Page 82 of My Wife
Magma builds inside, threatening to erupt with volcanic ferocity, and from behind, I grip her shoulder and growl, “Take that off.”
Startled, she turns around. “What are you talking about?”
“Take off the jersey.” I burn holes in the shiny material with my stare.
Jessica tilts her head to the side. “Why? I borrowed it from Grandma Dolly. It was closest to my size. She has one for nearly every player on the team. Figured you’d be happy to see us supporting the Knights.” Her tone is innocent, but if she spends another second wearing Grimaldi’s last name on her back, I will be very, very guilty.
“Take. It. Off,” I repeat.
“I’m only wearing a camisole underneath, Liam. What else should I put on?”
I tear my jersey off and shove it toward her.
“What has gotten into you?” Then, like a lightbulb going off, she seems to understand. Her jaw lowers at my audacity.
My expression sharpens.
The kid must sense the tension because he gets wiggly. The last thing I need is for anyone to notice them, least of all Jessica wearing that jersey ... or the camisole. My pulse is already high and threatens to blow off the roof which would be a shame since this is a new building.
“Put it on.”
“Who’s being bossy now?” she gripes, struggling to discretely change tops.
“If you’re going to wear anyone’s jersey. It’s mine.”
“What about the rules?” she asks as her head pops through the neckline.
My lips press together because she’s got me there. I recall ordering her never to wear my jersey. I don’t know where my head was then and I have no idea where it is now except incensed that Jessica was in Grimaldi’s number.
“Stop with your questions,” I bark.
Our gazes meet. A long moment passes between us, stretching, lengthening, morphing.
Fluffing her hair out from the collar, she says, “Or I could ask more. Double down. What has you so peeved when you could be happy to see us? Why are you being irrational? You could explain yourself. How can you be so attractive when you’re mad?” Her eyes widen as if surprised at having said the last one out loud.
She shouldn’t think I’m attractive, but the heat rising along my neck suggests I liked hearing that. My fist grips the air and tightens.
Her gaze drops to it.
I grit my teeth. I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life.
I want to kiss this woman, but I have to resist.
Her lips part and her eyes dip to my mouth. “Oh,” she breathes as if realizing something.
Before either one of us can do anything stupid, I give the kid a high five and turn to leave, then with a grunt, say, “Get out of here.”
But I have to stay away from her.
If I don’t, I will lose control.
This whole thing was a mistake.
Except, when I’m around Jessica, when I smell her and hear her laugh there is no denying the rushing, sweeping, whooshing feeling like in those seconds as the puck races toward the net. It’s anticipation and uncertainty. Excitement and hope. But even better.
I have to out skate it.
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