Page 29 of Crush
I watched the hockey player inhale his meal. Sure, I loved feeding people—but something about feeding an athlete, someone who made a living off of his physical prowess, made it doubly satisfying. I couldn't stop smiling as I watched him excitedly finish his meal.
Then his plate was empty, but Shea ran off to the fridge and got seconds.
“Aren't you going to heat that up?” I asked as he hurried back to his seat with a plate of cold food.
“I can't wait that long. This is too good,” he said. “You know. I almost feel sorry for the guy who ends up marrying you, Brynn.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you feed your husband like this every day of his life, the poor guy is going to blow up like a blimp, and then you're going to leave him.”
“Ididn't make you get seconds.” I laughed and slapped at his shoulder. It was hard and round with muscle. “You scared me, by the way. I thought you were going to say somethingwayworse.”
“Like what?”
“I don't know! Something mean.”
“I know I probably looked it during that fight, but I swear, I'm not a mean guy.” The wise wrinkles around Shea's eyes curled up with a smile. “Just do me a favor, Brynn. When you do decide to get married? Make sure you marry a guy you can trust.”
“That's a little easier said than done, isn't it?”
“Yeah, but trust me, you want to make sure. Hell, hire a PI to follow the guy around before you tie the knot. That's what I recommend.”
“API!” I howled. “Little over the top, don't you think?”
“Better to be safe than sorry. Trust me, divorce is a total pain in the ass. A constant cloud of stress that hangs over you for a year, if not longer, until it's finally over.”
I stifled a cynical laugh. “Build me a time machine, then, and I'll take your advice and marry someone else this time around.”
“Huh?” The baffled look told me that Shea had missed my point.
“I'm divorced too.”
He nearly choked on his food a second time. “You?You'redivorced? Seriously?”
“Sure am.”
He waved his hand at me. “Bull. I don't believe it. You're not even old enough to be married, let alone divorced.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “My first serious boyfriend, Mikey, proposed to me at nineteen. I said 'yes.' Then I said 'yes' to a divorce when I was twenty-two.”
“So that was what, a week ago?” Shea asked with a playful twinkle in his eye.
“Oh,ha ha.I guess I'll take that as a compliment. But no, that was five years ago.”
Shea's jaw dropped. “Wait. You're twenty-seven!?”
“Hey, you can do math! Whoever said athletes were dumb jocks?” I patted Shea's shoulder again, but this time I let my fingers linger on his taut muscle for just a second longer. The chiseled ridges were such an alluring sensation beneath my fingers—part of me wanted to run my fingertips through the crevices and valleys of his muscle. But I didn't, of course.
“I never would've guessed you were that old,” Shea said.
I squinted at the salt-and-pepper hockey player who was my childhood crush once upon a time. “Are you calling me old now?”
“Trust me—no. All I'm saying is, you look great for your age. Besides, you're young,I'mold.”
“You're only ten years older than me, aren't you? Thirty-seven isn't that old at all.”
“Yeah, but remember how I make my living. Those are tenhardyears of hockey, of plane rides and hotel beds, of fights and hits and injuries …” Shea shook his head. “Never mind all that. I still can't believe you're divorced.”
