by Kim Bailey
This time, his laughter is so boisterous he draws the eyes of most of the guests around us. But when nothing more interesting happens, they seem to lose interest and look away as his laughter subsides.
“Sorry, man. That’s just too funny. I’m not smart enough, or patient enough, for something like that.”
“Yeah, me neither. What do you do?”
“I’m a hockey player.”
Shit, I knew he looked familiar.
This is Sean Iverson. Professional hockey playing Sean Iverson. He’s a second-line defenseman who’s been traded more times than Jamie and Eric’s spit. He’s a decent player, although he’s never had enough ice time to make a truly big name for himself. Hell, I don’t even know what team he’s on now. But he plays with the professionals, so who the hell cares what team it’s for?
Seeing my recognition, he nods slightly before asking, “What about you? You look like an armed forces guy.”
“No, not a soldier. I’m a police officer.”
“Hmmm, yeah, that makes total sense. That’s a badass job.”
It is. Glad someone else sees it that way. All the people I’d meant to impress with my work haven’t seemed to notice. It feels good to be respected for it, especially from someone who’s line of work is one that I admire in return.
“So, how is it that you owe Mr. Anderson your career?” I ask, regaining my composure.
“Glenn? He volunteered at my high school back in the day. Part of some outreach program. I was a rough little fucker. Bad attitude, bad temper, and had a habit of fucking anything that moved. He helped set me straight.” His playful smile grows as he turns, looking me in the eye. “Well, not perfectly straight.”
Oh, shit. Is he hitting on me?
“No and yes,” he says with humor in his voice.
“No and yes? What were the questions?” I wonder.
“No, I’m not gay. No, I’m not a total pervert. But, yes. Yes, I’m totally mackin’ on you.”
“I don’t know what the hell that means or what the hell I’m supposed to say,” I reply, guarded.
“No need to respond. You could simply show me where the bathroom is in this very large and confusing house.” His voice drops to a near whisper before continuing, “And then maybe you follow me into that bathroom. Maybe you take a walk on the wild side. I have a feeling it wouldn’t be your first time.”
Who the hell is this guy?
Not at all someone I was expecting to find here tonight, that’s for sure.
This whole evening has become weirdly surreal. It’s like I’ve been shoved into an episode of Twin Peaks mid-season—there’s no hope of figuring out what the hell’s going on, and it’s possibly my own secrets being unraveled.
In another time, another place, I might consider what he’s offering. How he figured that out just by looking at me, I haven’t a damn clue. However, I’m not about to give anything away in a room full of people, especially not this room filled with these people.
“I don’t know if you noticed this about me or not . . . That girl over there?” I say, motioning toward Jamie. “She’s the love of my life. We’re in the living room of her soon-to-be in-laws, my son is here, and I’m a respected officer of this community. There’s no way in hell I’m up for what you just proposed.”
“No, eh?” he asks skeptically.
“No,” I deadpan, leaving no room for argument.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying, though, right?”
No, normally I wouldn’t blame him one bit. It’s the kind of move I’ve boldly made with women hundreds of times in my life. Throw out enough lures, eventually one comes back with more than just the bait.
But this guy?
This guy is more than just bold. He’s enigmatic. His lure is mighty fucking attractive.
“Guess not, but I’d appreciate if you didn’t try again.”
“I hear ya. Hey! So, you’re a hockey fan, right?” His blatant attempt to change the subject would be laughable in any other circumstance, but at this moment, I’m thankful for the diversion.
“Hockey’s in my blood.”
“That’s a lot of us, I think. You see my last game?”
It takes me a minute to figure out how to answer that. “Honestly, can’t say that I know which one you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry, man. It was a bit of a trick question. I haven’t played once yet this season. I was hoping maybe you had some insight as to why.”
“Sorry to hear that. Your coach hasn’t told you why?”
“He gave me a line about teamwork and my penalty stats, but I have a feeling there’s something more he’s not saying. Know what I mean?”
I can’t imagine how tough that’s got to be on a guy like this. Even though I can’t remember the last time I watched him play, the times that I have seen him on the ice, it’s clear that he loves it. He’s the kind of guy that plays with passion. Maybe a bit too much of it. He’s known as a bit of a bruiser.
But that’s what happens when you love something, right? You do stupid things for it.
“It’s only a couple of months into the season . . .” I try.
“Nah. Don’t sugarcoat it for me. I know this will probably be my last year in the league. I don’t think anyone’s going to want me unless it’s a package trade. I’ve made my peace with it.”
“You’re really calm for someone who thinks they’re losing their job. How do you manage it?”
“Well, how are you managing? You’re standing across the room from the love of your life while she’s busy kissing the love of her life, and it ain’t you.”
Looking back across the room to Jamie and Eric, I see that they are once again—or maybe still—locked in their loving embrace, lips attached.
This time, the sight makes me angry. So fucking angry.
Am I the only one who finds their display disrespectful? It’s inconsiderate, not just to me, but to those around them who don’t have the type of love and connection that they have. It pisses me off that guys like Sean, guys like me, can put our heart and soul into loving something only to have it stolen away from us. To have our passion and our efforts thrown back in our faces. To be broken by our blinded love.
“Do you see my son somewhere around here?”
“Not sure, man. Why? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just want to make sure he doesn’t miss the toast at midnight.”
That’s it. I’m drawing a line. Jamie’s not going to be the only one in charge anymore. She’s made enough of the decisions. I’m taking over. I’m going to find Hunter. I’m going to make sure my son knows I’m more than just the guy who does what his mother says. I’m free thinking. Free feeling.
I’m the fucking boss.
And, goddamnit, the boss wants to toast the new year with his son.
***
The party picks up after the second hand ticks past twelve. Auld Lang Syne begins in unison, everyone in high spirits—even me, for the moment.
Not Hunter, though. He’s asleep on his feet.
Hustling him out of the living room, I get him to Sylvie and Glenn’s guest room then tuck him into bed before he passes out. He looked like he might conk out before the ball drop. But he’s a little trooper and made it all the way to midnight.
I wouldn’t exactly call this an enjoyable evening, but it was bearable. Seeing Hunter have a good time was worth it, even if it did earn me a scowl from Jamie.
Now that it’s over, I’m ready to make a quick exit.
Sean appears beside me again just as I’m slipping on my jacket.
“You leaving?” he asks.
“Planned on it.”
“Without saying goodbye?” His words are a bit slurred, making me wonder how much he’s had to drink.
Ignoring his question, I ask, “How are you getting home? You didn’t drive, did you?”
“Man, I’m not going home tonight. That’s crazy.” I realize, even after getting to know him a li
ttle, I still have no idea what team he’s playing for or where he calls home. “I’m taking a cab to a hotel.”
Good thing. It’s clear from the way he sways into me he’s in no shape to get behind the wheel.
“Okay, good.” I sigh. “I could drop you at the hotel if you’re leaving now. Save you the cab fare.”
His raised eyebrows press inward, drawing a line between his brow and across his forehead that makes him look older, more serious.
“What kind of car do you drive?”
The relevance is unclear, but I can’t help the prideful glow growing inside of me. My car is a thing of beauty. A thing of beauty that I restored from a beat-up piece of shit.
“I’ve got a ’69 Dodge Charger with a 440 Magnum parked out on the street. Wanna go take a look? Maybe go for a drive before I drop you at your hotel?”
“It’s freezing outside, and they’re calling for snow tonight. You want to go driving a car like that around?”
“I’ve got snow chains in the trunk.”
“Well, you know . . . I’ve never ridden in a ’69 Charger before. And since you’ve got chains”—he sneaks me a conspiratorial wink—“a drive could be fun. Lead the way.”
The party is still in full swing behind us. No one notices as Sean and I silently slip on our shoes and coats then head outside. Why would they? We aren’t even the first ones out the door. All the smokers have been relegated to the frosty front porch of the Anderson home. Someone was thoughtful enough to set up chairs and a heat lamp for them, though.
Sean and I don’t linger on the stoop. Waving to a couple of people he seems to know, we head toward my car parked down the street.
No one notices. No one cares.
But my heart’s still racing a million miles an hour as if we’re doing something wrong. Like we’re going to be caught.
Despite my jangling nerves, I maintain my composure as I unlock the doors of my baby.
This car is a special machine that I’m truly proud of. It took time and dedication to fix it up myself. A project that I hope to repeat one day with my son on a car of his own.
Sliding in behind the wheel, I feel more relaxed, more at home. This is my space. I can drop the charade of uptight respectability and just be me.
However, the moment Sean slides into the seat beside me, that feeling changes. The car becomes alive with energy. It radiates off him like a nuclear reactor. He’s taller than me and fills the bucket seat completely, but it’s his personality that takes over the space.
I like it.
I like how upfront he is, how unapologetic. I used to be more like this—when I had less to lose.
Running his hand over the dashboard, he hums appreciatively. “Nice. If I knew anything at all about cars, I’d probably be really impressed with this one. I like that it’s shiny,” he jokes.
“Shut up. It’s not just pretty to look at, you know.”
“You mean there’s more hiding underneath the surface?”
“Isn’t there always?”
Turning the ignition, I take a moment to appreciate the rumble of the engine, enjoying the thrill of knowing that behind this wheel, I am in complete control.
“Where are we going?” he asks smoothly.
“Not sure, but you should put your seatbelt on. It’s the law,” I demand.
“Yes, boss.”
Fuck, that’s hard to ignore. Hearing the words roll so easily off his tongue—so natural, so smooth—it’s going to take a lot more than willpower to keep this thing platonic.
I have no choice, do I? Anything more than the flirting we’re doing will risk not just my reputation, but the identity I’ve built for myself as well.
The new me is the better me. The one who keeps things clean. The guy who lives for his son. The guy who doesn’t drive off in the middle of the night with strange, seductive men. That’s the kind of guy I used to be. The one who did just about whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
It’s been a long, long time since I was that guy. That guy was slowly buried alive as the new me took over, working hard to clean up my act and be the kind of man I thought Jamie wanted me to be. Now, with her set to marry Eric, I wonder if all the effort was worth it.
We drive out of the subdivision, me lost in my own thoughts, and Sean . . . Well, I’m not sure exactly where Sean’s head is at, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. It’s a bit unnerving. As I drive us toward a quiet lake road, the heat of his stare threatens to override my determination to keep this thing neutral.
“You’re not very talkative. Thought that’s what we were doing out here. Driving and talking,” he challenges.
“I said driving. Never said anything about talking.”
“No talking? That can be fun, too.” His grin stretches wide.
Sick of the charade, and set on ending it, I find a road that dead ends at the lakeshore. Parking the car, I look out over the frosty view of Lake Nippising.
If this were summer, there’d be no room to park here. This place would be filled with locals and maybe the odd tourist looking to enjoy the beauty of the lake as it silently reflects the moon. But in the dead of winter, just past midnight on New Year’s Eve, there’s not another soul in sight.
“No need to play that game anymore. We’re in private,” I assure.
“But it’s so much fun. I like seeing you try to hide your interest with that exaggerated show of discomfort.”
“It’s not exaggerated, and it’s not a show. You make me feel uncomfortable.”
“Why? Afraid of that side of yourself? Afraid to admit that for a split second you actually considered my offer?”
“It was more than a split second. But, no, that’s not the reason why.”
“Prove it.”
“Yeah, see, that’s the problem. I’m sick of trying to prove myself all the time. I’m not afraid of who I am, and I’m tired of trying to prove who I’m not.”
“You might’ve lost me a little with that one, man. Sorry. Maybe I had one too many drinks,” he admits. “Don’t worry. I’m just trying to push your buttons. I could tell you’re at least curious if not well practiced. I just wanted to see if you were willing to acknowledge it. I didn’t really expect anything to happen. Might have hoped a bit. But no expectations.”
No expectations. Now there’s something new.
Something I crave. Something I could even get used to.
“Look, Sean, I’ve worked hard to be the kind of guy worthy of an invitation to New Year’s Eve at the Andersons. They don’t know the kind of guy I used to be. They never met him, but Jamie knows. She knows I fucked around with whoever, whenever. She was off having our kid, and I was here, feeling sorry for myself, doing whatever I could to feel better about it. I can’t do that kind of shit anymore.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I’m not really asking for anything at all.”
“I appreciate that. Friends?”
With a long, almost wistful look, he slowly nods his agreement. “I guess friends works.”
Turning in his seat, he angles his big body toward me, extending his arm over the center console for another handshake. I suppose it’s like making a business deal. The terms have been set and both parties have agreed. But when the palm of my hand hits his, he grabs ahold and tugs forcefully. With intent. With practice. He pulls me straight into him.
I may have been unprepared for his maneuver, but I’m a fucking cop. I’m always prepared for the unexpected. It’s too late to prevent it, but not too late to stop him dead in his fucking tracks. I counter his movement. Instead of pulling back, I push forward, catching his drunk ass completely off guard.
My forearm hits him square in the chest, knocking a bit of wind out of him when his back hits the door. But I don’t stop. I push on him with such force, I’m halfway out of my seat, leaning my body weight into his, our chests in line.
If he wasn’t drinking, this might not have been so easy. He’s bigger than me, and he
’s stronger than me. His career may be riding the bench, but he’s still in peak shape, knowing he can be called to the ice at any moment.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He laughs, the rumble of his voice vibrating up my arm, running a course through my body.
He’s fucking laughing.
It should piss me off. Pulling this stunt right after agreeing not to? That alone should have me punching his face in. But then to laugh at me? To think this action is fucking funny? Drunk or not, I should open the car door and push him out of it.
But I don’t.
Instead, I laugh back.
I laugh because I can’t find it in me to be angry. I don’t care that he broke an agreement two seconds after making it. It doesn’t bother me that he’s such a cocky prick. None of it seems to rattle me at all. In fact, I have the complete opposite reaction.
I like it. I like him. Even if he is full of himself.
So, I fucking laugh like I’m thoroughly cracked.
He doesn’t hesitate before grabbing a fistful of the hair I’ve let grow a little too long, and I don’t resist when he drags my mouth to his.
Our breathing is erratic. My pulse spiked. The laughter gone.
He may be drunk, but his kiss isn’t sloppy. It’s not as forceful or demanding as I expected, either. It’s nothing like I expected. Even though my training helps me prepare for all things unexpected, this moment is not one of them.
With his mouth softening under mine, his hand in my hair turns from a demanding pull to a desperate tangle. The flirtatious, in-your-face guy that just instigated this exchange disappears.
Sean lets me take charge.
It doesn’t take much for me to turn from prey to predator.
The arm I’d used as a barrier to block him now shifts over his shoulder, banding around the back of his neck, acting as a cage to trap him in. Flicking my tongue across his lips, I force his mouth open. Forcing entrance. Forcing compliance.
