Page 43 of Puck Daddies
“You okay?” she asks without looking up.
“Practice got chippy. Coach benched me. Told me to cool off.”
“Edwards?”
“Yeah.”
“He started it, right?”
“Doesn’t matter. I still almost put him on his back with gloves on.”
She sets the cloth down and leans against the counter. “You have a reputation. Everyone wants to be the one who gets under your skin. They fish. You don’t bite.”
“I bit today.” I don’t like the oily feel of guilt that comes with admitting that.
“Coach did the right thing.”
“I know.”
She watches me stir. “Want to tell me what’s under the anger?”
“Stupid fight two weeks ago. I still feel it in my quad. Then the kid beat me in a speed test by a hair’s breadth. He chirped about it. I should have laughed and skated. Took the bait instead.”
“You’re allowed to be human. You’re not allowed to bleed for a rookie with a mouth.”
I snort. “Copy.”
She looks at the melter. “You make these when you want your hands to be good.”
“Yeah.”
“If the wax is under control, then you are too.”
I pour the next round. My hands don’t shake now. The room smells better. The air gets quiet. She knows me too well.
Her eyes go to my wrist, where a faint line of wax dried earlier. She reaches out and touches the edge of it. Her fingers are gentle. “Too hot?”
“No. Soy. Low temp. Safe for skin if you’re careful.”
She looks up, pupils a little wider. “Show me.”
I kill the melter and pour a small amount into a clean tin to cool it a little more. I test a drip on my wrist again and hold my skin under it. Warm. Safe. I take a breath. “Stop ishive.Slower means slower. If you hate it, we move on.”
She opens the top button of her shirt and pulls the neck wide an inch. “Here,” she says, touching the dip at her collarbone.
I lean in and kiss the place she pointed at. She shivers for me. “Okay?”
“Good.”
I pick up the tin, tip it just enough, and let one drop fall. It lands and spreads. She gasps and then exhales. I watch her face. “Too hot?”
“No. More. Slow.”
I give her one more drop an inch over. It travels to meet the first and cools. She closes her eyes. I wait. She opens them and looks at me. “More.”
I drip a small line across the top of her chest, careful. She watches the path. I put the tin down and trace the cooled edge with my fingertip. Her breath hitches.
“Still okay?”
