Page 6

It’s possible that I’ve misjudged multiple people this week.

Danica clearly isn’t the person I thought she was. From the moment we stepped foot in the restaurant, I knew things felt off. She’d told me we were meeting a man named Levi and his friend, but immediately I knew she wasn’t there for Levi. Jacob looked equally as confused as me, and poor Levi was caught in the middle.

I’ll admit, seeing Dani like a drowned rat moments ago was comical. Danica is always at her best. She never arrives at the station without her hair and makeup done. Lipstick always at the ready, just in case a camera catches her off-guard. Heaven forbid she be in the background of a picture looking less than perfect. At this moment, I’m sure I don’t look much better, but I don’t care. Watching Jacob defend his friend while simultaneously putting Danica in her place was refreshing.

Now I’m wondering how I majorly misjudged Jacob as well.

Is it possible he did all of that to impress me? Maybe.

“Alright. I’ll only have dinner with you on one condition,” Jacob says, stopping suddenly in front of a doorway. He turns to me with a smirk. “What’s your favorite style of pizza?”

“Style?” I ask, confused. “I already told you I like cheese?”

He sighs and shakes his head dramatically. “Not what I meant, Spitfire. Style. You’ve got Detroit-style. Chicago deep-dish. New York. California. I only found out about a Saint Louis style pizza my first year in the league because we played there, and the team bet me I couldn’t eat a whole pie. They were wrong, by the way.”

“Good to know,” I murmur, completely fascinated at how his eyes sparkle with mirth. Goodness gracious. The man has a dimple. He’s too attractive for his own good.

“I’m determined to get over to Italy one of these days and get Neapolitan pizza right from the source. Did you know there’s also a Greek style of pizza?”

“Can honestly say I didn’t know that. You’re pretty passionate about pizza,” I comment.

He lifts one shoulder, giving me a crooked grin. “It’s the base of my food pyramid.”

“I thought athletes all ate pretty healthy.”

“I eat healthy as often as possible. Pizza is my exception. Besides, I can add a bunch of vegetables to the pizza, get a side salad with it, and it’s almost healthy.”

“Unless you’re eating an entire pizza because someone dared you,” I point out, surprised at my own back-and-forth with this man. I’m usually never so outspoken with the opposite sex. I’m sure my therapist will have all kinds of thoughts about a connection to my relationships with my dad and brother when we meet next week.

“I’ve only been dared to eat an entire pizza twice.” He pauses. “Maybe three times. Once the team realizes I’ll win, they stop making bets. So. What’s your favorite style of pizza?”

“I don’t know what my favorite is. I can only say I really don’t like deep dish pizza.”

Jacob throws a fist into the air. “Yes! I could never eat with you if you liked that crap. Who wants a mouthful of dough? Not me. Come on. We can go in now. Just had to be sure you were on the right team.”

“What would you have done had I said it was my favorite?” I ask, intrigued.

“I would have thanked you for walking with me, ordered you an Uber, and sent you on your way. I cannot be seen with the enemy in here,” he says, leaning toward me and lowering his voice. “I’m basically family.”

Holding the door open, he motions for me to walk in. As soon as he steps beside me by the hostess’s podium, I feel his hand on the small of my back, and I inhale sharply. Sure, he put his arm around me as we ran from the sprinklers, but that seemed protective in nature, instead of an attempt to cop a feel. I’ve had countless first dates over the past six months, yet none have touched me, other than a handshake in greeting. I’ve kept my body as far away as possible from every man, and they all clearly got the message. One did suggest we go back to his place for sex, and assured me his parents wouldn’t mind. I hightailed it out of there before he could attempt anything. Yet feeling the heat of Jacob’s palm against my back, even with the fabric of my dress providing a barrier, is like electricity coursing through my veins. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to be touched, even in such a simple way.

“Hey, Jax,” a woman says with a smile. “Dining in tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a drawl. I imagine if he’d been wearing a cowboy hat, he’d have tipped it at the lovely woman in front of us. “Had to introduce this lovely lady to your pizza. She didn’t know there were styles of pizza, Mrs. Fratelli.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Mary?” the woman says, popping one fist on her hip in faux aggravation.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m Texan. We take a while to learn,” Jacob jokes.

“I find that hard to believe. Come on. I’ll seat you in the back so you won’t be bothered on your date,” she says with a wink.

I’m about to argue, but Jacob beats me to it. “Oh, we aren’t on a date. I know my place. This beauty would never give me the time of day. We just got rained out on a double date, and we both craved pizza.”

“I wondered why you both appeared wet,” she says with a laugh. “Is it raining?”

“No,” I interject. “A fire at another place caused the indoor sprinkler system to go off.”

“Yet the two people you were on dates with didn’t come with you?” she inquires. I stifle the laugh that fights to come out. If I had to bet, I’d say this is a family owned establishment, and Mary Fratelli is part of a large Italian family. My friend Natalie just married into an Italian family, and the stories she’s told me about how they’re all up in each other’s business make me laugh all the time. I thought maybe she was embellishing, but it appears Mrs. Fratelli is cut from the same cloth.

Natalie was one of my only local friends, and while I was happy she’d found her man Alex, I’m sad she lives up in Eternity Springs now, because I never see her.

“Well,” Jacob says, scratching his scruffy chin as he tries to explain, “I thought I was there to meet this beautiful woman, and the other gal was there for my buddy, Levi. But the other gal wanted me, and thought to set Levi up with Becca here. I had no interest in the other woman, but I’m also not about to take a girl from my friend.”

“Of course not. You’re a good boy. You’d never do that.” Mrs. Fratelli looks fondly at Jacob. Almost like a mom would look at her son.

Exactly as my parents look at my brother.

And how they never looked at me.

As Mrs. Fratelli sets menus down at a booth in the back of the restaurant, I slide in one side. The red leather is well-worn and soft. A family photo hangs on the wall, showcasing a large brood of people.

“The two in the chairs are Mary’s grandparents,” Jacob explains, pointing to the couple in the middle of the photo. “From what I’ve been told, they moved out here from New York City in the 1950s to start Fratelli’s Pizza. Mary has been working here since she was a teenager. She married another Italian guy who was all too willing to continue on with Fratelli’s Pizza. Now their kids work here, too.”

“I love stories like that,” I say softly. “How amazing it must be to be part of a family like that.”

“You don’t have a large family?” Jacob asks quietly.

I shake my head. “No. My family is small. I don’t really have a relationship with any of them, so the size is moot.”

“None of them?”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“It’s a long story, and I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Okay.” My eyes whip to his, surprised at how easily he acquiesced. “What? I’m not gonna force you to talk about your history, darlin’. Mine isn’t the best either. How about we just keep it to small talk, then enjoy our pizza? Doesn’t have to be deeper than that.”

“Unless it’s deep dish pizza,” I quip, making Jacob chuckle.

“I draw the line at talking about that crap.”

After ordering, Jacob regales me with tales of his hockey team. If I didn’t think men were gross before, I certainly do now. Stories of jockstrap tampering, smelly socks, and the weirdest superstitions I’ve ever heard of. A prior teammate had some kind of abused Barbie doll he took with him to all of his games? That can’t be right. One guy is convinced if he doesn’t poop an hour before a game, he won’t play well. Another refuses to wash his underwear for an entire season. An entire season .

And yet women line up to sleep with these neanderthals.

“Boys are disgusting,” I mutter after Jacob tells me about an awful superstition involving two of the guys and sex. With one girl. At the same time.

“Technically, that wasn’t disgusting. Well, I guess it depends on how they’re fucking,” Jacob muses. “DP wouldn’t be as gross.”

“DP?”

I notice a very faint pink creep onto his neck. “Um, double penetration.”

“Well, I assumed they’d both be penetrating in order for it to count as sex, but I just assumed one was in the …” I trail off. Oh my word. My face heats as embarrassment sinks in.

Jacob cocks his head to the side. “What, Spitfire? What did you assume?”

“Nothing,” I answer hurriedly.

“Oh, I don’t think it was nothing. Come on, now. Don’t be shy. I promise I won’t make fun of you.”

That’s not what I’m afraid of. I’m more worried he’ll realize just how sheltered I am, with virtually no experience whatsoever. I don’t know why I want Jacob to think highly of me, since I know nothing will happen between us. I’m me, and he’s him. Apples and oranges.

“Becca,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

When my eyes meet his, I’m taken aback at the intensity. His blue eyes are deeper somehow.

“Tell me what you thought,” he commands.

“I thought one was oral,” I blurt out, then cover my face with my hands. “I just thought it meant penetrating anywhere, but then I realized you probably meant in her butt.”

“That can be true, but these guys liked to find a woman who would take both of them in her pussy,” Jacob says matter-of-factly.

My hands drop from my face as I stare at him in shock. “Seriously? That’s a possibility? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen that come up when I search for porn. How does that work? That can’t feel comfortable for any of them. Logistically speaking, are they laying down? Standing? Who chooses who gets to face the girl and who is behind her? I have too many questions.”

As I watch Jacob’s grin get wider and wider, I realize what I said. “I mean —”

“Oh no, darlin’, you said what you said. And you ain’t taking it back now. My sweet, little Becca, searching for porn. You really are a spitfire, aren’t you? You got a favorite website? I bet you even have a favorite porn star, don’t you?”

“Is there a hole I can crawl into and die?” I moan, laying my head on the table.

“I can ask my friends. Seems like their DP buddies might have holes big enough for that,” Jacob jokes.

“I swear, if you tell anyone about this, I will find someone to mess with your hockey crap, Jacob Mitchell,” I warn.

“Uh oh, you almost full-named me,” he says with a chuckle. “Thank fuck you don’t know my middle name.”

“I can find it,” I mutter. I’m sure there are fan websites out there for him that’ll tell me his middle name, shoe size, and probably the shape of his penis. I’m about to say that when I feel his hand coast across the top of my head, gently moving a lock of my hair from my face. The movement sends a shiver down my spine.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Becca,” he says softly. “Anyone who says they don’t look at porn is a liar. Better lift your head, our food is coming out.”

I raise my head, but keep my gaze averted as Mrs. Fratelli places our enormous pizza in the middle of the table. Only after we’ve both taken a slice do I speak. “Can we never speak of this again?”

“You got it.”

After an evening of excellent pizza and remarkably easy going conversation, I begin to freak out when Jacob insists on walking me back to my apartment. The sun has set behind the mountains, casting an eerie glow across the city, but the tall buildings block any remaining sunlight from large portions of downtown. I’d have no problem walking earlier in the evening, but I wasn’t kidding about having a stalker. I’m still checking my surroundings wherever I go.

But right now, I’m more aware of Jacob’s presence beside me. Casting a quick glance out of the corner of my eye, I take in his profile. Head held high, he walks with a cocky assuredness that all professional athletes seem to have. I’m not too proud to admit that I may have cyber stalked him a little bit earlier in the day, and I’m fairly certain this suit isn’t in his game day rotation. It makes me wonder if he just bought it, or if it’s a suit that he brings out for first dates. How many women have seen this suit? Better yet, how many women have taken this suit off of him?

“You’re thinking pretty hard over there,” he comments, pulling me out of my weird spiral.

“I was thinking about your suit,” I blurt out. “Do you normally wear a suit to a blind date?”

“No,” he chuckles. “Levi made me. I’d rather be in jeans and boots.”

“Cowboy boots?” I ask.

“Once a Texan, always a Texan,” he says with a grin.

“Can I ask you a few stereotypical questions about Texas?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

His lips twitch as he nods. “I do. Quite a few, actually.”

“Is it true that if you wear a man’s cowboy hat, it means you’re theirs?” I ask.

“Some view it that way, yes.”

“Some?”

“Well, if a man has a favorite hat, and he gives it to a woman, that has meaning behind it. He’s not only saying he’s interested in her, but also that he trusts her, and values their connection.”

“Have —” I stop, clearing my throat.

“You want to know if I’ve ever given my cowboy hat to a woman?” Jacob asks, already sensing exactly where my mind is heading. “No, darlin’. I’ve never done that.”

“Oh,” I whisper. Heat dances across my cheeks as I look anywhere but at him. “Does everyone know how to ride a horse in Texas?”

“Not everyone, but I do. We didn’t own any horses, but the people next door did. They knew I didn’t get along the best with my mom, and they taught me how to care for their horses. They’d pay me an allowance as if they were my real parents, and that’s how I managed to get extra hockey gear when I needed it. My dad left a small stipend for anything hockey related, but sometimes things broke, or I outgrew things too quickly. Mom certainly wasn’t going to pay for them herself,” he says with a shake of his head.

Assuming he doesn’t want to talk about his mom anymore, I soldier on. “Have you ever seen a tornado in person? I know the meteorologists and storm chasers in Oklahoma and Texas are all over the place during storm season, so you’ve undoubtedly seen some on television.”

“I have seen one, yeah. Big one came through town when I was about ten. Scared the hell out of me. We didn’t have a shelter, but the neighbors with the horses did. It was one of those outdoor underground ones. There were so many fucking spiders in that thing, but what scared me the most was the roar of the tornado. Never heard anything like it,” Jacob says quietly.

“I’ve done some chasing here,” I confess. “One of the most picturesque tornadoes I’ve ever seen. It was fully white from the base of the wall cloud all the way to the ground. I got within a half mile, and the roar is something I’ll never forget.”

“Was that your first tornado?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. I grew up in the Midwest, and I saw one from a few miles away when I was a kid. Then I did a couple years working in Mississippi, and they’d get tornadoes pretty much any month of the year. But the white tornado here is always the one I remember.”

“Did you always want to be a meteorologist?”

“I did,” I say with a smile. “I’ve had a love affair with the weather since a meteorologist came to talk to my second grade class. I can sit and watch clouds roll down the mountains for hours, or the lightning from a storm passing by. It just never gets old.”

“That’s how I feel about hockey. It’s the only thing I’ve ever truly loved in my life,” Jacob says, smiling fondly.

“How long is a hockey career normally?” I ask.

“It depends. Some guys can skate into their late thirties. Most don’t. I’ve been in the league for twelve years. I don’t figure I have but a couple more years left.”

“How old are you?” I ask, wracking my brain on what has come up when I’ve Googled him.

“Thirty four. How old are you?”

“Thirty three.”

“For some reason, I thought you were a lot younger than me,” he muses.

“Why?”

“For one, I have more wrinkles than you.”

“Is that really due to age, or the lack of a good skincare regimen?” I tease.

“Are you saying I’m supposed to use something other than a bar of soap on my face?”

I gasp in horror. “Please tell me you’re joking. I can’t tell if this is you being a smart ass, or if you really use the same bar of soap to clean your face and your butt.”

“Relax,” he laughs. “I have soap for my face. I promise it’s not the same bar.”

“Good,” I say with relief, then turn toward him. “But it’s still a bar of soap? Like an actual bar of soap?”

“Yeah?”

“What kind?” I ask hesitantly.

He shrugs. “Dial, I think? I don’t know. Whatever catches my eye at the store, I guess.”

“You need to use a cleanser, not a bar of soap. Your skin on your face is much thinner than the rest of your body, and due to exposure to the elements, it dries out faster. Especially here. Seriously, Jacob. I can give you some suggestions, if you want. Nothing too girlie. I’d hate to ruin your street cred.”

A slow smile blooms across his face. “I like that.”

“Me suggesting you have a street cred?”

“No.” He pauses, before reaching over and running a finger from my elbow to my wrist. “You calling me Jacob.”

Oh.