Page 25 of Zero Pucks

“Carol-Ann,” he said.

I burst into laughter that was mostly anxiety. “Well. That’s part of him, yeah. His name is Ford.”

“Right. Yes, I knew that. I’m sorry. That got in my head, and?—”

“No, don’t worry. It happens to all of us.” My shoulders were starting to relax fraction by fraction. How was I so comfortable so quickly with a total stranger? Had it been like this at that bar? “So, uh…we’re married, huh?”

He coughed. “Yes. Ah…right. Married. We should probably meet up and talk about it.”

“Do you want to come back here, or…?”

“I’m not sure I should drive anymore tonight. I have terrible jet lag. Is there a chance you could drive out to meet me?”

“I don’t drive,” I confessed. “I don’t know how much I told you about me, but?—”

“No, right. Of course. Your eye.”

Both eyes, but that was semantics. “I get rides from friends, and they’re both a bit occupied right now.” A bit of a lie, but frankly, I was too scared to go. This had to be enough for now. God, I wished I could remember what he looked like.

He was still no clearer in my memory than that dark hair and sweet laugh.

“Breakfast, then?” He made a soft, unthinking humming sound. “I don’t know what’s good around here. I’m sure you told me what you do, but I can’t quite remember, so if you have work?—”

“No. No, I coach peewee hockey. That doesn’t happen until later. I’m not typically a morning person but—” I wasn’t a night person either. I was a curl up in bed and nap person. What a fucking catch, right? “I can make breakfast work.”

“Would you feel better if I brought breakfast to you?”

Yes. But I wasn’t going to say that. Ford was giving meA Look, and I had a feeling he could hear Amedeo’s voice on the line, which meant he was ready to judge me. He and Boden had work in the morning, so there would be no one to watch the place in case this guy really was an amputee fetish serial killer.

“I can meet you. I’m a master at the bus schedule. Just, uh…when you figure out where you want to meet, text me? I’ll set like nine alarms so I don’t miss it.”

He laughed, and my entire arm erupted into goose bumps. There it was—that sound. It woke something in me, a memory of leaning in, feeling his warm hands, feeling like I couldn’t get enough. Had we kissed?

It would be a shame to not remember that. I think he had a pretty mouth.

“Do you remember me?” I asked.

He was dead silent again. Then he made that soft little hum. “I do. N-not the whole night though. I remember meeting you at the bar. Then seeing you in the bed the next morning.”

So hehadbeen there. Okay. “Did we…you know…”

“I’m not sure?” he answered a little too quickly. “I didn’t find any, ah, evidence. Fluids or…otherwise.”

So his butthole had remained pain-free too. Fair enough. I had another dozen questions for him, but I wanted to see his face when he answered them. I’d be able to tell if he was lying—or, at the very least, get a betterguessat whether or not he was lying.

My gut was telling me he was in this as dark and deep as I was. So maybe we could figure it out together. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Yes. I’ll text you shortly. Thank you for calling, and sorry I didn’t stay.”

“Nah, I get it. This is weird as hell, right?” I didn’t want to hang up, which was usually my sign to tell me that I needed to. “Talk soon.” I hit End before he could answer and felt a little bit like a dick, but also proud of myself for not spiraling.

“Cute as a button!” Ford said loudly.

I stared at him. “Uh. What?”

“That was the phrase I was trying to remember when you asked me what he was like. Cute as a button. He’s pretty short.”

“I’m short,” I reminded him. I’d gone from six one to four nine overnight.

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