Page 31 of Center Ice
I roll my eyes. “Do those kinds of cheesy lines usually work?”
“I was being serious.” In the golden light, the line of his cheekbones stands out against the skin cast in shadows below them. His nose is perfectly straight, and his lower lip is a bit fuller than his upper lip. He’s too good looking for his own good. “But also”—he gives me a sheepish grin—“yeah.”
I shake my head. “We’re not in college anymore, Drew. You’re not going to win your way into my bed with cheesy pickup lines, followed by a cheeky grin.”
He leans into me, knocking his shoulder against mine playfully. “Should I betrying to win my way into your bed?”
“No.” I say the word firmly, even though my body is screaming,Yes!“Partnership, remember? Nothing more.”
He presses his lips together, but nods. There’s amusement in his voice when he says, “Right. Partnership.”
“Drew,” I say, like he’s a child.
“Is that youryou’re in troublevoice, Audrey?" He leans in a little closer and raises an eyebrow. His breath ghosts across my lips when he says, “Because, just a warning…I like that quite a lot. Makes me wonder what else I should do to get a reaction out of you.”
The heat creeps into my neck as the flush works its way toward my face. His words have me thinking about all the ways he could get a reaction out of me, but that line of thought needs to stop, so I change the subject.
“I got the video you sent of your mom’s house. I showed it to Jules, and she felt like we could probably fit that in this winter. But we need to see it in person, and I need to take some measurements and draw up some plans. Think it’s possible for us to stop by sometime?”
“Of course. I’d like to be there when you do, so it doesn’t confuse my mom.”
“Absolutely. We can coordinate something. When’s your first road game?”
We talk a bit about scheduling and realize that because Jules is leaving tomorrow for Maine and will be gone all week, and then he’s traveling, it’ll be almost two weeks before we can make it work. “Alright, I’m putting it in my calendar right now,” I say as I pull out my phone.
Just then, Graham gives a helpless squeal as water splashes out of the fountain in front of us. He stands there, one leg in the water and one leg on the ground, straddling the ledge he’d been walking on.
“Shit,” I mutter, pissed at myself for letting him walk on there in the first place, and already anticipating having to get his sneakers dried out before school tomorrow.
Drew stands, setting the box of cookies on my lap, and is over to Graham in three steps. He lifts him up, setting him on the ground, then kneels down in front of him.
“You have a pretty wet leg, my friend,” he says to our son.
From this profile view, I can see that Graham’s eyes are filled with tears and his lower lip is trembling as he tries to hold it together. Mostly, I think he’s embarrassed. He just nods back to Drew.
“Well, that would be an uncomfortable walk back to the car,” he says. “How about I give you a piggyback ride instead?”
Graham looks at me, checking that it’s okay, and I give him a little nod and smile. Drew looks over his shoulder, and says, “Climb on.”
I watch Graham throw his arms around Drew’s neck, and Drew hooks his arms under Graham’s knees to anchor him in place. As I stand and carry the box of cookies over to them, I can’t help but notice how easily Drew just diffused the situation. Where I might have reminded Graham that I told him to be careful or given him a little lecture as I made him walk back to the car with his dripping wet shoes and pant leg, Drew acknowledged that it happened, and moved on.
His place on Drew’s back makes Graham a head taller than me, and he looks over at me and says, “I’ll be more careful next time, Mom.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Bud.” And then, because I’m struck by how much they look alike as Graham sits there with his chin resting on Drew’s shoulder, I ask them to pause for a picture together. I expect Drew to balk at the idea, but he doesn’t. They both smile happily.
“Send me a copy?” Drew asks as we start walking again.
“Sure.” I text him the photo, and when we arrive back at my parked car, Drew shuts the door after Graham climbs in the backseat, then turns toward me.
“Thanks for carrying him back,” I say. He’s big enough now that carrying him several city blocks would have been nearly impossible.
“I’m happy to help. Really,” he says, then reaches out, tilting my chin up so I’m looking at him. Then his fingertips slide along my jaw and tuck my hair behind my ear. The wave of longing that runs through me is damn close to incinerating me. “If you ever needanything, just call.”
“Thanks,” I say, then move to hand him the box of cookies because I need to put some physical distance between us so I don’t jump him.
“You didn’t have yours yet,” he says, nodding his chin at the box in my hands. “You should keep them.”
“How many cookies are in here?” I ask, eying the box.
