming water into the two cups, adding a fragrant tea bag to each before turning around and coming back to join me at the table. “Have you even talked to him?” she asks, pushing one mug towards me.
“Yeah…I mean…well as much as you can talk to him during the playoffs. It’s mostly that refs an asshole and that player is a dick and Geno should get his head out of ass and…so yeah we’ve spoken but talked…?” I shrug, closing my eyes and inhaling the steam coming from the mug, peppermint and green tea, an excellent remedy for the pounding headache behind my eyes.
“You should go see him,” Kennedy says, not like it’s a suggestion, but like it’s an order.
“I don’t want to distract him,” I begin, but hearing the whine in my own voice, I square my shoulders and take a deep, cleansing breath. “I should, shouldn’t I?”
“You should,” Kennedy grins, reaching over to grasp my hand and give me an encouraging smile.
“Yeah…I should.”
____________________________________________________________
“GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING SHIT!!!”
“My sentiments exactement,” I grumble, tossing my stick aside as we head down the hallway at La Colisée after literally dropping an egg on the fucking ice. Tanger kicks his helmet across the room and we all watch it hit the wall with a satisfying smack.
“Je suis si désolé Fleur,” he says, again, and again, Flower just shrugs. It’s not like he tried to kick the damn puck in the fucking net and we all know it, but most of us also know how it feels like you should have been able to do something, anything, to get the puck to go another direction.
“We’ll just have to kick their asses at home,” I offer, but there’s no uproarious ‘hell yeah’ of agreement. Not that I’m expecting one. It’s worse to lose when the crowd is that fucking loud and you had it in your god damned back pocket. At least the rest of the guys weren’t getting boo’d every time they touched the puck.
“Crosby, you’ve got a visitor.” I turn around, my jersey half off, to see Mel leaning in the doorway of the room, and I’m surprised to feel relieved and happy to see her. Dropping my jersey on the pile in the middle of the floor, I cross the room and grab her around the waist, lifting her off of her feet as I bury my head in her neck. She smells like strawberries and vanilla frosting.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, putting her down, searching her flushed face for signs of impending doom. “Is something wrong with your mom? Your dad?”
“No, I just…you’re not mad I’m here?” she says, like she expected that I would be, and searching in myself I know that I normally might have been a little pissed about her showing up unexpectedly, especially after losing like this, but I’m not.
“No, of course not,” I grin, brushing her cheek with my hand before leaning down to capture her lips with mine. She tastes like cinnamon.
“It was…it’s the engagement announcement,” she explains quietly, her lips brush my cheek. “It was kind of…unexpected,” she adds, reaching up to run her finger along my upper lip when I pull back from her.
“I know, I know, pathetic, you don’t have to tell me,” I sigh. I keep hoping, every year, that my playoff beard will get better. It doesn’t seem to.
“It’s cute,” she grins. “I’ve never seen it up close before,” she adds, her fingertip now running along my jawline where the denser, thicker stuff is growing. The itchy shit.
“I know it’s not like Max’s Sasquatch growth,” I point out as Max emerges from the showers already, a towel clutched around his mid section. He stops and stares and when I turn back, Mel’s cheeks are flushed again. “Hey, do you guys mind not getting naked in front of my fiancée?” I yell, grabbing her hand and pulling her out into the hallway. “Wait here. You’ll fly back with us right?”
“Yeah,” she smiles softly, her fingers lacing with mine. “If they’ll let me,” she adds, sending a sheepish glance towards Coach B who’s striding into the room with a dark look on his face, and I can’t say that I blame him. I’m probably in for it and I know I deserve it.
“They will, just…wait here,” I insist, putting my hands on her shoulders and searching her face. “This was a good surprise Mel. I don’t know what you did back home but…it’s good to see you.” With that I kiss her again, clasping her cheeks in my hands and rolling my tongue around hers’ before leaving her, surprisingly reluctantly to go in and take my beating as required.
____________________________________________________________________
With his head on my shoulder, Sid snores quietly, a blanket pulled up to his chin. Unlike most of the other guys, he doesn’t seem to need a sleep mask. In fact, the whole plane is almost silent except for the snores and other sounds of restless sleep. The only other people awake on the plane seem to be Disco Dan, who has been analyzing the game on his laptop, his stereo headphones on, and Max.
Ever since I saw him in the dressing room, his muscles gleaming with steaming water from the showers, it’s seemed like he’s been wanting to talk to me, to say something. Not that I think that’s a good idea. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s an entirely bad idea. Especially since all of the thoughts in my head, all of the prepared speeches I had for Sidney about respecting me and asking my opinion before he does things, went entirely out the window the moment my eyes fell on his round shoulders and made their way down to his goody trail on the flat plane of his stomach.
Even now, knowing that he’s right across the aisle, I can barely breathe. Watching the quick movement of his thumbs on his blackberry, texting or playing a game, I can’t tell, I’m too aware of what those fingers can do and how they can make me feel. And no matter how hard I try to concentrate on the words on the pages in front of me, I keep feeling his gaze, like a soft, warm touch, on my skin.
“Stop it,” I hiss, my gaze still riveted to the magazine in my hands although I’ve probably read the same ten sentences over and over and I still couldn’t tell you what it says.
“Arrêtes ce qui?” I turn to glare at him but now he seems engrossed in whatever is on his blackberry, looking calm and composed, as if he hadn’t just been staring at me.
“You know what,” I snarl back, turning the page of my magazine with a snap, giving myself a paper cut in the process.
“Cessez de vouloir vous avoir?” he asks, making it sound innocent when just saying it out loud makes my belly clench and my mouth go dry.
“Stop it Max…please,” I whimper, shutting my eyes against the vision of his naked torso moving over me that suddenly appears in my head.
“Ou tu veux dire que je devrais cesser de fantasmer au sujet de ton beau corps dans mon lit?” he asks, his voice low and rasping, just as it is when it’s full of need. “Because if that’s what you’re asking, ma petite, that will never happen, c’est impossible.”
“You have to,” I growl back. “I’m marrying him. Did you see the announcement?” I ask, staring at a picture of Liz Hurley in some eenie weenie bikini and I can’t decide if it’s her hip bones or the vision of Max’s that has me more furious.
“Oui, j’ai fait, mais, il ne tu aimes pas. He doesn’t move you like I do,” he growls, sounding like a jungle cat as he finally puts his blackberry aside and turns those deep emerald orbs of his towards me.
“He does…love me and…what do you mean he doesn’t move me?”I hiss, unable to drag my gaze away from his, knowing I should, that the longer I look the more my skin begins to warm and the harder it becomes to breathe.
“He told me, mon petit chat. He called you…maintenant, ce que était le mot qu’il employé? Ah oui, vanilla, he called you vanilla ma petite and if it’s one thing you have never been to me…,” his voice falls away as does his gaze, and I shudder at the relief of being released from his gaze. I’d almost begun to feel like I was about to go up in flames.
“You must…you have to have misunderstood.” My voice catches in my throat and comes out almost as a whisper. My heart had swelled to twice its size to have Sid happy to see me, to have called me vanilla….
“There was no misunderstanding ma petite, I assure you,” Max whispers, his voice thick and velvety as he reaches across the aisle to reach for my hand, but as his fingers brush mine, I feel Sid’s heavy body stirring and he sits up, rubbing at his eyes like a child.
“Fuck…I needed that. Are we almost home?” he asks, lifting the cover from the window to peer out at the night sky.
“Almost,” Max replies, his blackberry once again in his hand, his voice normal, as if nothing at all had happened. “Wheels down in twenty and then home to bed eh mon ami?” he grins, looking lecherously over at us, his thick eyebrows arched.
“Hot tub, then bed,” Sid answers, yawning , before once again snuggling up to me, wrapping his arms covetously around my waist. “Did I tell you what a good surprise this is?” he asks again, that boyish grin of his lighting up his crème caramel coloured eyes.
“You did,” I smile at him, my cheeks aching from smiling when I don’t feel like smiling at all.
“How long has that been going on?” I turn from watching Charline and a couple of her other teammates heading down the corridor under Mellon to find Max and Jordan standing behind me, watching me with obvious disapproval.
“Oh don’t go all Mother Goose on me. Half the guys on the team are married and every one of them has some girl in one city or another…,” I begin but Jordan just shakes his head at me and turns away, so I look to Max for corroboration and he just keeps staring at me like I’ve stolen his damn teddy bear. “What? Oh c’mon Max. You’ll fuck anything that moves. Are you going to seriously stand there and tell you wouldn’t hit that?” I ask, pointing at the girls’ retreating forms.
“We’re not…je ne parle pas de moi,” Max breathes, grabbing me by my collar and pushing me out of the way of the trainers as they load our equipment into the shipping containers that will follow us to Montreal. “Look, if you were looking for some…I don’t know…wiggle room,” he sighs, pushing a rolled up newspaper into my hand, “you should have thought of that before you did this.” I unroll the paper, already knowing what I’m going to find and stare down at the nearly half page announcement; so much for a tasteful and trivial mention. “You didn’t even do it properly,” he grimaces, snatching the paper back from me. “Cette image ne ressemble pas la même fille.”
“Okay now you’re just letting your best man duties get the better of you. You’re supposed to be supporting me,” I remind him, feeling like I should be getting a high five, not some kind of lecture on ethics and dating from Professor crabs.
“This is you…and you’re supposed to be above that kind of shit.” He insists, grabbing my shoulders and staring into my eyes like he’s trying to do some kind of Vulcan mind meld.
“Says who?” I laugh, pushing his hands away from my shoulders.
“Says me,” Max snarls indignantly. “You’re supposed to be better than that. You’re supposed to be the good guy, the guy we all try and fucking emulate,” he continues, rambling on like some kind of deranged lunatic, gesturing wildly and then finally running his hands through his short, cropped hair.
“I didn’t sign up for that. I never asked anyone to appoint me a god damned saint,” I tell him, shrugging. “Is this because you’ve gotten close to Mel?” I ask him and he shifts uncomfortably, shuffling his feet as he looks away from me. “Look I get it. It’s kind of…. No, it is bad, I get that but if she wasn’t so damn vanilla in bed,” I begin trying to explain my side of things only to have Max turn back to me, staring at me, wild eyed.
“Vanilla? You must be fucking joking,” Max hisses at me, and for just one minute, I think he’s going to say more and then he looks away. “What I mean is…I mean the way she talks I just thought….”
“I didn’t say she was bad, exactly, she’ just not…I don’t know, it’s not great is what I’m saying. So I have one last fling and get it out of my system, it’s not like it’s something you wouldn’t do,” I point out to him, fully expecting him to give me one of those barely there shrugs that would signal that he didn’t have a comeback. Instead, he shakes his head and glares at me.
“She’s your god damned fiancée,” he reminds me, managing to look both threatening and disappointed at the same time. “You’re about to promise to have and to hold and all that….”
“Yeah about to,” I remind him, taking a step back from my usually easy going friend who keeps looking at me like I’ve just kicked his damn puppy. “Damn Max. I never thought I’d be getting this lecture from you. Papa G yeah but…,” I begin but when Max gives that heavy sigh and drags his fingers through his hair I let my words die away until he looks back up at me.
“I just thought…fuck man! You’re like my hero, d’accord? And I know, I haven’t always treated women...avec autant respect que je pourrais avoir, mais…mais je sais que tu n’as pas voulu un rapport avec une femme célibataire, mais…I just always thought when you did, quand le bon moment est venu, that you would be the guy who’d do la bonne chose, be the Prince Charming, que ton serait la fin hereuse de conte de fées and we’d all look up to you and we’d know…we’d have something to…pour aspirer à,” he explains, falling into Frenglish as he grabs me by the shoulders and literally shakes me.
“So now you’re disappointed in me? I’ve got news for you mon ami, I’m a fucking human being. I don’t want to be your role model. I didn’t ask to be anyone’s role model or Prince Charming or what the fuck ever. I just want to live my fucking life,” I snap back, pushing him away and for just one moment, I think Max is going to lose it and I’m going to get one in the chops, but he takes a deep breath instead and hangs his head.
“What about her? What about being her Prince?” he asks, his gaze meeting mine slowly, the anger that seemed to dissipate while he lectured me begins leaking back.
“I am her Prince,” I shrug. “Whether I deserve to be…I don’t know Max. I’m just a guy. I’m not better than you or Tanger or Dupes. I am what I am. Mel…she knows that. Maybe you don’t think she does but she’s a pretty smart cookie. I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I tell him but I can see he’s far from being convinced.
“So you’ll tell her then? Dires-lui au sujet de ton affaire?”
“Affair? Max…seriously, you’re blowing shit way out of proportion,” I laugh, patting his shoulder and turning away. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her and it’s a one off, I tell myself, and Max won’t tell her either.
Nah…he won’t, bros before ho’s and all that. Max may be a lot of things, including, obviously a way too emotional Frenchman, but he’s no snitch. There’s a code on a team and I’ve always kept my mouth shut when it came to things even I wouldn’t take part in. It does make me rethink the whole best man thing though.
He does have a point, sort of, I think as I walk away, putting some space between his disapproving glare and the burgeoning feeling of guilt sitting in the pit of my stomach. I am about to say those vows, it might actually be time to start thinking about living with that reality. After all, he is right about one thing. If I was going to have cold feet about it, announcing it in the Pittsburgh Tribune was probably not the right thing to do.
Not that I’ve thought about calling it off. I mean, it’s seemed pretty inevitable since we met up again that this was the direction it was going to go, and it’s not like I don’t want to get married it’s just…funny how I can’t close my eyes and imagine myself, standing there in a tux and her in a white dress. For some reason I can’t wrap my head around that idea.
Maybe it’s like winning The Cup. You can imagine it but you can’t, not really, not until you’re holding it.
That must be what it is, I decide as I head out towards the bus. That and we’re not really doing our own planning so it’s all going to be kind of a surprise anyway. If I knew what it was all going to look like maybe that would help.
Or not.
Either way, all I can and should be thinking about now is Montreal and stuffing some pucks past Halak and I know from the Olympics that that is going to be no easy task. I’ll just have to leave that kind of thinking for some other time.
______________________________________________________________
“I’m going to do it,” I announce as I bounce through the door to the apartment. “I’m going to ask Sid to call off the wedding…for now,” I add as I round the corner to find Kensie at the kitchen table staring intently at her lap top.
“Well that should make things interesting,” she replies dryly.
“I think he’ll understand. I mean we shouldn’t rush into anything right? I mean I know I’ve known him forever but we’re just getting to know each other properly and there’s no need to rush into anything,” I continue, feeling confident in the decision I’ve come to. That is until I actually look at the way Kennedy is looking up at me over her lap top with that ‘are you quite done’ look on her face complete with raised eyebrow and impatient gaze.
“While god only knows that I agree about the whole putting the brakes on this circus, but when I said that should be interesting, I meant because of this,” she sighs, turning her lap top to face me. The confident, self assured smile I’d been wearing since my dad had put me on the plane with the promise to be strong is wiped completely an entirely off of my face.
“How…when did this happen?” I ask, my knees giving way beneath me, the air literally being sucked out of my sails as I drop into the chair beside her. I stare at the screen, half of me wishing that I haven’t just seen what I know I’ve seen, but then wishing doesn’t make it so. “I didn’t…he didn’t tell me he was going to announce anything,” I add in a half whisper.
“Yeah, I wondered about that,” Kensie turns the lap top back around, and, with a few strokes of her fingers pulls up yet another engagement announcement, this time in the New York Times, with a picture.
“Oh god…” I cover my mouth with my hand as I stare at the picture of us I knew his mother had taken of us at Christmas.
“I know, very deer in the headlights,” Kennedy muses sardonically as she gets up to look at the pic over my shoulder. “You’d think he could have waited to have something more formal done. It’s not like the Pens don’t have a professional photog on staff,” she adds, giving my shoulder a supportive squeeze before heading deeper into the kitchen to grab two mugs and a box of tea bags.
“I just can’t understand,” I mumble, half to myself. “Why would he go and do something like this without talking to me first?”
“At least give a girl a heads up that she’s gonna be in the New York Times. He had to have done that knowing you work here and like, everyone in Manhattan reads the society pages,” she adds, which does nothing to improve my current state of mind. “So, like I said,” she begins, having turned the electric kettle on and turning to lean her back against the counter, arms crossed, “that kind of complicates your plan.”
“Just a little,” I manage to breathe, wrapping my arms around my stomach. Suddenly the sandwich I’d had on the plane isn’t sitting too well in my stomach.
“So what are you going to do now?” Kensie asks, tipping her head to one side so that her hair falls over her shoulder. “Because this doesn’t mean that you can’t call it off you know,” she adds, and I nod, hearing her but somehow I can’t quite imagine actually doing it now, even though I had it all planned out in my head how that was going to go. “On the other hand, and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” she adds with a half smile, “this might mean that he’s actually taking this seriously. I mean this might be his big romantic gesture ‘cuz god knows he hasn’t really held up his end on that score yet.” I look up at her and I can tell by the way she immediately rolls her eyes that the sudden and overwhelming feeling of relief flooding my body shows on my face. “I said might be” she adds with a smirk as the kettle begins to whistle and she turns to pour the steaming water into the two cups, adding a fragrant tea bag to each before turning around and coming back to join me at the table. “Have you even talked to him?” she asks, pushing one mug towards me.
“Yeah…I mean…well as much as you can talk to him during the playoffs. It’s mostly that refs an asshole and that player is a dick and Geno should get his head out of ass and…so yeah we’ve spoken but talked…?” I shrug, closing my eyes and inhaling the steam coming from the mug, peppermint and green tea, an excellent remedy for the pounding headache behind my eyes.
“You should go see him,” Kennedy says, not like it’s a suggestion, but like it’s an order.
“I don’t want to distract him,” I begin, but hearing the whine in my own voice, I square my shoulders and take a deep, cleansing breath. “I should, shouldn’t I?”
“You should,” Kennedy grins, reaching over to grasp my hand and give me an encouraging smile.
“Yeah…I should.”
____________________________________________________________
“GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING SHIT!!!”
“My sentiments exactement,” I grumble, tossing my stick aside as we head down the hallway at La Colisée after literally dropping an egg on the fucking ice. Tanger kicks his helmet across the room and we all watch it hit the wall with a satisfying smack.
“Je suis si désolé Fleur,” he says, again, and again, Flower just shrugs. It’s not like he tried to kick the damn puck in the fucking net and we all know it, but most of us also know how it feels like you should have been able to do something, anything, to get the puck to go another direction.
“We’ll just have to kick their asses at home,” I offer, but there’s no uproarious ‘hell yeah’ of agreement. Not that I’m expecting one. It’s worse to lose when the crowd is that fucking loud and you had it in your god damned back pocket. At least the rest of the guys weren’t getting boo’d every time they touched the puck.
“Crosby, you’ve got a visitor.” I turn around, my jersey half off, to see Mel leaning in the doorway of the room, and I’m surprised to feel relieved and happy to see her. Dropping my jersey on the pile in the middle of the floor, I cross the room and grab her around the waist, lifting her off of her feet as I bury my head in her neck. She smells like strawberries and vanilla frosting.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, putting her down, searching her flushed face for signs of impending doom. “Is something wrong with your mom? Your dad?”
“No, I just…you’re not mad I’m here?” she says, like she expected that I would be, and searching in myself I know that I normally might have been a little pissed about her showing up unexpectedly, especially after losing like this, but I’m not.
“No, of course not,” I grin, brushing her cheek with my hand before leaning down to capture her lips with mine. She tastes like cinnamon.
“It was…it’s the engagement announcement,” she explains quietly, her lips brush my cheek. “It was kind of…unexpected,” she adds, reaching up to run her finger along my upper lip when I pull back from her.
“I know, I know, pathetic, you don’t have to tell me,” I sigh. I keep hoping, every year, that my playoff beard will get better. It doesn’t seem to.
“It’s cute,” she grins. “I’ve never seen it up close before,” she adds, her fingertip now running along my jawline where the denser, thicker stuff is growing. The itchy shit.
“I know it’s not like Max’s Sasquatch growth,” I point out as Max emerges from the showers already, a towel clutched around his mid section. He stops and stares and when I turn back, Mel’s cheeks are flushed again. “Hey, do you guys mind not getting naked in front of my fiancée?” I yell, grabbing her hand and pulling her out into the hallway. “Wait here. You’ll fly back with us right?”
“Yeah,” she smiles softly, her fingers lacing with mine. “If they’ll let me,” she adds, sending a sheepish glance towards Coach B who’s striding into the room with a dark look on his face, and I can’t say that I blame him. I’m probably in for it and I know I deserve it.
“They will, just…wait here,” I insist, putting my hands on her shoulders and searching her face. “This was a good surprise Mel. I don’t know what you did back home but…it’s good to see you.” With that I kiss her again, clasping her cheeks in my hands and rolling my tongue around hers’ before leaving her, surprisingly reluctantly to go in and take my beating as required.
____________________________________________________________________
With his head on my shoulder, Sid snores quietly, a blanket pulled up to his chin. Unlike most of the other guys, he doesn’t seem to need a sleep mask. In fact, the whole plane is almost silent except for the snores and other sounds of restless sleep. The only other people awake on the plane seem to be Disco Dan, who has been analyzing the game on his laptop, his stereo headphones on, and Max.
Ever since I saw him in the dressing room, his muscles gleaming with steaming water from the showers, it’s seemed like he’s been wanting to talk to me, to say something. Not that I think that’s a good idea. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s an entirely bad idea. Especially since all of the thoughts in my head, all of the prepared speeches I had for Sidney about respecting me and asking my opinion before he does things, went entirely out the window the moment my eyes fell on his round shoulders and made their way down to his goody trail on the flat plane of his stomach.
Even now, knowing that he’s right across the aisle, I can barely breathe. Watching the quick movement of his thumbs on his blackberry, texting or playing a game, I can’t tell, I’m too aware of what those fingers can do and how they can make me feel. And no matter how hard I try to concentrate on the words on the pages in front of me, I keep feeling his gaze, like a soft, warm touch, on my skin.
“Stop it,” I hiss, my gaze still riveted to the magazine in my hands although I’ve probably read the same ten sentences over and over and I still couldn’t tell you what it says.
“Arrêtes ce qui?” I turn to glare at him but now he seems engrossed in whatever is on his blackberry, looking calm and composed, as if he hadn’t just been staring at me.
“You know what,” I snarl back, turning the page of my magazine with a snap, giving myself a paper cut in the process.
“Cessez de vouloir vous avoir?” he asks, making it sound innocent when just saying it out loud makes my belly clench and my mouth go dry.
“Stop it Max…please,” I whimper, shutting my eyes against the vision of his naked torso moving over me that suddenly appears in my head.
“Ou tu veux dire que je devrais cesser de fantasmer au sujet de ton beau corps dans mon lit?” he asks, his voice low and rasping, just as it is when it’s full of need. “Because if that’s what you’re asking, ma petite, that will never happen, c’est impossible.”
“You have to,” I growl back. “I’m marrying him. Did you see the announcement?” I ask, staring at a picture of Liz Hurley in some eenie weenie bikini and I can’t decide if it’s her hip bones or the vision of Max’s that has me more furious.
“Oui, j’ai fait, mais, il ne tu aimes pas. He doesn’t move you like I do,” he growls, sounding like a jungle cat as he finally puts his blackberry aside and turns those deep emerald orbs of his towards me.
“He does…love me and…what do you mean he doesn’t move me?”I hiss, unable to drag my gaze away from his, knowing I should, that the longer I look the more my skin begins to warm and the harder it becomes to breathe.
“He told me, mon petit chat. He called you…maintenant, ce que était le mot qu’il employé? Ah oui, vanilla, he called you vanilla ma petite and if it’s one thing you have never been to me…,” his voice falls away as does his gaze, and I shudder at the relief of being released from his gaze. I’d almost begun to feel like I was about to go up in flames.
“You must…you have to have misunderstood.” My voice catches in my throat and comes out almost as a whisper. My heart had swelled to twice its size to have Sid happy to see me, to have called me vanilla….
“There was no misunderstanding ma petite, I assure you,” Max whispers, his voice thick and velvety as he reaches across the aisle to reach for my hand, but as his fingers brush mine, I feel Sid’s heavy body stirring and he sits up, rubbing at his eyes like a child.
“Fuck…I needed that. Are we almost home?” he asks, lifting the cover from the window to peer out at the night sky.
“Almost,” Max replies, his blackberry once again in his hand, his voice normal, as if nothing at all had happened. “Wheels down in twenty and then home to bed eh mon ami?” he grins, looking lecherously over at us, his thick eyebrows arched.
“Hot tub, then bed,” Sid answers, yawning , before once again snuggling up to me, wrapping his arms covetously around my waist. “Did I tell you what a good surprise this is?” he asks again, that boyish grin of his lighting up his crème caramel coloured eyes.
“You did,” I smile at him, my cheeks aching from smiling when I don’t feel like smiling at all.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Chapter 35
All I can say is ouch! Suddenly Mel is the bad guy? I don't think life is so black and white...
Who the hell are you?
That’s what I ask my reflection as I brush my teeth, the same question I’ve been asking myself every morning for a week. Who the hell are you and what have you done with that nice girl from next door from Cole Harbour? What kind of person are you that you would sneak out in the dead of night and crawl into some other man’s bed?
Who in the hell are you?
The strange part of it is, every morning I have an answer for that question.
I’m sad. Sad that this isn’t everything I wanted it to be, this new life. It’s almost there, almost perfect, but not quite.
Does that make it fair? To cheat on the man that I’ve loved since I could tie my shoes? Hell no, of course it’s not. Even if he does treat me like…like an accessory, a bobble to put on and taken off at will. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. That’s what was so perfect about it. I wasn’t going to be one of those girls who complained when he didn’t have the time or inclination to pay attention to me and now that I have this fabulous job that should matter even less and yet….
I’m angry. Why does it feel like I’m the only one bending over backwards to make this work? I may not be as pretty as some of the other Wags, as Lauren has been so quick to point out, but I try. I’m stylish. I wear the right things, I get along with his friends, Nathalie and Mario like me so why isn’t it enough? Why doesn’t he look at me like…like Jordan looks at Kennedy? Like…
No, no I shake my head and refuse to think about the way Max looks at me. That’s the heat of passion, that doesn’t count.
Or does it? Does Sidney look at me like that when we make love? I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste and stare at my reflection. You know damn well you don’t know the answer to that question, I tell the woman looking back at me in the mirror. Most of the time your eyes are screwed shut while you think of someone else!
It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do. I was angry. I felt humiliated. I felt neglected. I ran for comfort. I didn’t mean for it to end up with us in bed….
Or did I?
Fuck! Be honest with yourself for once. You can’t stop fucking thinking about him. Every time you see him you start to squirm and your mouth gets dry and all you can think about is him…naked…inside of you….
And now Lauren knows, or at least I think she does. The last thing she said to me was that she was keeping an eye on me. She gave me that whole military silent my eyes are on your eyes thing. I’m watching you….
As if she’s not sleeping her way through the team.
As if that’s somehow better than what I’ve done.
Shit.
Shit.
Double shit.
It’s just sex. It isn’t love. What I have with Sidney, that’s love. I want him for the rest of my life. Max…I just want him. But I can’t…not anymore. It was a mistake. It was just a crazy, stupid, impetuous thing to do. Sid can be better. We can be better. We just need more practice. Max has had all those girls and it’s obvious Sid isn’t the man whore type. I need to just give us more time.
It will be better.
It has to be.
“You’ll wear the enamel off of your teeth if you keep that up.” I look up from staring into the sink to see Kennedy leaning in the doorway, watching me with a concerned expression on her face. “Penny for them,” she adds, raising a single eyebrow before pushing off from the door jam and joining me at the sink, hip checking me out of the way as she reaches for her toothbrush.
“I’m just…do you ever wonder…I mean, are you and Jordo serious?” I ask, rinsing out my toothbrush and dropping it in the cup at the back of the sink before heading for the edge of the tub with a handful of mousse.
“Me and Jordan?” she smiles to herself, her toothbrush making slow circles on her front teeth while she stares dreamily ahead. “I don’t know,” she answers after a long while, spitting into the sink before attacking her molars with zest.
“That’s it? You don’t know?” I ask, dragging my fingers through my hair, looking for texture, not spikes.
“Well…if you’re asking if I see a future like with babies and picket fences then…,” she gazes into the mirror with a strange half smile on her face and then she shrugs and spits again. “I guess so, sometimes, yeah. But then sometimes I wake up, like this morning and think…why tie myself down to just him? I mean…there are so many hot guys in New York and I haven’t even travelled yet. Who knows who’s out there? I mean…even his brother Marc is crazy hot in his brooding, quiet sort of way,” she adds with a smirk as she leans in to splash water on her face. “What’s this about? You having second thoughts about Saint Sidney all of a sudden?” she asks, turning to me, hands on hips.
“I don’t know…maybe,” I admit, rising to head over to the sink to wash the sticky remnants of the mousse off of my hands. “I just don’t have that…butterflies thing,” I admit, reaching for a towel after running my hands under the tap.
“Call it off,” she says simply, putting both of her hands on my shoulders and staring intently into my eyes. “Seriously Mel…you know what I think about him but I know that you love him or think that you do but if you have even one doubt in your head….”
“But it could be just that you know? Cold feet? Ever bride gets them right?” I ask, wanting affirmation that I know she isn’t about to give me.
“Yeah, I think it’s natural to second guess big decisions like this but…you were really set on this Mel. How long have you been set on this? Maybe now that it’s here, is it possible that it isn’t what you really want? Not really?” she asks, giving me a little shake that I know I need but it doesn’t shake my resolve. I want Sid. I’ve wanted him forever. I have to make it work. I’m just not giving him or us enough time and energy.
“I’m not a quitter,” I say out loud, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. “We Kelly’s are not quitters,” I add, quoting my mother.
“Oh Mel,” Kensie sighs as I reach out to pull her into a hug. “You shouldn’t have to keep talking yourself into this. If it was right it should feel right,” she adds with a sigh.
“Feeling right and feeling perfect aren’t the same. Don’t you see?” I grin at her as I push her back to hold her at arms’ length so she can see that I’ve come to an epiphany. “I keep expecting perfect and that’s crazy. No one’s perfect. Not even Sidney. I just have to lower my standards and expectations to something close to reality and everything will be just fine,” I grin at her and then pull her in for one last bear hug before I go to put on my clothes for work.
_________________________________________________________
“Still gripping the wood a bit tight dontcha think?” I sit down next to Max as he stares into the middle of the room, not at all his normal self. Even Flower is looking at him sideways, waiting for him to do or say something funny or throw shit, one of the two.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Max growls back at me, without even turning to look at me, his gaze still straight ahead, unfocussed, like he’s seeing something there. His mouth is set in a grim, determined line, which I like, but I don’t see that translating into bodies laying all over the ice, which is what we need right about now. Especially from that Ruutu Neil line. Right now, I’d love to see Ruuts bleed. Now normally that would be something I could expect Max to go out there and do but….
“Well if you know it then we need you to go out there and make some room for us, especially Geno he’s….” I don’t get to finish the thought. Max turns, his dark blue eyes blazing like the edge of flame.
“Geno’s big enough to make his own fucking room out there. Tabernak man! I have my own fucking issues d’accord?” he growls at me before getting up and stomping across the room, heading for the hall, which is where Cookie normally likes to get his head on straight and considering the Cookie Monster’s been getting all the good press with his play lately, I don’t like the idea of the two of them out there, butting heads like a couple of mountain goats.
“I’ve got it,” Jordy sighs, pushing himself up to his feet without having to be asked, and I stare after the two of them, feeling like there’s something I’m missing.
“N’inquiétes pas. Il obtiendra au dessus d’elle,” Flower lays a hand on my shoulder pad and I turn to stare at my quiet goalie who’s been doing his own fair share of gripping his stick a little too hard.
“D’elle? Max is fucked up over a girl?” I ask, trying to imagine Max actually having feelings for a girl long enough to get fucked over by her. Usually his eyes are wandering before he’s even made it to second base, never mind having one stick around long enough to mess with his head like this.
“Did I say her?” Flower shakes his head and laughs. “I meant to say it…it…yeah. Whatever has him so…distracted, il obtiendra au dessus de lui,” Flower smiles but I still feel like there’s something he’s not telling me. Which is fine, I mean, I’m the one who put the rule into place about not bringing your shit from home to work, I just can’t imagine Max having that kind of shit.
“Well maybe I can cheer him up,” I sigh, pushing myself to my feet, rolling my shoulders to get rid of the feeling of Ruuts riding me like a cheap whore as I head towards the doors, half expecting to hear some kind of yelling and cursing, but only silence meets me as I push open the doors to find Jordy leaning on his stick between Cookie, who’s squatting down the hall and Max who’s leaning with his head on the concrete wall. “C’mon guys, we’ve got these guys. We just have to put them away. I know you’re tired, but fuck, we can fucking do this,” I smack Max on the back and immediately I know it’s the wrong thing to do when he turns, shaking his gloves like he’s ready to go. I stare at his hands and then look up at him, confused. “Whatever it is man, let it go. We have a team to put away out there. I can’t have you getting your panties in a fucking knot over some T & A. Besides, I have some more important business with you,” I add, pushing him further down the hall. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. “I’ve thought about this and I think, with how close you and Mel are and how you’ve helped us see the light right from the get go, I think you should be my best man, whaddaya say?”
___________________________________________________________________
“Max?” I ask, grabbing the corner of my pillow and shoving it into my mouth to stop from screaming.
“Yeah, who did you think I was going to ask?”Sid asks, sounding a little impatient with me on the other end of the line.
“I thought…well to be honest I thought maybe your dad, or Mario or Flower.” All choices I’d made for him in my own head but had never suggested to him. Now I wish I had.
“I thought you’d be thrilled, with you and Max being so close and everything,” he adds, sounding proud of himself and why shouldn’t he? From where he’s sitting, that’s exactly the right choice and he’s right, I should be thrilled but….
“And what did he say?” I ask, biting down on the pillow again, shutting my eyes tight as I imagine Max standing there in front of Sid, trying to look happy about being asked to be his best man.
“Well, that’s just it. Kinda like you, he asked why I hadn’t asked Flower, or Jordy or Dupes….”
“Yeah, well Dupes is your roomie and you guys are tight,” I add, maybe a little too hopefully. I can hear my voice going up like a squeak and I shove the pillow back in.
“Yeah but…do you not want Max to be my best man?”
It’s a trap.
No it’s not a trap. If he knew something, if Max had said something, he’d be here, knocking my door down, and he certainly wouldn’t be calling me asking if I approve of his choice for best man.
“I think it’s great. It’s just a big thing and I think Max will do great. I mean, I’m a little worried about what kind of pranks he’ll come up with for your bachelor party but other than that…I’m fine. No I’m better than fine. I’m happy. That’s great…I mean, if he said yes, in the end, I mean,” I add, frowning as I think that he might have, well probably should have, said no.
“Well I did kind of have to talk him into it. I thought he’d be totally stoked about it, what with the speech and organizing the bachelor party and everything but he was kinda cool about the whole thing,” Sid adds, sounding a bit let down by both of our less than stellar reactions.
“Well, you guys did have like the longest overtime you’ve ever had. I’m sure he was just tired. After all, Ruutu did sit on him and he did spend half of his shifts pressed face first against the glass,” I point out, trying to be helpful.
“Yeah I know. He’s pretty beat up, but we all are,” Sid sighs, and I can hear him digging his way down into the sheets. “We should have put them away tonight.”
“You will, they won’t have another night like that left in them,” I tell him, enjoying the opportunity to be the supportive girlfriend for once.
“I miss you,” Sid says suddenly, and I feel a giant weight in my gut.
“I miss you too,” I say and mean it. “I mean I hated the idea at first of us not seeing one another through the play offs but…I kinda like talking to you like this,” I add, lying back on my bed and staring at the ceiling. “That’s not to say I’m not looking forward to seeing you,” I add with a sigh, running my hand down the slinky, soft fabric of the teddy I bought today. I’d just been trying it on when he called. I’d been intending to send him a picture on his cell phone to make him feel better.
“I know things haven’t been…perfect,” he begins, and I hear him yawn, “but I appreciate you standing by me Mel. I really do,” he adds, and I curl my knees up to my chest, feeling like I’ve just been kicked in the gut.
“We can both do better,” I tell him, meaning it. “I love you,” I add, thinking that I don’t deserve the chance to make it better and hoping like hell I’ll still get that chance.
“It will be, you’ll see. I love you Mel…good night,” he adds, and I can hear him stifling another yawn.
“Yeah, night Sidney. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I add, though I’m almost sure he’s already hung up. I hold my phone up, thinking of taking the picture of me lying here in my bed and sending it to him, but decide against it and my thumb slides down to turn off my phone so I too, can head to dream land, but then it slides over and hits the ‘1’ and holds it until it dials my voice mail.
I hit ‘2’ to listen to old voice mail.
It’s Max, his voice thick with sleep but I can hear the grin in his voice as he speaks.
“You’re certainly making a habit of leaving like some kind of bandit, in, out, no sign you were here. Except the smell of strawberries on my pillow and your perfume on my sheets. Fuck…what are we doing Mel? What are you doing to me?”
That’s it. That’s the message.
My thumb hovers over the ‘7’, intending to erase it. But I don’t, again. I just hit end and then turn off my phone and roll over onto my stomach and press my face into my pillow, and scream.
Who the hell are you?
That’s what I ask my reflection as I brush my teeth, the same question I’ve been asking myself every morning for a week. Who the hell are you and what have you done with that nice girl from next door from Cole Harbour? What kind of person are you that you would sneak out in the dead of night and crawl into some other man’s bed?
Who in the hell are you?
The strange part of it is, every morning I have an answer for that question.
I’m sad. Sad that this isn’t everything I wanted it to be, this new life. It’s almost there, almost perfect, but not quite.
Does that make it fair? To cheat on the man that I’ve loved since I could tie my shoes? Hell no, of course it’s not. Even if he does treat me like…like an accessory, a bobble to put on and taken off at will. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. That’s what was so perfect about it. I wasn’t going to be one of those girls who complained when he didn’t have the time or inclination to pay attention to me and now that I have this fabulous job that should matter even less and yet….
I’m angry. Why does it feel like I’m the only one bending over backwards to make this work? I may not be as pretty as some of the other Wags, as Lauren has been so quick to point out, but I try. I’m stylish. I wear the right things, I get along with his friends, Nathalie and Mario like me so why isn’t it enough? Why doesn’t he look at me like…like Jordan looks at Kennedy? Like…
No, no I shake my head and refuse to think about the way Max looks at me. That’s the heat of passion, that doesn’t count.
Or does it? Does Sidney look at me like that when we make love? I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste and stare at my reflection. You know damn well you don’t know the answer to that question, I tell the woman looking back at me in the mirror. Most of the time your eyes are screwed shut while you think of someone else!
It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do. I was angry. I felt humiliated. I felt neglected. I ran for comfort. I didn’t mean for it to end up with us in bed….
Or did I?
Fuck! Be honest with yourself for once. You can’t stop fucking thinking about him. Every time you see him you start to squirm and your mouth gets dry and all you can think about is him…naked…inside of you….
And now Lauren knows, or at least I think she does. The last thing she said to me was that she was keeping an eye on me. She gave me that whole military silent my eyes are on your eyes thing. I’m watching you….
As if she’s not sleeping her way through the team.
As if that’s somehow better than what I’ve done.
Shit.
Shit.
Double shit.
It’s just sex. It isn’t love. What I have with Sidney, that’s love. I want him for the rest of my life. Max…I just want him. But I can’t…not anymore. It was a mistake. It was just a crazy, stupid, impetuous thing to do. Sid can be better. We can be better. We just need more practice. Max has had all those girls and it’s obvious Sid isn’t the man whore type. I need to just give us more time.
It will be better.
It has to be.
“You’ll wear the enamel off of your teeth if you keep that up.” I look up from staring into the sink to see Kennedy leaning in the doorway, watching me with a concerned expression on her face. “Penny for them,” she adds, raising a single eyebrow before pushing off from the door jam and joining me at the sink, hip checking me out of the way as she reaches for her toothbrush.
“I’m just…do you ever wonder…I mean, are you and Jordo serious?” I ask, rinsing out my toothbrush and dropping it in the cup at the back of the sink before heading for the edge of the tub with a handful of mousse.
“Me and Jordan?” she smiles to herself, her toothbrush making slow circles on her front teeth while she stares dreamily ahead. “I don’t know,” she answers after a long while, spitting into the sink before attacking her molars with zest.
“That’s it? You don’t know?” I ask, dragging my fingers through my hair, looking for texture, not spikes.
“Well…if you’re asking if I see a future like with babies and picket fences then…,” she gazes into the mirror with a strange half smile on her face and then she shrugs and spits again. “I guess so, sometimes, yeah. But then sometimes I wake up, like this morning and think…why tie myself down to just him? I mean…there are so many hot guys in New York and I haven’t even travelled yet. Who knows who’s out there? I mean…even his brother Marc is crazy hot in his brooding, quiet sort of way,” she adds with a smirk as she leans in to splash water on her face. “What’s this about? You having second thoughts about Saint Sidney all of a sudden?” she asks, turning to me, hands on hips.
“I don’t know…maybe,” I admit, rising to head over to the sink to wash the sticky remnants of the mousse off of my hands. “I just don’t have that…butterflies thing,” I admit, reaching for a towel after running my hands under the tap.
“Call it off,” she says simply, putting both of her hands on my shoulders and staring intently into my eyes. “Seriously Mel…you know what I think about him but I know that you love him or think that you do but if you have even one doubt in your head….”
“But it could be just that you know? Cold feet? Ever bride gets them right?” I ask, wanting affirmation that I know she isn’t about to give me.
“Yeah, I think it’s natural to second guess big decisions like this but…you were really set on this Mel. How long have you been set on this? Maybe now that it’s here, is it possible that it isn’t what you really want? Not really?” she asks, giving me a little shake that I know I need but it doesn’t shake my resolve. I want Sid. I’ve wanted him forever. I have to make it work. I’m just not giving him or us enough time and energy.
“I’m not a quitter,” I say out loud, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. “We Kelly’s are not quitters,” I add, quoting my mother.
“Oh Mel,” Kensie sighs as I reach out to pull her into a hug. “You shouldn’t have to keep talking yourself into this. If it was right it should feel right,” she adds with a sigh.
“Feeling right and feeling perfect aren’t the same. Don’t you see?” I grin at her as I push her back to hold her at arms’ length so she can see that I’ve come to an epiphany. “I keep expecting perfect and that’s crazy. No one’s perfect. Not even Sidney. I just have to lower my standards and expectations to something close to reality and everything will be just fine,” I grin at her and then pull her in for one last bear hug before I go to put on my clothes for work.
_________________________________________________________
“Still gripping the wood a bit tight dontcha think?” I sit down next to Max as he stares into the middle of the room, not at all his normal self. Even Flower is looking at him sideways, waiting for him to do or say something funny or throw shit, one of the two.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Max growls back at me, without even turning to look at me, his gaze still straight ahead, unfocussed, like he’s seeing something there. His mouth is set in a grim, determined line, which I like, but I don’t see that translating into bodies laying all over the ice, which is what we need right about now. Especially from that Ruutu Neil line. Right now, I’d love to see Ruuts bleed. Now normally that would be something I could expect Max to go out there and do but….
“Well if you know it then we need you to go out there and make some room for us, especially Geno he’s….” I don’t get to finish the thought. Max turns, his dark blue eyes blazing like the edge of flame.
“Geno’s big enough to make his own fucking room out there. Tabernak man! I have my own fucking issues d’accord?” he growls at me before getting up and stomping across the room, heading for the hall, which is where Cookie normally likes to get his head on straight and considering the Cookie Monster’s been getting all the good press with his play lately, I don’t like the idea of the two of them out there, butting heads like a couple of mountain goats.
“I’ve got it,” Jordy sighs, pushing himself up to his feet without having to be asked, and I stare after the two of them, feeling like there’s something I’m missing.
“N’inquiétes pas. Il obtiendra au dessus d’elle,” Flower lays a hand on my shoulder pad and I turn to stare at my quiet goalie who’s been doing his own fair share of gripping his stick a little too hard.
“D’elle? Max is fucked up over a girl?” I ask, trying to imagine Max actually having feelings for a girl long enough to get fucked over by her. Usually his eyes are wandering before he’s even made it to second base, never mind having one stick around long enough to mess with his head like this.
“Did I say her?” Flower shakes his head and laughs. “I meant to say it…it…yeah. Whatever has him so…distracted, il obtiendra au dessus de lui,” Flower smiles but I still feel like there’s something he’s not telling me. Which is fine, I mean, I’m the one who put the rule into place about not bringing your shit from home to work, I just can’t imagine Max having that kind of shit.
“Well maybe I can cheer him up,” I sigh, pushing myself to my feet, rolling my shoulders to get rid of the feeling of Ruuts riding me like a cheap whore as I head towards the doors, half expecting to hear some kind of yelling and cursing, but only silence meets me as I push open the doors to find Jordy leaning on his stick between Cookie, who’s squatting down the hall and Max who’s leaning with his head on the concrete wall. “C’mon guys, we’ve got these guys. We just have to put them away. I know you’re tired, but fuck, we can fucking do this,” I smack Max on the back and immediately I know it’s the wrong thing to do when he turns, shaking his gloves like he’s ready to go. I stare at his hands and then look up at him, confused. “Whatever it is man, let it go. We have a team to put away out there. I can’t have you getting your panties in a fucking knot over some T & A. Besides, I have some more important business with you,” I add, pushing him further down the hall. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. “I’ve thought about this and I think, with how close you and Mel are and how you’ve helped us see the light right from the get go, I think you should be my best man, whaddaya say?”
___________________________________________________________________
“Max?” I ask, grabbing the corner of my pillow and shoving it into my mouth to stop from screaming.
“Yeah, who did you think I was going to ask?”Sid asks, sounding a little impatient with me on the other end of the line.
“I thought…well to be honest I thought maybe your dad, or Mario or Flower.” All choices I’d made for him in my own head but had never suggested to him. Now I wish I had.
“I thought you’d be thrilled, with you and Max being so close and everything,” he adds, sounding proud of himself and why shouldn’t he? From where he’s sitting, that’s exactly the right choice and he’s right, I should be thrilled but….
“And what did he say?” I ask, biting down on the pillow again, shutting my eyes tight as I imagine Max standing there in front of Sid, trying to look happy about being asked to be his best man.
“Well, that’s just it. Kinda like you, he asked why I hadn’t asked Flower, or Jordy or Dupes….”
“Yeah, well Dupes is your roomie and you guys are tight,” I add, maybe a little too hopefully. I can hear my voice going up like a squeak and I shove the pillow back in.
“Yeah but…do you not want Max to be my best man?”
It’s a trap.
No it’s not a trap. If he knew something, if Max had said something, he’d be here, knocking my door down, and he certainly wouldn’t be calling me asking if I approve of his choice for best man.
“I think it’s great. It’s just a big thing and I think Max will do great. I mean, I’m a little worried about what kind of pranks he’ll come up with for your bachelor party but other than that…I’m fine. No I’m better than fine. I’m happy. That’s great…I mean, if he said yes, in the end, I mean,” I add, frowning as I think that he might have, well probably should have, said no.
“Well I did kind of have to talk him into it. I thought he’d be totally stoked about it, what with the speech and organizing the bachelor party and everything but he was kinda cool about the whole thing,” Sid adds, sounding a bit let down by both of our less than stellar reactions.
“Well, you guys did have like the longest overtime you’ve ever had. I’m sure he was just tired. After all, Ruutu did sit on him and he did spend half of his shifts pressed face first against the glass,” I point out, trying to be helpful.
“Yeah I know. He’s pretty beat up, but we all are,” Sid sighs, and I can hear him digging his way down into the sheets. “We should have put them away tonight.”
“You will, they won’t have another night like that left in them,” I tell him, enjoying the opportunity to be the supportive girlfriend for once.
“I miss you,” Sid says suddenly, and I feel a giant weight in my gut.
“I miss you too,” I say and mean it. “I mean I hated the idea at first of us not seeing one another through the play offs but…I kinda like talking to you like this,” I add, lying back on my bed and staring at the ceiling. “That’s not to say I’m not looking forward to seeing you,” I add with a sigh, running my hand down the slinky, soft fabric of the teddy I bought today. I’d just been trying it on when he called. I’d been intending to send him a picture on his cell phone to make him feel better.
“I know things haven’t been…perfect,” he begins, and I hear him yawn, “but I appreciate you standing by me Mel. I really do,” he adds, and I curl my knees up to my chest, feeling like I’ve just been kicked in the gut.
“We can both do better,” I tell him, meaning it. “I love you,” I add, thinking that I don’t deserve the chance to make it better and hoping like hell I’ll still get that chance.
“It will be, you’ll see. I love you Mel…good night,” he adds, and I can hear him stifling another yawn.
“Yeah, night Sidney. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I add, though I’m almost sure he’s already hung up. I hold my phone up, thinking of taking the picture of me lying here in my bed and sending it to him, but decide against it and my thumb slides down to turn off my phone so I too, can head to dream land, but then it slides over and hits the ‘1’ and holds it until it dials my voice mail.
I hit ‘2’ to listen to old voice mail.
It’s Max, his voice thick with sleep but I can hear the grin in his voice as he speaks.
“You’re certainly making a habit of leaving like some kind of bandit, in, out, no sign you were here. Except the smell of strawberries on my pillow and your perfume on my sheets. Fuck…what are we doing Mel? What are you doing to me?”
That’s it. That’s the message.
My thumb hovers over the ‘7’, intending to erase it. But I don’t, again. I just hit end and then turn off my phone and roll over onto my stomach and press my face into my pillow, and scream.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Chapter 34
the things you people make me do...
“The piece de resistance?” Sidney repeats, linking his arm with mine as we walk down the darkened corridor. It’s hard to believe there will only be another few times of walking down this cement corridor with him.
“Yes, the last piece that goes down the runway. Usually it’s a wedding gown, but it doesn’t have to be,” I explain, still feeling that fluttering in my stomach as I think about it. “He says I have this natural sense of drama,” I add, thinking of the way Gareth had held his hands out and made this sort of explosive gesture followed by a sort of rain of petals with his fingers. I’d been entranced by his hands and the way it made me feel and I wasn’t over the excitement yet.
“So what are you going to do?” Sidney asks, actually sounding interested, which makes me feel even better. I can’t get the smile off of my face.
“Well the whole Fall storyline is leather and latex, black on black, very structured, so I’m thinking if do something that feels like those designs but in a completely different colour palette,” I explain as we walk through the doors into the dressing room, my brain wrapping itself around the idea of doing something very flowing and feminine and yet still futuristic like the rest of Gareth’s designs.
“You are trying to get yourself traded,” Tanger’s hurling a balled up sock at Max who knocks it away with an outstretched hand. His quick reflexes only remind me of the way his muscles stretch and flex underneath the tight under armor that he’s wearing and I find myself biting my lip as he bares his teeth at Kris. “Tu sais à qui elle appartient, faites tu pas?”
“Of course I do,” Max is growling back, looking like he does right before he puts someone into the boards. “Je ne suis pas stupide.”
“Then start acting like you’re not stupid. Move on. Get over this stupid obsession of yours,” Jordan hisses, turning to stare at us as we stopped inside the room, which then falls eerily silent.
Oh god, I think, here it comes. This is when they tell him. This is when Sidney finds out what I’ve done.
“I thought you told me you were going to stay away from Lauren?” Sidney is staring at Max in that ‘don’t make me injure you’ sort of way and I feel myself go very still beside him as I hold my breath and wait for one of the guys to pipe up and tell the truth, but they all just stare back at us, waiting for Sid to make a move.
“I should have known. When she left the other night. I should have known it was you,” he continues, and I wait for someone to flinch, to bat an eye, do something that will give it away, but they all just keep staring at us, silent.
“It wasn’t Max that left with her. I took Max home.” It’s Flower’s voice, from somewhere behind us and it should have made the entire room exhale, so why re we all still standing there, holding our collective breath?
“You don’t have to cover for…,” Max is staring at me as he says it, the look on his face telling me that he can’t lie anymore and I feel my knees start to go weak. He’s going to tell Sidney and then Sidney isn’t going to love me anymore and then what am I going to do?
“Alexei…It was Ponikarovsky,” Jordan pipes up, turning to watch the young Russian coming into the room with his wool overcoat, as if it isn’t early Spring and already warm outside. Maybe not warm to a Russian I think as he pauses, mid step, realizing that every head had turned and every pair of eyes was on him.
“What?” his gaze took in the whole room and his face blanched, which only made the colour of the love bite on his neck more livid.
“Mario’s daughter,” Sidney lets go of my arm and marches over to grab the young Russian’s lapels. I let out the breath I’ve holding and feel my knees buckle beneath me. I would have gone down to the floor if not for a pair of strong hands pulling me back up to my feet.
I stared into the deep twilight blue of Max’s eyes and blinked.
“I wasn’t with Lauren,” he says quietly, almost under his breath as he helps me sit down in Sid’s stall. He doesn’t let go of my arm though, as he stands over me, giving me that look that says ‘you have to believe me’. It shouldn’t matter, I knew that. If he was my friend, then it shouldn’t matter if he was getting a little sumthin’ if it was on offer, and I knew with Lauren that it probably was. It shouldn’t have mattered and yet it did. More than being afraid of Sidney finding out, the idea of Max with her….
“I believe you,” I reply, though there’s a voice in the back of my head that says ‘no you don’t’. “Not that it matters,” I add quickly, because it seems important to say it, to put it out there. “I mean, you’re both adults, no matter what Sidney might think, right?” I add, as if I’m trying to make small talk as I stare at the way the long line snug fitting shorts hug his thick thighs.
“I haven’t been with her, or anyone, since…,” I shake my head, dragging my gaze away from him and staring instead at a spot on the floor. I don’t want to hear it, and yet, I do. “I promise you,” he adds, quietly, his voice husky as he tips my face up so that I have to look at the deep, dark endless oceans in his eyes.
“Well you know what they say about playoffs,” I reply brightly as Sid returns to my side, shucking off his jacket and stepping out of his shoes.
“No,” Max says quietly, taking a step back and holding his hand out to give me a hand up. “What did he say?”
“Sid was just telling me how you all have a rule,” I tell him, putting my hand in his and feeling his thick, warm fingers close around mine. “No sex during playoffs.”
“Esti de tapette de calisse,” Tanger growls at Sid who flicks him the bird. “More like more sex. Rien comme un bon démodé n’établissent avant un jeu.”
“And maybe that’s why I can step it up and you can’t Tanger,” Sid shoots back, starting an all our riot of discussion pro and con sex before games. I stare down at Max’s hand curled around mine and then up into his intense gaze that tells me without having to ask, just what his take on the discussion would be, and feel a shudder run through my entire body.
“Good luck,” I give his hand a squeeze before turning to buss Sidney’s cheek and, putting one foot very deliberately in front of the other, I manage to walk out of the room before my knees give way again and I have to press my back against the cool, concrete wall and let go a number of colourful profanities.
“What’s up buttercup?” Kensie asks, appearing out of the crowd with a large slice of pepperoni in one hand a giant coke in the other.
“I’m just reminding myself to keep my eyes on the prize,” I tell her breathlessly and she just grins back at me.
“Yeah being in that room can be a little distracting,” she agrees, allowing me to wrap my arm around hers ‘as she leads us to the elevator. “Particularly when Kris is playing with his hair, I just want to reach out grab it and run my fingers through it and make him call me mistress,” she adds with a lecherous grin that helps to erase the feel of Max’s hand on mine.
“Does that mean you want Jordy to grow out his mane?” I ask as the metallic doors slide open.
“No, he’d look stupid with long hair,” she sighs. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t toss that furry little Frenchman out of bed for eating poutine,” she adds, with a snort as the doors slide closed behind us. “You know what I mean?”
“I think I do,” I agree, staring at the closed doors and imagining an altogether different furry Frenchman feeding me half melted cheese curds and gravy off of my own stomach, and feel something low inside of me clench at the thought. “Yeah, I think I do.”
_____________________________________________________________________
“You were serious?” Mel stares at me, incredulous, as I turn to open my bedroom door and leave her behind.
“Of course I'm serious. I have to concentrate. I need all of the strength and stamina I can get. I can’t have you waking me up at two in the morning and wearing me out,” I tell her, turning to cup her face in my hands and planting a long, soft kiss on her lips. “It’s only a couple months,” I add, kissing her once more and feeling my body telling me just how stupid an idea this is. Damn, it was always easy to give this up for a couple of months before when it just meant not going to pick up girls at a bar, but this…, I let my hand roam down over the curve of her ass and pull her hips towards me so she can feel how much I don’t want to go through with my own idea.
“But we’re getting married in a couple of months,” she reminds me, her hand slipping between us to cup my quickly hardening dick. “I thought we were getting in some practice time,” she adds, her hand sliding up and down the length of me, making it even harder and making it almost impossible to turn her away.
“It’s not that I don’t want you,” I whisper to her, pressing against her hand and wondering if it’s too much to ask her to get me off so I can sleep. “I just have to keep my strength up. As it is,” I sigh, peeling her hand off of me and pressing my lips to the centre of her palm, “I’m going to have to have a cold shower now. Don’t make this harder for me Mel,” I add, kissing the tip of her nose. “Just use the spare room and it will be like it was before, for a while. Not forever,” I add, already worrying about the Caps in the second round. I just can’t see us having trouble with the Sens.
“I can just sleep,” she offers, looking up at me with her doe eyes, which, with her new pixie cut, seem to be even bigger. “I’ll just sleep. I’ll keep my hands to myself,” she promises. I want to believe her but it’s not really her that I’m worried about.
“Yeah, in the guest room, now go,” I chuckle, pressing my lips one last time to her brow and then turning her around and giving her a pat on the ass. She looks back at me with narrowed eyes and for a minute I think she’s going to argue some more, but then she heads down the hallway, her hands clenched at her sides.
I turn and head into my rooms, heading directly for the shower. I do need that cold shower.
_______________________________________________________
“Mel,” he doesn’t argue, doesn’t ask why I’m here, even though the question is in his eyes. He just looks down the driveway at the cab and then back at me. “Do you need money for the cab?” he asks and I nod, once, feeling a little sheepish at having to ask. He grabs his wallet from the dish beside the door and jogs down to the end of the driveway. I watch him go, rubbing my hands along my arms where the chill of the early morning hours has my skin crawling with gooseflesh. He doesn’t seem to notice, or isn’t affected by it, I notice, when he returns in nothing but those boxer briefs he wears and takes my hand, pulling me inside with another furtive look around.
As if I’ve been followed. As if anyone would guess I’d come here.
“He meant it,” I tell him quietly, as his hands take over rubbing at my cold skin. “The no sex during the whole play offs. He meant it. He wanted me to sleep in the spare room,” I add, which had felt like adding insult to injury. I’m not enough to make him want to break his superstitious silliness. I had even lain awake, waiting for him to come down the hallway, tell me he’d been wrong, but he didn’t. He never came.
“Il est un imbécile,” Max replies quietly, reaching over to lock the door. I watch his hand turn the deadbolt and a shudder runs through my entire body. “You can stay here, if you want. I’ll make up a bed…,” he begins, but his voice trails away when I reach out and begin to trace the cross fleur de lis on his ribs with my fingertips. “Mel…Melody,” he says my name more forcefully, his hand snapping around my wrist. I look up at him, and I know that I probably look just as lost and confused as the last time I came here and I wouldn’t blame him if he turned me away, but he doesn’t. Something goes soft in his expression and I feel his arms wind around me as he pulls me into the circle of his arms, against the warmth of his skin and I close my eyes, reveling in the warm clean scent of him. “C’est une mauvaise idée,” he sighs, and I can’t tell if he’s telling himself or me but when I look up at him, feel his hand touch my cheek, I don’t care. I know it’s a bad idea. It’s a crazy idea, but when his lips, trembling, take mine, I forget how stupid this is and relax against his body and reach for his tongue with mine.
He moans into my mouth, moving to press me against the wall, and I feel him, hard and ready, pressing into my stomach. Running my hand down his back, I feel his muscles twitch beneath my fingertips and as my hand slides down over his ass, I feel him pull back. But I haven’t come here for him to pull away from me too. So I grab onto his ass and pull him to me, climbing his thigh with my other leg, wrapping myself around him.
“Ma petite, tu sais ce que tu me demandes?” he asks, breathlessly, his beard burning my skin as he kisses his way down my neck.
“Oui, je veux que tu me fasses le sentir quelque chose,” I sigh, arching my neck, wanting more. “Make me scream Max, make me beg,” I whimper as his hand locks around my thigh, pulling my legs up and around his as he tries to take me to the stairs but doesn’t even make it half way up them before he puts me down and reaches for the zipper on my jeans.
I push his hands out to the way, my fingers clambering with the zipper before I push them down over my hips and he drags them off the rest of the way, tossing them to the bottom of the stairs. Then his mouth is on mine again and the feel of his beard, of the wiry hairs on his upper lip rasping against my tender skin does nothing to dampen my need as I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deep inside of me. I ignore the way the stairs digs into my back, reaching for the railing and using it to lift my body off of the ground while my other hand presses against the wall, nails digging into the plaster, feeling paint lifting off as I scramble to stay with him, to meet him thrust for thrust as his body presses into mine, deeper and deeper, harder and harder until I can’t breathe, until there isn’t anything but his name on my lips and I cry I to the heavens as he pulls me close and our bodies meet one last time, my back arching like a bow string, his hands clenched around my waist, his back straight as an arrow and I hear my name as he growls it between his teeth and I feel…I feel everything.
I feel my blood coursing through my veins. I feel my heart hammering inside of my chest. I feel my lungs expanding as I gasp for breath. I feel my muscles contracting around his dick deep inside of me. I feel his cock pulsing deep within me, filling me with the hot, wet rush of his seed. I feel his breath warm on my neck as he pulls me close. I feel my arms wrap around his muscular neck as he carries me upstairs to his bed.
Mostly I feel wanted, really wanted and I know that when I do finally fall asleep tonight, it won’t be alone.
________________________________________________
“Toast?” I turn the corner to find Lauren, Mel and Nathalie busy at making an enormous breakfast. Bacon, eggs, French toast, pancakes, chopped orange sections, grapefruit….
“You guys must have been up for hours,” I mutter, grabbing a section of orange and crossing the kitchen to where Mel is standing over the stove, flipping silver dollar size pancakes.
“Well Mel was anyway. I woke up to the smell of real coffee for once,” Nathalie grins, inhaling happily over a cup of something dark and steaming.
“That’s my girl,” I grin, wrapping my arm around her waist and pressing my nose into her hair. It’s still a bit wet but it smells of strawberries and her skin, where I press my lips at the curve of her shoulder, tastes of vanilla.
“I know you’re not a big breakfast eater,” she apologizes, flipping another pancake before reaching for a plate and shoveling half a dozen onto it before handing it to me. “But I just couldn’t sleep and I thought the girls might like to have a cooked breakfast for once.”
“Mmm, what smells so good?” Mario rounds the corner, already in a suit and tie, hair slicked back. “I have a good mind to call of my breakfast meeting and stay,” he adds with a grin, walking over to press a familial kiss to the top of Lauren’s head before he slides onto a chair next to his wife. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Sid kicked Mel out last night, something to do with the playoffs,” Lauren muses, leaning against the counter with a dry piece of toast in her hand.
“I didn’t kick her out, I just asked her to stay in the guest room as if it’s any of your business,” I snarl at her which only gets me a raised eyebrow and a shrug of her thin shoulders.
“You’re not actually subscribing to that old wives tale are you?” Mario laughs, reaching for the syrup and quickly covering his stack of pancakes.
“What do you know? You used to smoke before games,” I tell him, staying where I am, pressed against Mel, and putting down my pancakes next to the grill, eating them dry.
“You have me there,” Mario laughs, putting three pancakes in his mouth at once.
“Still, poor girl. I hope you slept okay in the guest room. I know the bed is a lot smaller than the one in Sid’s room,” he apologizes, shooting me a dark look.
“I think she must have slept out by the pool,” Lauren interjects, walking by and stealing a pancake from my plate. “I don’t think her bed looked slept in.”
“I make my bed in the mornings,” Mel shoots back, reaching to turn off the burner and turning around to wrap her arms, welcomingly around me. “You should try it,” she adds, though her attention is now on me. “And how did you sleep?” she asks, looking relaxed with the healthy glow about her that speaks of a long, hot shower.
“I should have taken you up on your offer,” I tell her quietly, kissing her lightly.
“I hardly slept at all. I tossed and turned all night,” I sigh, reaching to nip at her ear. “I missed you,” I add, tugging at the collar of her bathrobe, and then stop in my tracks.
“Bug bite,” she explains, tugging her robe back and then reaching for my hand to steer me to the table. “God, I’m so hungry I could eat the entire first line of the Sens,” she grins, pushing me firmly into a chair and then crawling onto my lap and demanding to be fed.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of them in no time,” I tell her, feeling her round little bottom pressing down on me, making me second guess my plan of abstinence.
“Good,” she smiles warmly down at me. “I like the sound of that.” I can’t help grinning and when I look around at Nat and Mario they’re grinning back at us in that way that says ‘aren’t they a cute couple’ and I can’t help but think that maybe we are.
“The piece de resistance?” Sidney repeats, linking his arm with mine as we walk down the darkened corridor. It’s hard to believe there will only be another few times of walking down this cement corridor with him.
“Yes, the last piece that goes down the runway. Usually it’s a wedding gown, but it doesn’t have to be,” I explain, still feeling that fluttering in my stomach as I think about it. “He says I have this natural sense of drama,” I add, thinking of the way Gareth had held his hands out and made this sort of explosive gesture followed by a sort of rain of petals with his fingers. I’d been entranced by his hands and the way it made me feel and I wasn’t over the excitement yet.
“So what are you going to do?” Sidney asks, actually sounding interested, which makes me feel even better. I can’t get the smile off of my face.
“Well the whole Fall storyline is leather and latex, black on black, very structured, so I’m thinking if do something that feels like those designs but in a completely different colour palette,” I explain as we walk through the doors into the dressing room, my brain wrapping itself around the idea of doing something very flowing and feminine and yet still futuristic like the rest of Gareth’s designs.
“You are trying to get yourself traded,” Tanger’s hurling a balled up sock at Max who knocks it away with an outstretched hand. His quick reflexes only remind me of the way his muscles stretch and flex underneath the tight under armor that he’s wearing and I find myself biting my lip as he bares his teeth at Kris. “Tu sais à qui elle appartient, faites tu pas?”
“Of course I do,” Max is growling back, looking like he does right before he puts someone into the boards. “Je ne suis pas stupide.”
“Then start acting like you’re not stupid. Move on. Get over this stupid obsession of yours,” Jordan hisses, turning to stare at us as we stopped inside the room, which then falls eerily silent.
Oh god, I think, here it comes. This is when they tell him. This is when Sidney finds out what I’ve done.
“I thought you told me you were going to stay away from Lauren?” Sidney is staring at Max in that ‘don’t make me injure you’ sort of way and I feel myself go very still beside him as I hold my breath and wait for one of the guys to pipe up and tell the truth, but they all just stare back at us, waiting for Sid to make a move.
“I should have known. When she left the other night. I should have known it was you,” he continues, and I wait for someone to flinch, to bat an eye, do something that will give it away, but they all just keep staring at us, silent.
“It wasn’t Max that left with her. I took Max home.” It’s Flower’s voice, from somewhere behind us and it should have made the entire room exhale, so why re we all still standing there, holding our collective breath?
“You don’t have to cover for…,” Max is staring at me as he says it, the look on his face telling me that he can’t lie anymore and I feel my knees start to go weak. He’s going to tell Sidney and then Sidney isn’t going to love me anymore and then what am I going to do?
“Alexei…It was Ponikarovsky,” Jordan pipes up, turning to watch the young Russian coming into the room with his wool overcoat, as if it isn’t early Spring and already warm outside. Maybe not warm to a Russian I think as he pauses, mid step, realizing that every head had turned and every pair of eyes was on him.
“What?” his gaze took in the whole room and his face blanched, which only made the colour of the love bite on his neck more livid.
“Mario’s daughter,” Sidney lets go of my arm and marches over to grab the young Russian’s lapels. I let out the breath I’ve holding and feel my knees buckle beneath me. I would have gone down to the floor if not for a pair of strong hands pulling me back up to my feet.
I stared into the deep twilight blue of Max’s eyes and blinked.
“I wasn’t with Lauren,” he says quietly, almost under his breath as he helps me sit down in Sid’s stall. He doesn’t let go of my arm though, as he stands over me, giving me that look that says ‘you have to believe me’. It shouldn’t matter, I knew that. If he was my friend, then it shouldn’t matter if he was getting a little sumthin’ if it was on offer, and I knew with Lauren that it probably was. It shouldn’t have mattered and yet it did. More than being afraid of Sidney finding out, the idea of Max with her….
“I believe you,” I reply, though there’s a voice in the back of my head that says ‘no you don’t’. “Not that it matters,” I add quickly, because it seems important to say it, to put it out there. “I mean, you’re both adults, no matter what Sidney might think, right?” I add, as if I’m trying to make small talk as I stare at the way the long line snug fitting shorts hug his thick thighs.
“I haven’t been with her, or anyone, since…,” I shake my head, dragging my gaze away from him and staring instead at a spot on the floor. I don’t want to hear it, and yet, I do. “I promise you,” he adds, quietly, his voice husky as he tips my face up so that I have to look at the deep, dark endless oceans in his eyes.
“Well you know what they say about playoffs,” I reply brightly as Sid returns to my side, shucking off his jacket and stepping out of his shoes.
“No,” Max says quietly, taking a step back and holding his hand out to give me a hand up. “What did he say?”
“Sid was just telling me how you all have a rule,” I tell him, putting my hand in his and feeling his thick, warm fingers close around mine. “No sex during playoffs.”
“Esti de tapette de calisse,” Tanger growls at Sid who flicks him the bird. “More like more sex. Rien comme un bon démodé n’établissent avant un jeu.”
“And maybe that’s why I can step it up and you can’t Tanger,” Sid shoots back, starting an all our riot of discussion pro and con sex before games. I stare down at Max’s hand curled around mine and then up into his intense gaze that tells me without having to ask, just what his take on the discussion would be, and feel a shudder run through my entire body.
“Good luck,” I give his hand a squeeze before turning to buss Sidney’s cheek and, putting one foot very deliberately in front of the other, I manage to walk out of the room before my knees give way again and I have to press my back against the cool, concrete wall and let go a number of colourful profanities.
“What’s up buttercup?” Kensie asks, appearing out of the crowd with a large slice of pepperoni in one hand a giant coke in the other.
“I’m just reminding myself to keep my eyes on the prize,” I tell her breathlessly and she just grins back at me.
“Yeah being in that room can be a little distracting,” she agrees, allowing me to wrap my arm around hers ‘as she leads us to the elevator. “Particularly when Kris is playing with his hair, I just want to reach out grab it and run my fingers through it and make him call me mistress,” she adds with a lecherous grin that helps to erase the feel of Max’s hand on mine.
“Does that mean you want Jordy to grow out his mane?” I ask as the metallic doors slide open.
“No, he’d look stupid with long hair,” she sighs. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t toss that furry little Frenchman out of bed for eating poutine,” she adds, with a snort as the doors slide closed behind us. “You know what I mean?”
“I think I do,” I agree, staring at the closed doors and imagining an altogether different furry Frenchman feeding me half melted cheese curds and gravy off of my own stomach, and feel something low inside of me clench at the thought. “Yeah, I think I do.”
_____________________________________________________________________
“You were serious?” Mel stares at me, incredulous, as I turn to open my bedroom door and leave her behind.
“Of course I'm serious. I have to concentrate. I need all of the strength and stamina I can get. I can’t have you waking me up at two in the morning and wearing me out,” I tell her, turning to cup her face in my hands and planting a long, soft kiss on her lips. “It’s only a couple months,” I add, kissing her once more and feeling my body telling me just how stupid an idea this is. Damn, it was always easy to give this up for a couple of months before when it just meant not going to pick up girls at a bar, but this…, I let my hand roam down over the curve of her ass and pull her hips towards me so she can feel how much I don’t want to go through with my own idea.
“But we’re getting married in a couple of months,” she reminds me, her hand slipping between us to cup my quickly hardening dick. “I thought we were getting in some practice time,” she adds, her hand sliding up and down the length of me, making it even harder and making it almost impossible to turn her away.
“It’s not that I don’t want you,” I whisper to her, pressing against her hand and wondering if it’s too much to ask her to get me off so I can sleep. “I just have to keep my strength up. As it is,” I sigh, peeling her hand off of me and pressing my lips to the centre of her palm, “I’m going to have to have a cold shower now. Don’t make this harder for me Mel,” I add, kissing the tip of her nose. “Just use the spare room and it will be like it was before, for a while. Not forever,” I add, already worrying about the Caps in the second round. I just can’t see us having trouble with the Sens.
“I can just sleep,” she offers, looking up at me with her doe eyes, which, with her new pixie cut, seem to be even bigger. “I’ll just sleep. I’ll keep my hands to myself,” she promises. I want to believe her but it’s not really her that I’m worried about.
“Yeah, in the guest room, now go,” I chuckle, pressing my lips one last time to her brow and then turning her around and giving her a pat on the ass. She looks back at me with narrowed eyes and for a minute I think she’s going to argue some more, but then she heads down the hallway, her hands clenched at her sides.
I turn and head into my rooms, heading directly for the shower. I do need that cold shower.
_______________________________________________________
“Mel,” he doesn’t argue, doesn’t ask why I’m here, even though the question is in his eyes. He just looks down the driveway at the cab and then back at me. “Do you need money for the cab?” he asks and I nod, once, feeling a little sheepish at having to ask. He grabs his wallet from the dish beside the door and jogs down to the end of the driveway. I watch him go, rubbing my hands along my arms where the chill of the early morning hours has my skin crawling with gooseflesh. He doesn’t seem to notice, or isn’t affected by it, I notice, when he returns in nothing but those boxer briefs he wears and takes my hand, pulling me inside with another furtive look around.
As if I’ve been followed. As if anyone would guess I’d come here.
“He meant it,” I tell him quietly, as his hands take over rubbing at my cold skin. “The no sex during the whole play offs. He meant it. He wanted me to sleep in the spare room,” I add, which had felt like adding insult to injury. I’m not enough to make him want to break his superstitious silliness. I had even lain awake, waiting for him to come down the hallway, tell me he’d been wrong, but he didn’t. He never came.
“Il est un imbécile,” Max replies quietly, reaching over to lock the door. I watch his hand turn the deadbolt and a shudder runs through my entire body. “You can stay here, if you want. I’ll make up a bed…,” he begins, but his voice trails away when I reach out and begin to trace the cross fleur de lis on his ribs with my fingertips. “Mel…Melody,” he says my name more forcefully, his hand snapping around my wrist. I look up at him, and I know that I probably look just as lost and confused as the last time I came here and I wouldn’t blame him if he turned me away, but he doesn’t. Something goes soft in his expression and I feel his arms wind around me as he pulls me into the circle of his arms, against the warmth of his skin and I close my eyes, reveling in the warm clean scent of him. “C’est une mauvaise idée,” he sighs, and I can’t tell if he’s telling himself or me but when I look up at him, feel his hand touch my cheek, I don’t care. I know it’s a bad idea. It’s a crazy idea, but when his lips, trembling, take mine, I forget how stupid this is and relax against his body and reach for his tongue with mine.
He moans into my mouth, moving to press me against the wall, and I feel him, hard and ready, pressing into my stomach. Running my hand down his back, I feel his muscles twitch beneath my fingertips and as my hand slides down over his ass, I feel him pull back. But I haven’t come here for him to pull away from me too. So I grab onto his ass and pull him to me, climbing his thigh with my other leg, wrapping myself around him.
“Ma petite, tu sais ce que tu me demandes?” he asks, breathlessly, his beard burning my skin as he kisses his way down my neck.
“Oui, je veux que tu me fasses le sentir quelque chose,” I sigh, arching my neck, wanting more. “Make me scream Max, make me beg,” I whimper as his hand locks around my thigh, pulling my legs up and around his as he tries to take me to the stairs but doesn’t even make it half way up them before he puts me down and reaches for the zipper on my jeans.
I push his hands out to the way, my fingers clambering with the zipper before I push them down over my hips and he drags them off the rest of the way, tossing them to the bottom of the stairs. Then his mouth is on mine again and the feel of his beard, of the wiry hairs on his upper lip rasping against my tender skin does nothing to dampen my need as I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deep inside of me. I ignore the way the stairs digs into my back, reaching for the railing and using it to lift my body off of the ground while my other hand presses against the wall, nails digging into the plaster, feeling paint lifting off as I scramble to stay with him, to meet him thrust for thrust as his body presses into mine, deeper and deeper, harder and harder until I can’t breathe, until there isn’t anything but his name on my lips and I cry I to the heavens as he pulls me close and our bodies meet one last time, my back arching like a bow string, his hands clenched around my waist, his back straight as an arrow and I hear my name as he growls it between his teeth and I feel…I feel everything.
I feel my blood coursing through my veins. I feel my heart hammering inside of my chest. I feel my lungs expanding as I gasp for breath. I feel my muscles contracting around his dick deep inside of me. I feel his cock pulsing deep within me, filling me with the hot, wet rush of his seed. I feel his breath warm on my neck as he pulls me close. I feel my arms wrap around his muscular neck as he carries me upstairs to his bed.
Mostly I feel wanted, really wanted and I know that when I do finally fall asleep tonight, it won’t be alone.
________________________________________________
“Toast?” I turn the corner to find Lauren, Mel and Nathalie busy at making an enormous breakfast. Bacon, eggs, French toast, pancakes, chopped orange sections, grapefruit….
“You guys must have been up for hours,” I mutter, grabbing a section of orange and crossing the kitchen to where Mel is standing over the stove, flipping silver dollar size pancakes.
“Well Mel was anyway. I woke up to the smell of real coffee for once,” Nathalie grins, inhaling happily over a cup of something dark and steaming.
“That’s my girl,” I grin, wrapping my arm around her waist and pressing my nose into her hair. It’s still a bit wet but it smells of strawberries and her skin, where I press my lips at the curve of her shoulder, tastes of vanilla.
“I know you’re not a big breakfast eater,” she apologizes, flipping another pancake before reaching for a plate and shoveling half a dozen onto it before handing it to me. “But I just couldn’t sleep and I thought the girls might like to have a cooked breakfast for once.”
“Mmm, what smells so good?” Mario rounds the corner, already in a suit and tie, hair slicked back. “I have a good mind to call of my breakfast meeting and stay,” he adds with a grin, walking over to press a familial kiss to the top of Lauren’s head before he slides onto a chair next to his wife. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Sid kicked Mel out last night, something to do with the playoffs,” Lauren muses, leaning against the counter with a dry piece of toast in her hand.
“I didn’t kick her out, I just asked her to stay in the guest room as if it’s any of your business,” I snarl at her which only gets me a raised eyebrow and a shrug of her thin shoulders.
“You’re not actually subscribing to that old wives tale are you?” Mario laughs, reaching for the syrup and quickly covering his stack of pancakes.
“What do you know? You used to smoke before games,” I tell him, staying where I am, pressed against Mel, and putting down my pancakes next to the grill, eating them dry.
“You have me there,” Mario laughs, putting three pancakes in his mouth at once.
“Still, poor girl. I hope you slept okay in the guest room. I know the bed is a lot smaller than the one in Sid’s room,” he apologizes, shooting me a dark look.
“I think she must have slept out by the pool,” Lauren interjects, walking by and stealing a pancake from my plate. “I don’t think her bed looked slept in.”
“I make my bed in the mornings,” Mel shoots back, reaching to turn off the burner and turning around to wrap her arms, welcomingly around me. “You should try it,” she adds, though her attention is now on me. “And how did you sleep?” she asks, looking relaxed with the healthy glow about her that speaks of a long, hot shower.
“I should have taken you up on your offer,” I tell her quietly, kissing her lightly.
“I hardly slept at all. I tossed and turned all night,” I sigh, reaching to nip at her ear. “I missed you,” I add, tugging at the collar of her bathrobe, and then stop in my tracks.
“Bug bite,” she explains, tugging her robe back and then reaching for my hand to steer me to the table. “God, I’m so hungry I could eat the entire first line of the Sens,” she grins, pushing me firmly into a chair and then crawling onto my lap and demanding to be fed.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of them in no time,” I tell her, feeling her round little bottom pressing down on me, making me second guess my plan of abstinence.
“Good,” she smiles warmly down at me. “I like the sound of that.” I can’t help grinning and when I look around at Nat and Mario they’re grinning back at us in that way that says ‘aren’t they a cute couple’ and I can’t help but think that maybe we are.
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