Page 10 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)
Am I Ready to Live with This Stunning Man for the Next Two Months Without Touching Myself to Death?
Behraz
“Hey, are we friends now?”
Fletcher blushes so fiercely that it makes my heart skip a beat.
The crimson spans all his exposed alabaster skin, drowning his freckles down his arms to the knuckles around the steering wheel.
My stomach flips back and forth like a floor gymnast. A smile stretches my face so wide my cheeks hurt.
Dreams do come true. I could get used to seeing him like this.
“S-sure.”
“So, my friend. You’re a shy bookworm who plays hockey professionally?” I tease.
“I…guess.” He’s still stumbling over words. I might be addicted to making him blush.
“Is reading your only hobby? Or are you like me, a hobby hoarder?”
His shoulders round into a shrug. “Hockey takes up most of my time. When we’re not practicing or playing, we’re on the road.”
“No other hobbies? Really? What do you guys do during long trips?”
“Catch up on sleep. Watch movies. Sometimes we play card games.”
“Fun! You mean like Uno?” I ask, though I already have insider info.
I want to, have to, need to make Fletcher Donovan smile. And maybe blush some more.
God forbid a girl has a new hobby. Add it to the list, the endless lists with tasks that never get completed, or if they do, are completed too late and it doesn’t matter anyway. The domino effect of failure never fails.
“Occasionally. We usually stick to Phase 10, Pokémon?—”
Gabe and Indi were right. These guys are giant children with geeky pastimes.
“Sometimes pinochle?—”
“Pinochle?” I choke on a laugh. “What are you guys, eighty?”
Fletcher’s mouth purses. He’s really trying not to smile.
“If you must know, my favorite is poker. Texas Hold ‘Em. But the guys aren’t fans.”
I’ve made him blush. I’ve made him smile, kinda. Now I wonder if I can get him to compliment himself.
“No? Why not?” That’s good, Bea. Pretend you don’t know about his poker skills.
“‘Cause when they play, they bet. And when I play, they lose.” A faint smile appears, changing the pattern of those pretty freckles.
Victory!
His smile stretches with mischief. “And men who play sports for a living are the biggest sore losers.”
“ Daaaaang , Fletcher,” I sing-song. “How’d you get so good?”
The question hits a nerve, because he goes somber.
“My dad plays.” We stop at a red light, the right turn signal ticking through the silence.
“It’s probably the only thing he taught me.
” The hurt in the low timbre of his voice bristles my skin.
A green glow tints his silhouette, and we drive forward.
“If it makes you feel any better, my parents are jerks, too.” They hate me so much that they had to put seven thousand miles between us. I’ve made this about me again. How selfish. “Anywayyyyy,” I sing, “I’ve never played. You’ll have to teach me when we get back to your place.”
“ Our place.”
My lips pull into a thankful smile, averting my eyes out of the window to hide my excitement. Luckily, he can’t hear how fast my heart’s beating.
This is the craziest turn of events.
I suck in a breath. “I can’t believe I thought you resented me because you’re shy.
” He blushes. Again. I swoon internally.
I lick the tip of an imaginary pen and pretend to write on my palm like a notepad.
“A shy, nerdy hockey player who reads and is a poker fiend. Family dynamics are complicated. Anything else I need to know, roomie ?”
“I’m a simple man,” he replies with an enigmatic smile as we turn into the apartment building’s parkade.
“I doubt that.” I tie my hair back into a ponytail, securing it with the black elastic on my wrist. He pulls into the designated spot, and we get down from the truck.
The tailgate flips down with a soft bang.
Reaching over it, he slides a box and picks it up as if it weighs nothing.
There’s no strain to his face or arms, but his sleeve stretches from the bulge of muscle flexing.
Yum.
My mouth waters when he turns and gives me a view of his perfect ass in those jeans.
“Ready?” he calls, tilting his head in the direction of the floor entrance.
It’s my turn to blush. Which makes him blush. God, help me. Am I ready to live with this stunning man for the next two months without touching myself to death? Absolutely not. But I lie. I grab a trash bag with both hands. “Yep. Coming.”
The spare room starts filling with my things, except for the boxes and bags that hold clothes.
I transfer those to the bedroom. I don’t let Fletch see the disaster contained within those four walls.
I’ve told him about my ADHD, but he hasn’t seen the damage firsthand, and it’s too embarrassing to show him, even for me.
I’ll clean and organize in a hyperfixation panic later.
I shut the door behind me and find Fletcher unpacking a box of my handmade mugs and placing them on the shelf with much nicer drinkware.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“We don’t have to use those.”
“Why not?” His brows wrinkle together, eyes curious. “Did you use them before?”
“Well, yeah, but?—”
“Then you can use them here.” He studies the one that I painted a poop emoji on. It reads poop juice . I catch him smiling as he lifts it to the shelf. Yeah, he can do whatever he wants. “Plus, they’re pretty funny. I like the naked banana one.”
Fletcher Donovan thinks I’m funny? Hell yeah, I’m funny.
“You think so?” I beam, then brush it off.
I’m cool. Stay cool.
My hand flips the end of my ponytail over one shoulder. “I mean, I am the funniest of my friends.”
“I don’t know,” Fletcher intones. “Gabe is hilarious.”
I gasp, one hand splaying against my chest, faking scandal. “Oh, really? Why don’t you go live with her then?”
The look on his face and the quirk of a corner of his full lips has wry mischief written all over it. “She already has a roommate. They’re married, too.”
“Ahhhh,” I say with a slow, dramatic nod, crossing my arms over my chest. “So, I’m your second choice.”
My joke falls flat. Fletcher’s wide smile softens and disappears, as if I’ve offended him.
“You’re no one’s second choice.”
Yeah, right. I’ve never been anyone’s priority, not even for my family. Why’d he say that? What does that mean?
He turns his back to me while putting the last mug in the cupboard. I almost miss when he whispers, “And definitely not mine.”
An uncomfortable pause hangs between us. I focus on the white trash bag filled with pots and pans on the counter and toy with one, spinning the handle in my grip.
“You can put those anywhere you want.” Fletcher points to the cookware and the knife block next to it.
“I meant it when I said this is your home, too.” His fingers curl over the edge of the counter where he leans, shoulders slumped slightly.
The lines of his lush lashes hide his downward gaze. “Even if it’s temporary.”
I must be reading it wrong, because he can’t possibly be sad about the thought of me, an unbearable demon of chaos, who’s disrupting and destroying his quiet life, getting out of his hair in two months’ time. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ll figure him out later. Like everything else.
“Thanks, Fletcher.” I pry open one of the lower cupboards and find some space alongside his pots and pans, then straighten. “I’m gonna sort through some things and get cleaned up before bed. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
“Yeah? Where are you going?”
“Down the street from Parliament Hill. I told the old law firm I used to work for that I could help out for a few hours at their front desk. Then I’ve got therapy. Dr. Gill’s gonna help me request accommodations for my exam in August.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I was gonna ride my bike.”
“You can’t ride that thing. The wheels are all messed up.”
“ Nah ,” I dismiss him with a wave. “It’s fine. I’ve been riding it these past couple weeks, no problem. I have to pedal harder, that’s all.”
“Well, now you don’t have to.” His mouth tightens. “You could get yourself hurt.”
And why does he care?
“I’m a grown woman.” Barely a functioning adult, but okay, Behraz. “I’m not your responsibility.”
Fletcher frowns. “Doesn’t mean you’re allowed to risk getting hurt.”
“ Fine ,” I say through a sigh. “You can drive me.”
He goes upright and folds his arms across his broad chest. “Good.”
My index finger wags. “But this is not gonna be an everyday thing.”