Page 28

"Your pores are definitely clogged."

James Adler

Miles called me first thing this morning, inviting me for a game of NHL Master with the guys at his place, and I jumped at the opportunity. They’ve been gone for a few days and are leaving again tomorrow—coming back just in time for the wedding—and Elizabeth is at work all day.

Hawthorne and Beaumont are already at Miles’ place when I get there, but shockingly, Wally sat this one out. I’m starting to miss our British grump.

“How are you holding up, man?” Hawthorne shoots me a concerned look as Miles brings out a bowl of popcorn and sets it on the coffee table.

“All good. Nose is healing up. It doesn’t hurt as much. Still a little bored, but I’m stoked to kick some butt today, at least virtually.” I glance over at Beaumont. “What about you, Frenchie Boy? You’ll be a married man in a few days.”

A smile spreads across his face. “Can’t wait.” He turns to Miles, who is taking a seat on the couch. “Honestly, Miles, I get why you just went for it like that.”

“Yep. When you know, you know,” he says simply. Elizabeth’s face appears in my mind, and there’s a sting in my heart. Even if I've been feeling a different vibe lately, we’re a far cry from where Miles and Marissa are.

“How’s Hayley doing?” Hawthorne asks Beaumont while Miles starts up the gaming console.

“Good.” His lips tilt into a smile. “She’s excited, though lately, she’s been getting more and more anxious when I take a hit.”

“Last night was kind of brutal, dude,” Miles says, and Hawthorne nods.

“Bad hit?” I ask with a frown. “I haven’t had time to catch the replay yet.”

Beaumont rakes a hand through his wavy hair. “Yeah, I guess it was. You know how Dobrovsky is, but it’s fine. Hayley is just a little worried, that’s all.”

“Understandable,” Hawthorne says, throwing a few pieces of popcorn in his mouth. “Dating a hockey player isn’t exactly a walk in the park. You’ve got the impossible hours, the away games, the routine, the fame, and the violence of the sport. Hardly a treat.”

Beaumont arches an eyebrow. “Is that why you don’t date, Cap?”

Hawthorne nods. “Yep. And because I want to perform my best while I'm at my peak. I don’t think I could juggle having a relationship and being pro.”

“You’ll never know until you try,” Miles says, handing us the controllers. “All right, ready?”

We all nod, but I’m still ruminating on what Hawthorne said.

Suddenly, I understand where Beth is coming from.

Dating already isn’t easy. You need to make concessions, you’re vulnerable, and there’s always the risk of getting your heart broken.

But when you add all the baggage that comes with being a pro athlete, it can be even harder to take the plunge.

Especially when you’ve already been burned by one in the past.

“Dude, come on,” Miles says, snapping his fingers in front of me. “You said you were ready.”

I swallow hard, shifting back int o focus. “I am. Let’s play.”

After enjoying a sumptuous meal of lasagna that Elizabeth prepared—her parents’ recipe—we’re now doing the dishes together.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” I ask, handing her the lasagna dish to dry.

She arches an eyebrow. “We already have plans for tonight, or have you forgotten?”

I blink back at her. “Wait. We do?”

“It’s Skincare Night,” she announces with a full grin.

I cough out a laugh. “Do you Bowens have a theme for every night of the week?”

“You betcha,” she jokes. “Anyway, we talked about it yesterday before I let you put fake blood on my face. We had a deal.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I shake my head. “I remember.” I’m not sure slathering oils and creams on my face will do my sex appeal any favors with Elizabeth, but a promise is a promise. And if I’m being honest, a skincare night doesn’t sound that bad. Nothing involving Elizabeth does.

“Great.” She slides the dish back into the cupboard and scurries out of the room.

After I finish tidying up in the kitchen, I take a seat at the counter. I’m guessing whatever we’re doing will require running water.

“Okay,” she says, walking in with a huge beauty bag on her arm and additional products clutched between her fingers. “We’ll start with a full cleansing routine followed by a few treatments.”

“Terrific,” I say, using my best “sarcastic Elizabeth” voice.

“Don’t be like that,” she chides, placing the products on the counter. “Your skin will thank me. After this, you’ll be begging me to come back once I move out.”

I frown, my insides twisting. “You found a place?”

It may sound crazy, but I’ve enjoyed having her here so much, I completely forgot this situation was temporary, or that she was even looking.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not yet, but I came across an apartment that might work. I’m touring it tomorrow.”

My heart falls to my shoes. “You are?”

She shoots me a confused look. “Yeah. Is that a problem? Did you—”

“No, no,” I blurt out, forcing a smile. “That’s great. Is it far from here?”

“Only a few blocks. It looks good in the pictures, but you know how it goes. I’ll know when I see it.”

I nod. “Do you want me to come along?” I ask, trying to not sound desperate, when what I really wanted to say was, ‘Please, can I come with you?’

“Oh.” She averts her eyes, her cheeks flushing pink. “If you want to, yeah.”

“Never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes. I’ll be there.” I smile, my shoulders relaxing.

“Thanks.” She glances at me, then brings her eyes back to her products. “Okay, let’s start with a deep cleanse. Your pores are definitely clogged.”

“My what?” My forehead creases.

She chuckles, then starts explaining what pores are and how we’re going to unclog them.

She’s so passionate as she shares her skincare knowledge, and I’m really enjoying listening to her.

We wash our faces with soft cloths and apply various cleaning products, including a gel with little grains in it, while massaging the skin using specific movements. Then, we rinse them off.

“Here,” she says, handing me a tissue.

I stare at the piece of tissue as if it’s an alien being.

“Place it on your face, like th is,” she says, demonstrating by placing the tissue over half her face and pressing down before doing the other side. “It’s to dry out the excess water.”

I do as I’m told, and when we remove the tissues, she unscrews a couple of bottles. “All right, now—”

“Wait, isn’t it over yet? My skin has never felt so clean,” I tease.

She breathes a sigh. “I told you this was long overdue. We’ve deep cleansed. Now, our skin is ready to receive treatments for lasting results. I’m thinking a charcoal mask for you, since your T-zone is a bit shiny, and I need hydrating.”

“My T-zone isn’t shiny,” I huff. “It’s fine, whatever it is.”

She laughs, the addictive sound making my heart jolt.

“ This is your T-zone.” She traces her finger over her forehead and down to her chin, forming the letter T, and my mouth opens to form an “O.” She continues, “An oily T-zone is totally normal. We’ll be careful over your nose, but it should be fine.

First, let’s make sure your hair doesn't get in the way.” She grabs a pink headband and hands it to me.

“What am I supposed to do with this thing?” I ask, glaring at the hair accessory.

“Put it in your hair like this, ” she says, sliding one onto her head until her hair is trapped underneath it.

“So, you’ve decided to completely rip my masculinity apart tonight. Is that the goal?” I give her a pointed look, and she bursts into laughter.

“Come on. It’d take more than a pink headband to undermine your manliness.”

I grin at her words before putting it on. She knows how to boost a guy’s ego.

“Okay, I’m going to start on your mask. Stay still. It might feel cold.”

Dipping her fingers into a white cream, she applies the mask on my face in smooth motions. The way her soft fingers feel against my cheeks electrifies my body.

“Stay still,” she repeats. “Or I’m going to poke you in the eye.”

I open my eyes wide. “ Crab , okay.”

She keeps going, and I can tell she’s being extra careful when she reaches my nose. Her touch, combined with the chill of the cream, is surprisingly soothing.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“No,” I breathe out. “Quite the contrary. It’s nice.”

“Okay,” she says after a while. “I’m done. I’ll apply mine, and then we can let it sit for about twenty minutes.”

She does her face a lot quicker, then looks in the mirror to make sure she didn’t miss a spot. “There! We’re a good-looking pair now.”

I chuckle. “Who knew that’s what it took for you to call me pretty?”

She shakes her head. “As if you didn’t know it already.”

I shrug. “Sure. I know a lot of women find me attractive, but I’ve never heard it from you, Elizabeth. And some opinions matter more than others. More than most.”

She flits her eyes away for a second, then catches my gaze again. “Are you saying you need me to tell you you’re handsome?”

I lean forward a few inches. “Only if you mean it.”

She swallows hard, and I’m pretty sure there’s a pretty blush under that mask. “We said no flirting.”

I grin, my face itching under the cream. “Nicely played, Elizabeth. But I already have my answer.”

“Really?” She tries to arch an eyebrow, but it barely budges.

“If you weren’t attracted to me, you wouldn’t call that flirting.”

She pauses a second, then shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Nice deflection on her part. And I’m not going to push it, because after all, I did get my answer.

After we wash our faces, Elizabet h insists we apply at least four other products—a mix of serums and creams—before we finally sit down on the couch and relax.

“This skincare business is no joke,” I say with a sigh, checking my watch. “I’m beat.”

She settles a throw pillow on her lap. “You gotta do what you gotta do. Also, you’re clearly out of shape if you’re exhausted by a little skincare regimen.”

“Haha. Just you wait, I’ll be working out again soon enough. And trust me, half the things we did back there were completely unnecessary. Maybe a daily face wash and some moisturizing cream. But all the other things? I don’t think so. You don’t need that stuff to be beautiful.”

She hugs the pillow tighter, a blush coating her cheeks. “You’re such a flirt.”

“But I don’t lie,” I say with a wink. “All right, what are we watching?”

“I don’t know.” She settles into the couch. “Whatever you want.”

Scrolling through the streaming catalog, I find a comedy that looks fun and put it on.

Before I know it, we’re laughing and snorting our way through the movie.

And as the glow from the TV catches her face, my heart soars in my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I am in this simple moment.

Watching TV and laughing with a cool girl who’s as pretty as she is swe et. It feels normal, and so right.

We decide to do a double feature. And when the second movie ends, I know Elizabeth is a bit groggy, because she fell asleep after the midpoint. Frankly, that movie kind of sucked, but having her use my shoulder as a pillow sure didn’t.

“Time for bed,” I mutter, and she yawns.

“Gosh, I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

I chuckle. “It’s fine, but I do think your bed will be more comfortable.”

I turn off the TV, and we walk to the hallway, stopping at the doors of our respective rooms. “Thanks for tonight,” I say, leaning against the wall. “I had fun. Even during the skincare routine.”

“Me too,” she breathes out, capturing me with a raw intensity in her eyes. The kind that makes me want to pull her close and kiss her gorgeous red lips.

There’s a shift in her gaze, and tension builds between us. Suddenly, we’re closer than before, and I wonder who moved first. She places a hand on my torso, and the skin beneath my shirt might as well have just burst into flames.

I cover her hand with mine, and she closes her eyes. “James,” she whispers.

I swallow hard, squeezing her han d. “I know. You’re not ready.” Which is why I don’t go for a kiss. Instead, I kiss her on the forehead, which still smells like the rose-scented product she applied earlier.

Then, she surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck and hugging me tight. “Thank you.”

I hold her close, embracing her like a long-lost treasure.

I love the way her body fits into my arms. This is probably the best hug of my life, enveloping me in the same comfort as my Grandma’s hug, but meaning something totally different.

It lasts for a solid three Mississippis, which leaves my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. Never doubt the power of a hug.

Sometimes, it’s even better than a kiss.

“Sleep tight, Elizabeth,” I say softly when we finally break the embrace.

She looks at me again, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Good night, James.”