Page 36 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)
Climb Into My Skin and Stay There
Behraz
March
Time with Fletcher never feels like enough.
The two-month trial of only seeing him between series of road games didn’t prepare me for the long stretches apart.
It was tolerable for the first couple of weeks of the new year.
Post-winter holiday festivities continued, and this island on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean felt cheery.
But the beginning of spring is wet and cold and lonely and depressing.
It’s no help that the radiator in this apartment swings between freezing to so hot I can’t breathe.
Or that there’s a sticky note on my fridge in Fletcher’s handwriting that says, “No hot girl dinners while I’m gone!
” serving as a constant reminder that my boyfriend knows me too well and it’s exactly what I’d be doing if not for the stern warning.
And it’s only March. I mean, phone sex is hot and all, and I know I’m being a needy, whiny, spoiled human, but it’s not the same thing.
Logically, my brain says it doesn’t matter if I’m in Ottawa or London if he’s gone all the time, but being this far from him for this long?
It’s becoming unbearable. Which makes this next conversation that much more painful.
My thumb hovers over the word Dreamboat on my phone screen, yearning to hear the calm, deep timbre of his voice. I accidentally hit the message icon, and the view changes to our most recent exchanges.
Me
Did you know you make my heart race??
Dreamboat
Did you know you make my heart beat?
Me
Swooooon. You always say the best things.
Dreamboat
That’s because you are the best thing
Me
God, I miss you. I wanna kiss you. Like right now.
Dreamboat
You were the first
Me
And I’ll be your last!!
Dreamboat
Damn right. And everything in between.
Me
*blowing kiss emoji* I love you so goddamn much.
A long sigh exits my nose. I squint one eye while studying the clock, wondering what time it is in Seattle and if he made it back to the hotel after his game or if they flew back right after, but the mental gymnastics require too many brain cells and I’ve only got the one on this particular night. I shoot my shot and hope for the best.
Me
Is now a good time to talk?
Dreamboat
Gimme 2 mins
Me
Okayyyyy
The intercom for the outside door of my apartment building buzzes, and I hit the button to allow entry.
I shouldn’t be ordering food so late, but the caseload has been grueling, and I skipped dinner entirely.
Fish and chips are no replacement for poutine, but some semblance of French fries is better than nothing.
In my rush to answer the series of heavy knocks, I trip over my own feet, face-first into the wooden door.
It temporarily stuns me, but I manage to twist the knob open, sucking air through my teeth while rubbing a palm over the sore spot. My squint widens, returning my vision.
A tall redhead greets me, brown bag in hand, his serene smile splitting the constellations of freckles on his face. My heart thumps wildly at his starry-eyed gaze and the way he adjusts the travel duffle slung over the shoulder of his Regents-branded black puffer.
Snap out of it, Behraz.
It’s ridiculous. I miss that man so much, I’m hallucinating. Poor delivery guy must think I’m nuts. I blink three times, but it still looks like Fletcher.
“You okay, gorgeous?”
I gape. “Sorry?”
His smile widens, lifting a bright red blush up his cheeks. “Were you expecting someone else?” He shakes the paper bag. “Other than the guy who dropped this off.”
I break. Tears that didn’t exist a second ago pour from me in messy streaks. From exhaustion of the many long days and late nights without him to help finish crosswords or remind me to drink water or to assure me that yes, taking breaks is necessary and deserved.
“Aw, baby.” Fletcher scoops me up with one arm around my waist, and my legs hook around him. His quieting shushes and gentle kisses elicit ugly sniveling from me as he pushes through the entryway. I cling to him like an awkward spider monkey.
“How…are you here?”
“I missed you,” he explains, lowering to the vintage, rust-colored settee that came with the place.
The small loveseat barely contains us, at least until the duffle strap slides down his arm and onto the floor.
Fletcher kisses the ridges of my knuckles sitting on both of his shoulders.
“Had two days between games and I’d rather be with you than alone in Ottawa. ”
“What about?—”
He answers the question before I can get it out. “I’ll fly back in time to play Chicago on Saturday.”
“It’s too much.” My arms circle his neck, fingers burying into the lush auburn mess on his head while I pelt kisses all over that sweet, handsome face.
“It’s not. I love you.” Fletcher peers down at me through those thick lashes as if I hung every last star in the light-polluted London sky by hand. “And there’s no way I was gonna miss your birthday.”
It’s the seventh? D’oh! Only I’d be so scatter-brained as to forget my own birthday.
“I love you. And I missed you ,” I gush. “Missed how your skin tastes slightly salty from sweat.” My lips brush against his grown-out facial hair. “How your beard tickles.” My palms coast across the strong sinews of his forearms. “How you hold me.”
“Can I kiss you now, too?” Fletcher smooths a thumb over my chin before sweeping away the messy ends of my ponytail from my shoulder and cradling my jaw.
I hum and nod.
“Thank fuck.” He draws our lips together, slipping his tongue inside my mouth, intentional and savoring, only stopping to drop his head into the crook of my neck, pulling himself into me and me into him until we can’t possibly be any closer, as if he wants to climb into my skin and stay there. To be honest, I’d let him.
Three hours later, Fletcher snoozes against my belly, drawn-out breaths fanning across the bare skin. I’m lulled by the delicious weight of his naked chest across my lower torso and hips, stresses of casework all but faded. Until I remember.
“Fletcher?” I whisper, toying with the swoops of deep red waves crowning his head. “You awake?”
He confirms with a pleasured noise.
A knot of unease tightens within me, beneath the spot his head rests. “I got offered a clerkship at the ICJ.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re incredible,” Fletcher mumbles. “I’m so proud of you.”
The laugh I use to accept the compliment is dry, humorless, and I get the sense he didn’t quite process what it means. “It’s at The Hague. I’d have to live in the Netherlands for ten months.”
His eyes flash open, sable hues suddenly bright and alert. “What?”
My mouth tugs downward. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Fletcher lifts from me for a moment, then pushes an arm behind my back to roll us to our sides, crushing our fronts together.
“For wanting a career that’s keeping us apart.”
“Don’t.” He kisses my clammy forehead, then the tip of my nose. “You’ve worked so hard.” He kisses the frown, too, melting it away. “When would it start?”
“June.”
“Perfect.”
I titter from disbelief. “Perfect? How is it perfect?”
“My contract extension is up by then.” The man grins, downright giddy. “We can find a place together.”
Disbelief persists with an incessant shaking of my head. “Wait, wait, wait…let me get this straight.”
Fletcher giggles.
“You’ll walk away from a team and city you love, to…be with… me ?”
“Bea,” he starts, tone shifting to something more serious. “I’d do anything for you.”
“But what about your career?”
“I’ll figure it out,” he says with a shrug. “Europe has hockey leagues, too, y’know. My agent’s been asking about what’s next and trying to get things lined up. Now I can give him a legit answer.”
“But—” The protest is worthless.
“Do you not want me here?”
“Of course, I want you here. Just not at the expense of?—”
“Ah, ah, ah.” His long first finger presses to my parted mouth and silences my argument. “Nothing is gonna be at the expense of anything. And even if it is,” Fletcher adds, “it’ll be worth a lifetime of happiness with you.”
My eyes narrow, brimming with fresh tears. “If this was your attempt to make me cry, then I hate to tell you,” —one fat, hot drop escapes— “it worked.”
Fletcher wipes it away. “So, you’ll have me?” His mouth teases, begging for another kiss.
I let him steal one, and one more for good measure. “Don’t I already have you?”
“Touché.” He releases me and scooches down, going back to his original position on my stomach. “Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“I’ll have to tell the team eventually. You’ll be there, right?”
“Yeah,” I agree. “You’re never getting rid of me.”