Page 42 of The Import Slot
I pull my phone out to check the time and curse to myself. It’s gone eleven and I think I’ll miss the last train home at this rate. I’m too busy checking the train times, so I don’t spot Danny at the lobby doors. He’s seen me though and shouts over.
“Jen, what are you doing standing out in the rain? Why are you here?” he asks.
“I’ve, I’ve come to see you?” I say.
“Ryan, you mean?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you the reason I had to stop him from doing slap shots in our living room?” he asks.
“What?”
“He was doing some wrist work, but then he changed his mind, apparently. Like someone pissed him off about something.”
“What are you doing outside this late?” I ask.
“Bettsy was—wait, are you drunk?” he asks, pulling me into the lift with him.
“Just a smidge,” I say, lifting my hand and signalling with the gap between my thumb and index finger.
He laughs. Actually laughs at me, and by the time we get to the eighth floor, he’s still chuckling to himself. “Why are you really here, Jen?” but I don’t answer.
Danny opens the door to the apartment and pulls me in. Part of me was hoping Ryan would be in bed, but of course, he’s not. He’s standing on a massive white surface, wearing his gloves and holding a stick, flicking a puck back and forth, but he jerks his head up when he hears us enter. His hair is damp under his baseball cap, which he’s flipped backwards and he’s wearing a fitted white t-shirt and black sweat shorts. I must be ogling now because he looks effortlessly delicious.
Danny snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Jen,” he says, but I’m studying the tattoos on Ryan’s forearms. I’ve seen them many times, but I’m looking at them as if I’ve never seen them before. The muscles in his forearm twisting as his wrist moves. I want those arms around me.
“Are you okay, Jen?” Ryan asks, putting his stick down.
“You don’t use CCM kit, except for your helmet,” I say, my eyes on the Bauer stick he places against the counter.
“Did you come here to comment on my gear? Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” Ryan says.
“A date?” Danny asks.
“I was, yeah.” I hop up onto the counter, my legs dangling down and lean back onto my arms, pushing my boobs out. Ryan gives me a look of wonder mixed with something else.
“How was it?” Danny asks.
“Can you give us a moment, please, Dan?” I say, ignoring his question.
“I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” Danny says.
I snicker at his Harry Potter reference, but I know he’ll be listening, so I beckon Ryan to me with my index finger. He edges closer but keeps an arm’s length away. I lean over and pull him in with his t-shirt, and he stumbles forward. He’s standing at the counter, my legs on either side of him now, and we’re looking directly at each other.
I don’t know why I do it, but I reach for his hat and pluck it off his head, placing it on my own, peak facing forward.
“You’ve had a haircut,” I say, running my hands through his hair. It’s a total invasion of personal space, but I feel like we’re past that now.
“Yeah, I did,” he says, leaning in slightly.
“You look hot,” I say. His lips break into a smirk, then I pull him closer, my arms around his neck. “Why didn’t you give me a good-luck hug the other day?” I ask, looking into his eyes.
He swallows. “I think you know why.”
“I think I may do, but I can’t be sure. Can I get one now, please?” I pull him in, and he wraps his arms around me, but it feels different. He’s never hugged me like this before. His hands move up and down my back. I bet he can feel my nipples poking through to his chest. I have a bra and a blouse on, but they feel rock solid.
“Jen,” he whispers in my ear. “Why are you here? I’m not complaining, but something tells me this isn’t just a social visit.”
