Page 56 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight

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My eyes flick to my toes, covered in those cozy socks.

And my heart squeezes.

FAYE (via Gray): I’m good. Just enjoying your guest bed. The mattress is great and the cookies are delicious.

I weigh telling him about Courtney.

Decide it’s best to leave that for after his game. The last thing he needs is to be worrying about her nonsense.

GRAY (via Smitty): And the upcoming entertainment is going to be just as great.

FAYE (via Gray): Entertainment?

GRAY (via Smitty): The Grizzlies kicking the Eagles asses.

FAYE (via Gray): I’m thinking this isn’t the time to mention that I don’t actually enjoy watching hockey.

A pause.

Long enough that I’m thinking it was dumb to share that, especially right before he’s playing, you know, hockey.

Long enough that when the pause ends, I find myself being reckless as I settle back on pillows that I swear smell of Gray’s cologne.

(But not finding myself caring all that much about my recklessness because it is Gray).

Gray (via Smitty): …

Faye (via Gray): I’m not so much a hockey fan as a fictional hockey hero fan.

Gray (via Smitty): I can’t decide if I’m insulted or not.

Faye (via Gray): You’re not.

Gray (via Smitty): I’m not?

Faye (via Gray): Because tonight is your chance to make me one.

Nineteen

Gray

Tonight is your chance to make me one.

Christ.

I don’t need to be thinking about that message, don’t need to be letting my imagination run wild.

But all I can think of is those gorgeous lips curving up into a smirk, her pretty brown eyes sparking with challenge.

Beautiful.

She’ll have been beautiful writing out that message and hitting send and waiting for my reply.

Which, for the record, was:

Gray (via Smitty): Challenge accepted, Red.

And I wasn’t joking.

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