When we’re…
New.
When we haven’t figured out how we’re going to deal with us being us when us beingusis messy and complicated and?—
Scary as fuck.
The door swings open.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Still in the white button-down and slacks, feet bare, toes painted a pale pink.
“What are you?—”
I step forward, thankful when she retreats, backing into the door and giving me an opening. I slip inside, hurry to the table shoved in the corner, and set the pizza and beer down. “Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my arm out, soothing the overheated skin.
She giggles. “What’s it with hockey boys and the dramatics?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I bring you pizza and you just laugh at my pain?”
“Try having a period once a month and then talk to me about pain,” she quips back without missing a beat.
And considering I’ve never had a period—and that I also hope to get laid tonight, despite the fears and complications and messiness—I don’t argue, just nod at the pizza and ask, “You hungry?”
She crosses her arms, leans back against the door. “I just finished ordering food from room service.”
“Liar,” I tease.
Her chin lifts. “I’m not lying.”
I know that. Because I knowher. Same as I know that she didn’t orderactualfood. “You called down and put in an order for a sundae.”
Those eyes go wide.
My mouth hitches up. “With extra whipped cream and cherries.”
Those wide eyes go wider.
“I know you, baby.”
“Apparently,” she says dryly. Then she narrows her eyes at me, warning, “I only ordered one.”
Amusement bubbles up in my chest and I shake my head as I open the box. “I bring pizza and beer and I can’t even bum a bite of hot fudge.”
“I had plans for a bath and my sundae, not a hulking hockey player invading?—”
“Former,” I correct, thoroughly enjoying the sass she’s tossing my way.
“Not aformerhulking hockey player invading my space and trying to get his hands on my goodies,” she says, not missing a beat. “Evenifhe does come bearing beer and pizza.”
There’s a comment there about what goodies I’m going to get my hands on, but I keep that thought in my head and tease back, “Even if said former hockey?—”
“Hulkinghockey player.”
I grin, correct, “Even if said formerhulkinghockey player comes bearing your favorite beer?” I knew I was making the right choice in shoving down the fear and listening to Kylie when I saw the small brewery’s ale in the cold case at the pizza joint. “Andyour favorite type of pizza?”
“Even then,” she says, chin lifting.
