Page 27 of The Import Slot
“I wonder how long this has been going on,” I say.
“Not sure, but my life feels like such a mess right now. It’s the least of my worries.” She puts her head in her hands, her loose hair falling around her elbows.
“Aw, don’t be upset.” I fix her a glass of water before calling her to sit on the sofa. “Things may feel like shit now, but they’ll get better.”
She takes a sip and sets the glass down on the coffee table. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” she says. I nod. “How come you switched numbers?” she asks.
“I take it you’ve Googled me,” I grin.
“Yes, no, but don’t judge me. I’ve been watching a lot of old Jets games, you know, to see how you’ll fit in here. Research purposes of course.”
I like this admission. We need to revisit that.
“Oh, yeah! My Jets number is 19. Was 19.” I take a deep breath. “My brother, Liam, was meant to take some time away from the AHL to come and play in Europe, but some things went down and I came instead. It was all a bit late notice, and the club had already got a Preston jersey with the number 47 on and I told them not to bother wasting their money changing it.”
“You must really love him to do that. What about your contract, your aspirations?” she says.
“Well, my contract was up for renewal, and we were close to agreeing on a deal, but Liam asked me if I would take his spot here for him. They offered him a one-year contract and promised a call-up, so he couldn’t afford to miss that opportunity. My agent wasn’t happy, but we can make it work. My brother and I were always in each other’s shadows growing up, but we took different routes and I think he may have felt left behind. I’m trying to give him a chance.” I say. Then I tell her about the bet that Liam had made too, or told me he’d made.
“Yeah, but that’s not your fault, Ry,” she says.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I say.
We sit silently for a moment until her phone pings again, and again, and again. Her cheeks flush red when she glances at it.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says quickly, but I glimpse the screen and she notices. “It’s just this app I was using.”
A dating app, by the look of it. “Let me see your profile,” I plead.
“No way!”
“Yeah, let me see,” I say.
I don’t know why I want to see and I don’t know why I do what I do next. Attempting to grab her phone, she jumps from the sofa and escapes my grasp. I do what every other guy would do next and grip her by the waist and pull her back down. She’s squealing and squirming but laughing at the same time. It’s adorable.
“You’re not seeing!” she says, trying to pull the phone out of my reach, but I snatch it and pin her down on either side of my knees so I’m straddling her. My right hand holds her phone, my left gently pinning her arms down.
“God, you’re strong,” she says, her chest heaving with each breath. She’s smiling and she looks good enough to eat.
“Oh, I see the problem here,” I say, teasing her.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, in your likes section, my name is missing and you’ve spelt Winnipeg Jets wrong.”
She scoffs. “I’ll never be a Jets fan, now let me go!” she laughs, and I drop her phone and release her arms, boxing her in, my palms on either side of her head, my face centimetres from hers.
“Only if you say, ‘Senators suck.’” I say it in almost a whisper.
She does a comedic gasp and shakes her head. “Never!” she shouts, wriggling underneath me. It’s a teasing move; my dick is already as hard as a rock.
“Say it,” I try again, my mouth millimetres from hers. I can smell her perfume, some sort of fruity, floral fragrance that drives me crazy, but she doesn’t say anything this time. Her eyes lock onto mine and our chemistry permeates in the air. Usually, being in someone’s personal space feels awkward and uncomfortable, but this doesn’t. I feel like I’m exactly where I should be. This feels right.
She shifts a little and it’s as if she suddenly realises her hands are free, as she moves them up to touch my bare chest. She must feel how hard my heart is beating. Shit, I forgot I was shirtless. I probably stink, and my sweaty skin is likely sticky. She looks down at her hands and jerks them away as if she’s touching fire.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” she whispers.
