Page 43 of Three Pucking Words
“I—” I stop myself. Because I don’t know. Are we? Do we have a label? Labels make things tricky. But they also make things less confusing.
His chuckle is light. “You’re cute when you’re confused. You get a little line between your eyebrows.” He points at the spot that’s wrinkled, making me ease my expression.
“Cute is something men call puppies and kids,” I tell him, arching one of my brows.
“And women,” he argues.
I stare at him for a second before crossing my arms over my chest. “Women are beautiful. Hot. Sexy.”
He lifts his shoulders. “Sure. But in the past, that’s what I would call the kind of women I only wanted to fuck; the ones I’d see physical things in and nothing more. I know that makes me as ass, but I’m not perfect. Never have been. Some women mean more than an easy lay.”
I won’t lie, there’s red hot jealousy that stirs in the deepest pit of my stomach over him thinking anybody else is hot. Whichis ridiculous, so I force myself to brush it off. “At least you’re honest,” I murmur, glancing down at the ground.
So what if he doesn’t think I’m sexy? Cute is…okay. It isn’t as if he called me an ogre and made Shrek jokes. I like myself, even if it took me a while to get there after my body started changing. I’m pretty, if not a little average. I may not be tall or leggy of society’s standards of skinny, but I’ve got nice curves and boobs that still have a little perkiness to them, and my butt isn’t flat. But if Bodhi has a specific type that he thinks is sexy, and he considers me lesser in comparison, that doesn’t bode well for me.
Wait. Why do I care?
Nope.
I don’t.
I. Don’t. Care.
“Honor,” he says, the tips of his skates coming into my line of vision. “Look at me.”
It’s hard, but I do.
“I have a lot of thoughts when it comes to you,” he states matter-of-factly. “But I’m trying to be a gentleman. You don’t even want me calling you honey, so I’m making sure I’m careful of what I say. But make no mistake. I think you’re gorgeous. You’re caring. You dedicated. You’re a lot of things. And I’m looking forward to learning more about what those are.”
Now I’m really blushing.
He jabs his finger behind him. “I’ve got to get back out there and finish up some drills with Henderson and Grayson. But we’ll talk later. Okay?”
I nod, tugging on the hem of my shirt nervously. “Okay.” My voice comes out higher than normal, and his lips spread like he hears it too.
Ugh. I’m so lame.
“Okay,” he repeats, backing toward the rink.
“Okay,” I say again, wincing.
He laughs. “You already said that.”
I don’t allow myself to say anything else, so I turn around and click my tongue for Puck to follow me.
The entire way back to my office, I realize I’m in trouble. Because Bodhi and I never labeled what this is, which means we didn’t label what itisn’t. And the line between the two is thin.
*
My father showsup at my office long after Karina goes home. In fact, I thought I was the last one here trying to sort through the digital files from my camera of the last game and upload them to my desktop. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s still lingering too. One of the many complaints my mother had about him was how much of a workaholic he is.
“I thought you went home,” I tell him, rubbing my eyes and turning away from the photo album I’ve been working on for the last hour and a half.
He lifts a plastic bag with a big smiley face on the front that smells like… “Chinese?” he asks, walking in and setting the takeout onto the corner of my desk. “I haven’t seen you leave yet, so I figured there was a safe bet you haven’t had dinner. I got your usual.”
My usual.When was the last time I had Chinese with him? At seventeen years old? Maybe eighteen? But the second he pulls out the shrimp and snow peas, and then the shrimp fried rice, my stomach rumbles to life.
He remembers my usual.
