Page 18 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)
Yearning
Behraz
I’m suddenly feeling very possessive of Fletcher Donovan.
He’s a shy, sweet, generous, incredibly hot hockey player who reads and has geeky quirks and is also a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. Like a unicorn in the wild.
If anyone gets to kiss him, or fuck him, or ride his perfectly rideable face, I want it to be me, and no one else. Good thing I offered up my body and then casually dropped I’m super into him. If he rejects me now, I’ll have to change my name and go into witness protection.
There’s too long a lull, and my fear grows, spreading like wildfire through my knotted yarn ball of a brain. I shift my grip on his hands, letting my thumb follow the speckled ridge of his knuckles. “Say something.”
Fletcher’s focus stays on a spot on the floor between our feet. “Just to be clear, um , I don’t know what I’m doing.” Same. His eyes flick upward, seeking contact. “But whatever it is, I know I want to be doing it with you.”
Oh, thank fuck.
“Fletcher,” I start, “Can I hug you now?”
He exhales through a soft smile. “Please.”
I release our hands to wrap my arms around his waist and press my face into the planes of his warm chest, wanting to hear the steady beating of the gentle heart beneath.
Fletcher sweeps my loose hair away from where it gathers over my shoulders and rests his chin atop my head, his arms cradling my back. We fit. I soak in the feeling: comfort, relief, content, all rolled into one. Nothing else matters; no world outside us exists.
An unexpected, high-pitched squeal from the hose has us jumping apart. We blush together. “Whoops, forgot to turn the water off.”
I loop the pipe back on its stand and collect my bouquet from Fletch before locking up and heading back to his truck.
On the quiet drive back, his hand finds mine. Despite its large size, the contact is tender. The callus of his thumb draws a circle onto the skin of my left hand’s ring finger, right above the knuckle. It’s the second time he’s done that, and I wonder why.
“What do you want for dinner?” Fletcher breaks the silence. “We can grab something on the way.”
Who can eat at a time like this?
“I’m not that hungry, to be honest. I’ve got some leftovers I can turn into hot girl dinner.”
“What’s ‘hot girl dinner’?”
I shrug. “There’s cheese and crackers. And there are a few roasted Brussels sprouts I can shred.”
A disapproving noise grumbles from his throat. “That’s not dinner.”
“I can make you something, if you want. I’m seriously not hungry.”
I almost don’t notice we’ve pulled into the parkade already.
“Absolutely not. I can make myself a smoothie and a sandwich.”
“ Ooh , Mr. Independent,” I joke as we walk down the hallway to the apartment. “Do you feel like watching a movie with me while we eat?”
“ Hmm . Depends.”
“On?”
He steps through the doorway behind me. “The movie. I’m very picky, you know.”
“I’m so sure. I’ve never seen you watch a movie.”
“Excuse me, I was half-dead those first two weeks, and I am too much of a gentleman to say whose fault that was.”
The back of my hand swats his arm. He doesn’t flinch. I glower. “Y’know, I don’t think I like this side of you.” Liar. Pretty sure you like him more every day. “I’ve already said I was sorry about that. Multiple times.”
“And I forgave you,” he says with a polite half-bow, his eyes closed, “but that doesn’t mean you can try to take advantage of my innocence under the guise of dinner and a movie.” His hands clutch the crewneck collar of his tee, tugging it together as if to cover himself.
A horrendous, unladylike laugh bursts from me. “Have you always been this silly?”
“I beg your pardon! If this is your way of convincing me to watch a movie, you’re going to have to try harder, Ms. Irani. I require effort. I require wooing.”
He wants to play hard to get? I can court with the best of them.
“Fletcher,” I coo. Three steps close the distance between us before my hand reaches for his bearded chin to brush over the soft hair with my thumb. “Do you wanna have dinner and watch a movie with me?”
He drops the charade, his body melting under my touch like ice cream on a hot day. “Yes, please.”
“Good.”
I flip through the options as Fletcher finishes making his turkey sandwich and settle on Veer-Zaara when he joins me on the couch.
“FYI, I do not approve of hot girl dinners.”
Crispy bits of the Brussels sprouts crunch while I chew. “Good thing I’m a grown woman who doesn’t require a man’s approval.”
“So sassy.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
The title music of the 2004 classic plays. I back into the corner of the sectional, sitting with my legs crisscrossed and the dinner plate on my lap. Fletcher sits on the next cushion over, facing the TV.
“What’s this movie about?”
“Yearning. And shh. There’s no talking during movies.”
We leave our plates on the coffee table once empty. My knees fold to my chest, and every few minutes, I shift a bit, feet getting closer and closer to Fletcher.
He inches not-so-subtly to me, too, and by the time Zaara leaves Veer at the train platform, my toes tuck under his warm thighs.
Soon enough, I get the courage to position his arm around my knees.
The weight of his bicep soothes me. His hand sweeps up and down my shin, easy and measured, further relaxing me into the plush sofa cushions.
My eyelids get heavy during a conversation between Veer and his lawyer.
When they reopen, it’s morning. The early rays fill the space through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I stretch my arms overhead and point my toes with a whine, escaping the chunky knit blanket covering me. Damn it, I fell asleep. And Fletcher didn’t stay.
I check my phone for the time and see a reminder to go into work today.
Shit. I told Theresa Giachetti I’d take care of scheduling before the office opens on Monday.
A quick peek down the hallway tells me Fletcher’s either not there or asleep.
His bedroom door is closed. If I leave without showering, I can walk there, finish up, and come back in time to study.
Within thirty minutes, I’m at Giachetti & Associates, unlocking the glass front door.
Dreamboat
Where’d you go?
Me
The office
Me
I have to work for a couple hours
Dreamboat
Without me?
Me
Didn’t wanna wake you, sleepyhead
Me
I can walk sometimes, you know
Dreamboat
What if someone kidnaps you?
I chuckle.
Me
I can take care of myself
Dreamboat
And what if I wanna take care of you?
Warmth pools in my chest. My face singes with a rush of blood to the surface of its skin.
Dreamboat
Text me when you’re done, I’ll come pick you up
And I’m supposed to survive this?