“You didn’t notice because you were out cold.” I choose to dance right into the fire with her. Did she fall asleep so quickly because of what we’d done together? I have an itch to find out if she always tuckers out after.
As an afterthought, I add, “And clingy.”
Wren laughs, the sound a quick one-two “ha-ha” that rings through the phone and makes me swallow. “Clingy?”
“What?” I roll onto my side, setting the phone on the couch cushion by my head, feeling a little bit like a teenage girl on a TV show, swinging her legs and talking to her crush. “Nobody’s ever told you that you’reverytouchy-feely while sleeping?”
“I don’t remember you thinking that was a problem.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Heat spreads over my body, and I dig my palms into the cushion to sit up, like I can’t handle something like this laying down. From the other end of the line, I can hear Wren start to laugh.
“Relax, Luca. I’m just fucking with you.”
“Right,” I try to stay casual, keep my voice light, but my entire body is hot, and I can’t stop thinking about that night when she was rubbing my cock.
That night, she’d straddled me, her hips moving against me, communicating the implication of another orgasm on the horizon. One that didn’t happen. Or—if it was later, after we left the nursing home—one I wasn’t there for.
And I want to be there next time.
“Well,” she says, yawning loudly, and when I glance at the time on my phone, I realize it’s way too late—hours past my bedtime. All this time on the phone with her, and I didn’t manage to coerce her into coming to my place.
Once, Wren playfully told me that I’d coasted through relationships on my good looks alone. I was telling her about dating in college, how girls asked me out and came to my hockey games, and she said that my “game” came down to looking the way I did.
A positive puff for my ego, even with the insult woven in. She said that ugly guys have better game because they actually have to be charming. Flirt well. And I’d never learned about the push and pull because women just fell into my lap.
But I don’t want a push and pull. I want to be straightforward, just tell Wren what I want from her.
Before I can figure out what that is and communicate it, Wren says, her voice soft, “Good night, Luca.”
Disappointment courses through me, but I stamp it down, closing my eyes and thinking of her.
“Good night, Wren.”
I put my phone on the charger and go through my bedtime routine. First vitamins, then brushing my teeth. While washing my face, I think about Wren’s hair between my fingers.
I massage hair serum onto my scalp and think about her hips in my hands.
When it’s all done, I force myself not to return to my phone. Even though she might have texted me, I don’t need to look. I can answer her in the morning.
I climb into bed, and I’ve barely pulled the comforter up to my chin before my hand is drifting toward the waistband of my pajama pants.
***
The Frost take out the Penguins without a hitch.
Despite the fact that our “strategy” phone call quickly deviated from the actual conversation, we still come out strong and follow Wren’s plan, pumping Maverick and the other D-men up to attach their offense full-force. The Penguins’ weak point.
It’s not the most elaborate strategy we’ve ever come up with, but with the skill and talent on this team, strategy is just extra. We’ve hit our stride with everyone on the same page.
Or, as Wren puts it,in alignment.
I’m just walking out of the locker room, trying to figure out if there’s a way I can get Wren alone—or even to come over to my place tonight—when an arm hooks through mine.
“You ready, man?” Cal asks, tugging me in the opposite direction of the employee parking lot. I follow him, but only because he’s caught me by surprise.
This can’t be good, and when we hit the door leading out to the lot, icy snow glistening just through the doors, I ask, “Ready for what?”
He grins. “Wren asked me to get you all ready—it’s a surprise.”
