Page 3 of Sticking Around

And this is why you could never get with a woman like Melanie, you ass.

But emotions are for pussies right, Mom? Jesus I’ve been taught to keep them buried for so long, it’d take the jaws of life to break them open.

“I should go.” Before she says anything else, I head down the hall, put the poker back and make a beeline for the door.

“Brady,” she calls out and I come to an abrupt halt. “Got me drove?”

I chuckle. “It means, something is annoying me. Newfoundland saying.”

“It’s kind of funny.”

“Yes, b’y.”

She smiles at me again, and breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh. “Do they call you Coddy, because your last name is Fisher, and you’re a Newfoundlander and Newfoundland is known for its cod fishing?”

“No.”

“No?” One brow arches up, clearly surprised by my one-word answer. “Care to explain then?”

Since she seems rather amused by my Newfie language, I say, “I’ll put da ol’ slut on. Put da wood in da ‘ole an we’ll ‘ave a yarn.”

“Ol’ slut? You better not be talking about me.” I laugh and she folds her arms, waiting for an explanation.

“It means, I’ll put the kettle on.” I point to the open door and continue to translate. “Close the door and we’ll have a chat.”

“Then you’ll tell me how you got the nickname Coddy.”

“Yes, b’y!” I give her a mischievous grin, full of promise. “It’s a Newfoundland thing, and if you’re up to it, I can screech you in and you can become an honorary Newfoundlander.”

A mixture of curiosity and suspicion moves into her big blue eyes. “Screech me in?” A grin flirts with the corner of her mouth, and dammit, it’s all I can do not to drag her to me and cover her lips with mine. “Do I dare ask?”

2

Melanie

I shake my head hard and fast at Brady as he stands near the door and explains his Newfoundland language and traditions to me. Oddly enough there are two goalies on the team with the same first name, but it’s easy to tell the difference by their accents, and to be honest the other Brady is a bigger player off the ice and that’s saying something.

I hold my hands up and back away. Honestly, I knew better than to ask. “No way. Uh uh. Not in this lifetime. I shouldn’t have asked.” I make a mental note not to ask Brady anything ever again.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I can be right back with a cod and some screech. Won’t take but a minute.”

“Brady, no. I am not kissing a cod, or any fish, or drinking screech? What exactly is screech, anyway?”

“It’s rum and you have the order wrong. You drink and then kiss the cod.”

I scrunch up my nose. “It’d have to be the biggest glass of rum ever to get me to do that.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Forget it. I am not kissing anything of yours.” A shiver goes through me and I’m not one hundred percent sure it’s from the thoughts of kissing a fish. Maybe it has more to do with how sexual that sounds, and I’m not all convinced that I’d never kiss anything of his.

Get it together, Melanie.

“You Newfoundlanders are crazy people.”

He folds his arms across a broad chest and it’s all I can do not to admire his big biceps. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“I’m not kissing a slimy fish.”

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