Page 23 of Something Reckless

ALBA

“ A nd that, my friend, is how you execute one hell of a bodycheck.” Plopping back against the couch, Easton grins at Jagger who’s staring at the television screen in fascination.

“Wow, that was so cool,” the little boy mutters, eyes transfixed to the YouTube video of his father in action on the ice. “Can we watch another one?”

“Of course, Little Man.” I see the pride that flashes across Easton’s face as he scrolls around with the remote, searching for another hockey clip to show off to his son. “This is a good one.” Easton nods as a new video starts to play. “One of my signature moves.”

Ever since the shock of learning that Easton is his father wore off, Jagger has been nothing but affectionate with the big tower of a man.

While the two of them sit hip-to-hip on the couch facing the TV, I curl up in an armchair off to the side.

I’m supposedly reading the novel I brought along with me tonight.

Well, I’m pretending to. But my eyes keep getting drawn back to the two adorable men as they bond .

My attention shifts to the screen just in time to see Easton stealthily stealing possession of the puck from a Mountaineers wingman.

The men glide around the ice, their sticks battling for control of the puck.

But Easton is too clever. He tricks the opposing player into thinking he’ll skate left.

Instead, he swerves to the right and sends the puck off to Ronan who executes a powerful slap shot. The puck rockets straight into the net.

Jagger’s arms fly up in the air and he lets out a shrill cheer. “Whoa! How did you do that?” he asks his father, his eyes twinkling.

Easton just shrugs. “First, you distract the opposing player. You charge at him from one direction, getting him to shift the puck to the other side of his body to protect it—you’ve got to anticipate that he’ll do that.

But once the puck is in a vulnerable position, you swoop your stick right in behind him and you steal the puck from him. ”

Easton spills his biggest game secrets and Jagger hangs onto every word and my heart overflows at the sight of them, chatting together like the very best of friends.

I did the right thing tonight. Telling Jagger about Easton being his father was the right thing.

It’s not something I wanted to have to do—especially not before hearing Raya’s side of the story—but now that the truth is out in the open, I’m confident that I made the best decision, given the cards I’ve been dealt.

On the screen now, Easton and the Saints are celebrating the goal they just scored. The crowd is going wild. The camera zeros in on Easton in particular.

Jagger turns to his father, head tilted to the side.

“What’s that thing you do sometimes at the end of a good play?

That thing you do with your hands?” Jagger lifts both palms in front of his face, fingers spread wide.

Then he slowly drags his hands apart, making a scratching motion. “What does it mean?”

Easton clears his throat, quickly casting a glance in my direction. I drop my eyes back to my book, but not before he catches me staring.

“It means ‘tiger’ in American Sign Language,” Easton tells Jagger, a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

“Tiger?” Jagger echoes.

Easton hesitates, and then he says, “When I was leaving to go play hockey, your aunt Alba asked me to make up a secret hand signal. A way to say ‘hello’ whenever I’d be on TV. That’s the signal I came up with. Because my nickname for her used to be ‘Tiny Tiger’.” He gives a little shrug.

“Really?” Jagger giggles. “Why did you call her Tiny Tiger?”

“Because she’s tiny. Duh”—Easton smirks at me and I grunt in response—“and because she’s one of the fiercest, strongest, bravest women I know. Just like my mom, actually.”

Jagger smiles, his gaze traveling between Easton and me. “That’s really cool. I like that you and Mimi were friends growing up.”

Easton nods. “Yeah. I like it, too.”

This time, when our eyes connect, I don’t look away. We smile at each other.

The truth is, I liked being Easton’s friend.

Actually, I’m starting to realize that what we had was always more than just a friendship.

I had a crush on him. A teeny tiny crush.

A crush I was never able to acknowledge because of the circumstances at the time.

A crush that’s even more taboo now because of the circumstances between us today .

A crush I need to get out of my mind.

I need to put an end to the sneaky glances between us. I need to stop the electric current that shocks my tummy each time his skin touches mine. And more than anything, no more kisses. Definitely, no more kisses.

I give my head a firm shake and bring my attention to Jagger. “Hey, you know your dad and I had a special handshake back in the day?”

His eyes light up. “You did?”

“Yup.” Easton bobs his head up and down.

Jagger pops up onto his knees on the couch, his eyes darting between the two of us. “Can you teach me?”

“Oh my gosh. I’m pretty sure I don’t remember it.” I snort a laugh.

Easton cups a hand around his mouth and whispers to Jagger. “She used to mess up our handshake all the time.”

I throw my head back, laughing some more. “Oh come on! I wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh yes, you were,” he challenges.

“Easton…” I scold him. “You can’t just go around smearing my reputation like that.”

He comes and lowers onto the arm of the chair where I’m sitting. His body heat and the musk of his cologne surround me. “Redeem yourself, then. Let’s go!” He stretches an arm out to me. When I hesitate, he wiggles his fingers persistently. “Come on, Tiny Tiger.”

Jagger’s face twinkles with anticipation. “Do it, Mimi!”

“Fine.” I sigh.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I reach out and clap my palm against Easton’s. And there’s that electric current sizzling between us again. I immediately fumble the next move as I try to remember the handshake Easton spent weeks trying to teach me in our younger days .

He laughs and starts us over from the beginning. “Remember? It’s like this. Then up, over, squeeze, shake, and then snap.”

We try our special handshake again. Then again. But I keep messing it up. I’m so damn embarrassed.

“It’s not that hard, Alba,” Easton scolds.

“I’m sorry!” I giggle as we try again. We get all the way to the shake, but I somehow end up smacking him instead.

“Ow!” he complains, now unable to stop laughing as I reach up and rub his poor, prickly cheek.

“Oh my gosh. Sorry,” I apologize.

Rolling his eyes, he curls his long, calloused fingers around my short, cold ones. We start over, but I’m still messing up, mainly because the feel of his rough palm against my own hand is screwing with my head.

“Hey, Dad!” Jagger calls out.

Both jolting, we glance in the child’s direction.

“Can I get a turn?” He beams at his father.

“Sure, Buddy.”

I slide my hand from Easton’s, and he and Jagger give it a go. It takes the little boy a fraction of the time it took me to learn the steps. Within mere minutes, he has it down pat.

Not long after that, I catch Jagger’s first little yawn of the night. The next one isn’t too far behind.

“I think we should call it a night,” I say, reaching over to ruffle the top of his messy head.

He tries to argue, but Easton promises him that they’ll get to hang out again soon.

Jagger and I get our stuff all packed up, taking some leftovers with us. Knowing I won’t have to cook tomorrow night already feels like a weight off my shoulders.

While I set the containers on the front passenger seat, Easton and Jagger share a tight hug in the shadowy driveway. Then my nephew climbs into the back seat of my car, buckling himself up.

I’m starting to realize that whenever I see Easton, saying goodbye to him is the hardest part. I’ve developed this tendency to drag the moment out, making it awkward and heavy with tense energy. Tonight is no different.

After lingering together by my passenger door for a minute, Easton speaks. “It was nice, reminiscing about our high school days.”

“It was,” I say in agreement. I pause, my volume dropping low. “I always wondered if that hand signal was intended for me.”

When I see the blush that appears on Easton’s cheeks, I instantly wish I hadn’t mentioned it.

But he doesn’t shy away from the topic. “I promised you…” He looks off into the distance.

“I did that hand signal on and off for years, never even knowing if you were watching my games…not knowing if you’d forgotten me…

” There’s a pained tone in his voice. “But I’d promised you, so I did it anyway. ”

I swallow. “I was watching…I was always watching…”

We stare at each other. A million thoughts flood my mind. Thankfully, I have the good sense not to say them out loud.

“I’m just glad we could share those memories with Jagger, too,” I say finally. I glance into the car where the little boy has already dozed off in his seat.

“Yeah,” Easton agrees, his gaze following mine as he stares lovingly at his son.

The usual tense silence returns, filling the air around us in the darkening front yard.

“I…I want to say something,” I mutter eventually .

“Go ahead.” Easton makes a gallant gesture with his hand, giving me the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

“Sorry for what?” His eyes narrow at me.

“I feel like I made everything between us infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. Instead of just ghosting you when everything happened with Raya, I should have at least tried to reach out to you and get your side of the story. We were friends, and I should have been willing to have a frank discussion with you about what was going on.” I drop my gaze to the asphalt driveway in shame. “You probably hate me so much.”

After considering my words for a brief moment, Easton shrugs a big shoulder. “I don’t hate you, Alba.”

Somehow, I find that hard to believe. My failure to act caused Easton and his son to be separated for eight years. In my mind, that’s pretty unforgivable.

Easton speaks again. “Look, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and I understand that you were in a difficult position at the time. Emotions were running high, especially with all the bullshit lies Raya must have told you about me.” His eyes find mine, soft and hopeful. “But we can start over…”

My heart flutters. “Start over?” I squeak out.

His voice wavers with uncertainty. “I really appreciated your friendship back in the day. I’m hoping we can try again. If you’re open to that. For…for Jagger’s sake.”

My tongue rolls nervously over my bottom lip and I wrap my arms around my middle. “Yes. Of course. For Jagger’s sake. F-friends.”

He nods. “Yeah.” After another awkward moment, he holds his arms open. “We, uh, hug it out?”

Hug it out? Right .

I force myself to smile. “We hug it out.” Because that’s what friends would do.

I take a cautious step toward him. He takes a cautious step toward me.

Easton’s arms tentatively come around my back, loosely embracing me. Meanwhile, my arms hang limply by my sides.

Chuckling, he clasps my wrists, bringing my spaghetti noodle arms around his waist. “You’re supposed to hug me back.”

“Oh, right…” I mumble, trying not to breathe in the manly scent of his shirt.

“Right.” He lowers his chin to rest on the crown of my head, exhaling contentedly. Like he’s been in desperate need of human touch. “This is how hugs work.”

I laugh, even as I get zapped with 50 000 volts in every spot our bodies brush. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Will there be a next time? Is this gonna be one of those touchy-feely kinds of friendships? God—I hope so , the damp spot in my panties responds on a sigh.

For crying out loud.

I know that it’s wrong, but I allow myself to relax in Easton’s arms for just a second longer. Because hell—I’ve been starved for touch, too.

He’s my nephew’s father , a voice yells from the back of my conscience.

Annoyed at always having to do the right thing, I wrench myself out of the hug. I give Easton a pat on the arm.

“Well, you take care now, friend,” I say. Then I hightail it around the hood to the driver’s side of the car.

Easton blinks, a crooked, dimpled smile tilting his gorgeous mouth. “ Take care now, friend ,” he echoes, clearly mocking me as I jump behind the wheel and close the door .

Refusing to make eye contact with him again, I crank the engine and shift the car into reverse.

Friend Zone Purgatory, here we come.