Page 27 of Trouble in Love
Soft hands twisted into my damp hair, giving a good tug forcibly raising my eyes to hers. “What did you say? I can’t hear or read your lips while you’re weirdly sniffing your knees.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” I puffed out my cheeks on exhalation and started again. “I said I’m normally not this much of a talker, and I promised I’m not a weird stalker, killer, kidnapper type. I’m also not married, though I almost was, and I don’t have kids, nor am I a cowboy or a coach.”
Katie rolled her fingers in encouragement. “Go on.”
“So yeah, I’m not a coach but hockey is a huge part of my life. I play for a team in New York. Well, I did and hope to again when I recover from injury and come off suspension. I’m on vacation with my neighbor and his boyfriend and we are staying with their friends in Byron Bay. We came to Sydney for a football match but are flying back early Monday morning.” It was aroundthis point my inner dialogue kicked in again. Just sex? Just sex?You reek of desperation. This is not just sex. “I’m a good guy.” I continued “I promise. I can even give you my mom and sister’s numbers if you like … or I would if I could remember them. Did I tell you I lost my phone? Would email do? Shit, I know I’m rambling again, but your friend’s got me all kinds of messed up, and I just wanted to see her one more time before I fly home.”
A round of applause was not what I expected. “That was Impressive. Are you even breathing?”
Between gasps, I choked out, “Nope.”
While I caught my breath, Katie finished her drink, placed the empty glass on the closest table already overflowing with empty glasses, then took her phone from her tiny bag. “I have more questions, especially about hockey …AndI’m still not giving you my friend’s number. But I will tell her I saw you and give her yours. And that you blushed so hard when you talked about her and that you didn’t mention sex. Just that you wanted to see her. That’s nice. After what she’s been through, she deserves nice.”
Curiosity forced another question I shouldn’t care to hear the answer for since it was just sex. “Whathasshe been through?”
“None of your bloody business. Do you know your number?”
“Yep. I mean, yes. I do.”
After a torturous pause, Katie tapped the screen and then placed her phone in the palm of my hand. “Type what you want, and your number, and then I’ll pass it on. The rest is up to her.”
A gale-force breath escaped my lungs, sending the perfectly curled tendrils by her temples fluttering. “Awesome. Yes, Thank you so much, Katie. I’ll be extra sure not to kill you now.”
“Not funny, mate.”
As I crafted a message that could easily be interpreted as a declaration of love, internal conflict swirled within me. I added my number and then handed the phone back to its owner.
“Cute, Cowboy,” she said, reading, then returned the phone to her bag. “Very cute.” After standing on tiptoes, she rustled my hair like I was ten, and disappeared into the dark, shouting over her shoulder, “My name is Luna, by the way. Nice to meet you, Luca.”
Smug as the devil, I left, returned to my hotel with a boner borne of hope, then realized I just handed over the number to a phone I’d lost.
Idiot.
Polly
Hiya, Princess.
This is Luca, your Cowboy. Surprise! I have a name.
I don’t know if you tried to message me, but I swear to God, I did not stand you up. I wanted to see you more than anything, but I lost my phone and couldn’t remember your number. I came to SWING and found Katie. She is sweetly protective of you. A little scary, too. She tells me your mom isn’t well. I hope she is better soon, and maybe if she is, we can see each other again before I fly back to the States next month.
This may sound forward. I promise I am not a weirdo, but I want you to know that our night together meant something to me. You mean something to me.
Hope that doesn’t freak you out too much.
Please. Give me a call.
Luca.
Who the fuck is this guy?
Foreign, smoochy, girly feelings swirled in my lifeless heart as I Face Timed Luna while hiding in the pub basement, the cool metal of freshly tapped beer kegs tempering my full body flush. I must have read that message aloud ten times, asking the same questions, over and over. “So, you’re saying he looked hot?”
“Yes, Pol. He looked hot ... better than hot. Fucking gorgeous hot. Chef’s kiss hot. Sexiest man alive hot. You should call him.”
“And he smelled delicious?”
“Uh-huh. Like a big, sexy, walking … um, smelling good guy that you should call.”
