Page 58

SOMETHING ELSE TOO

Tyler

It’s been too long.

The need to touch her is like a heavy weight on my chest. Like claws in my heart.

I’ve already put the kids to bed in the suite I’m sharing with them—that wasn’t hard.

They were zonked after a late hockey game, yawning on the car ride back.

Once in their jammies, they both collapsed into the big bed in their room, crashing fast and hard with me only reading a few sentences from The Peppermint Patrol —Luna’s pick, and Parker didn’t even protest.

With the lights out, I paced around the suite like a caged animal, shoveling a hand through my hair until I couldn’t wait any longer to see Sabrina. Now, just five minutes later, I’m here, slipping away from them because I have to act.

I’ve got to touch her.

I need her .

This is dangerous. I can’t be the guy who leaves his young kids alone to sneak around for a quickie with the nanny next door.

And yet, I can’t tear my gaze away from her in the faint light of her hotel room.

A soft night-light glows by the bed. Her tablet sits on the covers.

She was probably reading before she answered my knock.

City lights glimmer in the window. The sounds of a New York night—faint honking, a siren somewhere in the distance—remind me that this is a city that never sleeps.

Sabrina stands right in front of me, loose blonde hair curling over the straps of a light blue cami.

She wears pajama pants and fuzzy socks with foxes on them, and this detail—her love of foxes—does unfair things to my heart.

“Hi,” I say softly, my fingers itching to touch her, my palms eager to slide up and down those bare arms, to feel her skin. To see her shiver as I touch her. Hell, I feel like I’m shivering just from looking at her.

“Hey, you,” she says.

The sound of her voice makes my pulse soar. I’m so far gone.

“I had to see you.” That feels like the truest thing I’ve ever said.

“Yeah?” A smile teases me at the corner of her lips.

“On the car ride back from the arena? I was dying to reach across the seats and hold your hand,” I say.

Her smile widens. “I wanted that too.”

More confessions pour out. “On the elevator ride up here? The four of us?”

She nods for me to keep going.

“Same thing. I just wanted to wrap my arm around you. Bring you to my side. Hold you.”

Her blue eyes dance. “I could feel it—you wanting that. ”

I am so transparent, and I don’t mind at all. “And then when you went into your room, and I went into ours, I just felt anticipation climbing through me,” I say, and at last, at long last, the weight is lifting. I needed to say all this. I can’t keep it to myself anymore.

She takes a step closer, and her scent swirls around me—that orange blossom perfume. I thought it was her candles, but it has to be her lotion too. Another detail about her I file away.

“So what are you going to do about that?” she asks.

That’s the question, isn’t it? The million-dollar one I keep asking myself.

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself since I left her that note card back in San Francisco.

Since I booked the tickets for her and rebooked the ones for my kids .

Now that she’s here, I keep thinking—this woman flew with my children across the country to spend Christmas with us.

Us.

What was I thinking when I didn’t want to define this? I need to define this fast. I can’t leave this open-ended. I can’t just go with the flow. That’s not fair to her. And it’s definitely not fair to this too-tight, too-big feeling in my chest.

Briefly, I think of the text Corbin sent me earlier, and a plan begins to form.

But before I fuck-up again by saying the wrong thing or saying nothing, I shut my mouth—by sealing it to hers. And all is right in the world as we connect again.

I slant my lips to her soft, sweet mouth, groaning at the taste of her minty breath.

My Sabrina loves her toothpaste. The more spearmint-y the better, and I love knowing this detail about her.

I love knowing all the things about her.

Her affection for foxes and for rescue animals.

Her love of bagels. Her soft spot for shiny objects.

Her need to keep lists and the way she tempers it by keeping good lists.

Her love of skating and her bigger love of the joy in the sport.

Her strength in standing up to her family and her boundless spirit in making every day fun for my kids.

How she teaches them about Earth, and giving back. The way she cares for them. And for me.

As all of this knowledge swirls in my head, I kiss her more fervently, her body molding to mine, her heart beating against my chest, and I know something else too.

These sparks I feel?

This intensity that has me hostage?

This clawing feeling that consumes my chest, my cells, my bones? This unfamiliar emotion that’s swallowing me whole?

I’m falling in love with the nanny.

I groan into her mouth, tugging her impossibly closer, wanting to gather her in my arms, to haul her up, have her wrap her legs around my waist. But the weight of responsibility in the next room bears down on me.

I can’t fuck her in the adjoining room, even with the kids out for the count.

Besides, they just fell asleep. They might wake up.

But I can do something else.

I break the kiss, panting hard. Her breath is coming in staggered gusts too. She’s clutching my shirt like she doesn’t want to let go.

And the plan is fully formed. “Corbin is in New York,” I begin.

Her brow knits. “Yeah?”

“He’s from here. His family is here. He texted earlier to invite the kids to Christmas cookie decorating tomorrow afternoon with his family.”

Her lips twitch, but she waits for me to say more.

“We can have some time alone,” I say, the words spilling out now. Tumbling on top of each other. But the last thing I want is for her to think I’m asking her for another sex date. I cup her face, hold her gaze. “Let me take you on that ice-skating date in the afternoon.”

She twists her fingers tighter around the collar of my shirt. “I can’t wait to skate circles around you, Falcon.”

I tip my head back and laugh.

Forget falling. I’m already there.

I drop a kiss to her lips. “It is on.”

The massive Christmas tree looms over the ice rink, festooned with ornaments and the sparkling lights that flicked on before dawn. It’s noon right now, so they’re soft but still visible. The sun is shining brightly above us at the packed rink at Rockefeller Center.

No surprise—it’s Christmas Eve, but I snagged some last-minute tickets for a slot on the ice.

Now, with hordes of tourists and New Yorkers—some wobbling, some whizzing by—Sabrina skates backward, showing off gorgeous crossovers as I skate toward her, unable to take my eyes off the figure-skating beauty.

“Come on! You challenged me to a skills competition that night in Cozy Valley.” She wiggles her mittened fingers toward me. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“The taunting,” I say. “The taunting.”

But I can handle my own on blades, thank you very much. I spin around and skate backward right past her, then come to a fast hockey stop, spraying ice.

“Show-off,” she teases, and I push off, skating around with her, but then I stop in my tracks. A young couple wobbles nearby. I grab Sabrina even though she probably has noticed them too. But I yank her against me regardless .

“That’s the thing about a big public rink—it’s not the best place for a skills competition,” I say.

She rolls her eyes and swats my chest with her mittened hand. “Oh, please, you just don’t want to admit I’m faster,” she teases.

I drop a kiss on her nose, overwhelmed briefly by how much I want this. These dates, these moments, this time with her. And I’m about to toss out a witty comeback, like let’s do it again when we get back home , when the wobbly guy gets down on one knee.

“Oh,” I say, blinking.

Sabrina gasps. “Oh my god.”

The man takes out a small velvet box from his jacket pocket, and the woman’s nodding, smiling, giving her yes . Sabrina claps and cheers, and I join in too.

“Congrats,” I say to both of them.

They smile back.

When the woman tugs him up and they kiss on the ice, we resume our pace, passing them as Sabrina calls out, “Congratulations.”

As we loop around the rink, she says to me, “Let’s hope it all works out.”

I’m quiet for a beat.

It’s a stark reminder that romance usually starts with the best of intentions.

A date at a skating rink. A football game.

Nights cuddled up together. But it can end like it did for Sabrina—in infidelity, humiliation, and estrangement from her family.

And for me, it can fizzle out into two people who are better off as friends.

But maybe it doesn’t always have to go wrong. Maybe sometimes, two people can figure it out.

Maybe I can too, and that starts with focusing on the here and now. On this holiday. On this date. On this time with her. Now is not the time to think too hard about the future .

I take her hand, pull her close, and as I skate with her, I say, “Would you do something for me?”

She arches a curious brow. “Maybe?”

“Do a camel spin.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You really do have a thing for figure skaters.”

“No. I have a thing for you. And I fucking love watching you skate for me.”

She bobs her shoulder, lets go of my hand, and glides effortlessly to an open spot in the middle of the rink, where she leans forward, lifting her right leg behind her. Then she spins around and around, her arms out wide, her face bright, her smile shining.

When she’s done, I’m not the only one clapping for her. But I’m the only one she skates over to.

I take her hand once more.

So what if we don’t know what the future holds? I know what this moment holds. Her and me, finally going out together.