Page 74 of Poetry On Ice
There’s a noticeable sigh. A long hiss of breath accompanied by a slight slump in his shoulders. “Come here,” he says, rolling me onto my back.
“What are you going to do to me?” The smile from before, the one that wraps almost the whole way around my head, is back.
“You’re lucky that piece of shit tried to decapitate you tonight, you know that?” I snort at that. “If he hadn’t, there’s less than no chance you’d have gotten through today without feeling the palm of my hand on yourass. You’ve been bad, Babygirl. High-maintenance and high-strung. You’re being so difficult that you’re making it hard for me to remember why we have pants on.”
I gurgle happily and try to put my arms around him. He pins my wrists to the bed. Gently. He does it so gently that it feels the same way it felt the first time he got me ready for sex.
I love it.
“Close your eyes,” he says. I don’t want to, but he runs his fingertips lightly down my face, over my eyes, forcing them to slide shut reflexively. I want to open them again, and I would, but he keeps kissing my face, which makes it difficult. He kisses my cheeks, then my eyelids, then my lips, then my eyelids again. He has a hand on my chest, palm flat and open, covering as much surface area as possible. He moves it in a big, slow figure-eight, warming my heart.
When I’m so blissed out I couldn’t open my eyes even if I still wanted to, he lies beside me and gently runs his fingers through my hair.
He wakes me at four and again at six. He asks me the same questions each time. At four, I give him the same answers I gave him at two. At six, I leave out the thing about being the best wing the Vipers have ever had because I like the way he reacts to me calling himmy boyfriend so fucking much that I can’t wait to hear myself say it.
He likes when I say it. I know he does. I can tell because his breathing hitches right before I say the word and comes out in a rush when he hears it.
“Thank you, Ant,” I murmur when he’s done kissing my eyelids and stroking my chest and has settled next to me to play with my hair. “This is the best concussion I’ve ever had.”
30
Ant Decker
Bodie scampers after meat the end of practice, matching each of my strides with one and a half of his own to keep up with me. “So,” he says breathlessly, “I hear you’re coming to the McGuires for Christmas.”
“What? No.” I stop moving and spin around to face him. “I’m-I’m not going to the McGuires for Christmas. Why would I…? Look, no. There’s no fucking way I’m…”
Bodie seems to know something I don’t. Either that, or he has the same knack McGuire has for looking at me in a way that starts manifesting shit around me. “Well, Robbie says you’re coming, and Mr. McGuire has already filled a stocking for you, so….”
It seems clear that in the world of Bodie Thoms, a filled Christmas stocking is easily on par with the rule of law. An entirely fictional law, obviously, but one that appears to dictate my comings and goings come the twenty-fifth of December.
I’m deeply concerned about the matter, but it’s hard to focus the full scale of my angst on it because Bodie won’t fucking stop talking. “Anyway, glad I caught you,” he says. “I wanted to have a word before Christmas about something important. It’s about Beth. Robbie’s sister. Um, so, Robbie doesn’t know this, but I kind of have a crush on her.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, I, uh, well, crush probably isn’t the right word. I’ve pretty much been in love with her since I was twelve years old. That’s when I met her.” His eyes glaze over so badly that if I were a better man, I’d pull him aside and tell him he looks stupid. “I was in the seventh grade. I went to Robbie’s house after practice one day, and there she was, standing on the landing, looking down at me. Her hair was down, and she was wearing this pastel-pink sweater, and…”
“Isn’t it like a major crime against the bro code to crush on your bud’s sister? ’Cause I’m pretty sure it’s a well-documented no-no.”
“Well, yeah, no, it is, but…technically, the bro code states that if you’ve known a guy for more than twenty-four hours, his sister is off-limits forever, unless you marry her. So…it’s fine, see? It’s all good.” A goofy fucking senseless beam lights up his face, and he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because I’m going to marry Beth.”
“Uh-huh.” I bob my head thoughtfully. “And what does Beth have to say about this little plan of yours? Is she on board with it?”
“Um, no. She doesn’t know about it yet. It’s…a surprise.”
“Hope she likes surprises, in that case.” I give him another once-over. He’s still talking a little faster than normal and his eyebrows are raised into two high arched curves. He seems nervous. “Why are you telling me all this anyway?”
“Because, well, here’s the thing, Decks. I know we’ve never been all that close, but we’re bros. At least, I think we are. And, and, I just wanted you to know how I feel about Beth, and I wanted to say…please, don’t like her. I mean, you can like her as a person, she’s great, so why wouldn’t you? Obviously, you can like her, but please don’tlikeher like her.”
It’s a commitment I’m confident I can make without regret so I give it to him. “Fine, I won’t like her.”
“No, no, you need to give it some serious thought. You can’t just say it off-hand. You need to really prepare yourself for when you meet her because I swear, Ant, that girl, God, she’s beautiful.”
I look down at Bodie again, this time with an overwhelming sense of pity.
And compassion.
I feel for the guy. I really do.
