He ran a hand through his hair—still damp from the shower he must’ve taken not too long ago, but before my mind could fully delve into that mental image, he said, “If you consider the women I usually bring home, you’d find you’re entirelyoverdressed.”
His face did something strange, and I couldn’t really tell whether he was going for sensual, smoldering, or downright dirty. Either way, the look disappeared as soon as I burst out laughing.
“I don’t know about your shoulder, but you clearly took a serious knock to the head last night,” I said. “You should get that checked out.”
“I guess it’s serendipitous you’re here, then, Doc.” Our eyes met, and heat crept up the back of my neck. “But also,” he went on, “you make sweats and sneakers look hot, so I wouldn’t be too concerned about the dress code.”
For some reason, the way his eyes raked over me made it feel like he was looking through my Surge uniform instead of at it. I willed myself to ignore the effect that had on me, at least for the moment.
“You weren’t at training.”
Where he’d been lost in thought somewhere around my chest area, Theo’s gaze now snapped up. The first sign of a shadow coasted over his expression.
“Yeah, well…” He gestured toward his shoulder. The tension bunched there was visible even through his t-shirt, and it threw his posture off just enough that someone like me would notice. “Is that what you’re doing here? Delivering a detention slip on Coach’s behalf?”
“What else would I be doing here?”
There was no immediate response, but his eyes lingered on my mouth, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. Which spoke louder than any words would have, all things considered. It kindled a warmth in me that flushed my face before snaking its way further south.
And of course, Theo noticed.
The air pulled tight as he approached, white socks padding on the mirror tiles, hands in his pockets to complete the suave swagger of it all. He was more dreamy when he wasn’t trying, but I’d never tell him that.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” His head dipped low enough so his breath played over my mouth, starting up a maddening tingle of anticipation just there.
God, did I ever?
Maybe he could give me one of his wordless answers. One that involved his lips this time. On mine. And maybe this time I’d press up to him so I could feel the heat of his body, my arms gripping his sho—
I shook my head abruptly, and moved over to the mantle lined with candid photos in mismatched frames and trinkets that all looked like they hailed from a bygone era. Decidedly bougie. It felt weird. Like I was intimately familiar with only parts of him, and now came into contact with this whole other side of Theo Bouchard. Who he was when he wasn’t on the ice.
“Your shoulder.” I didn’t turn back. Instead, I kept my eyes on a miniature Steampunk-esque model made of brass. Still, I could feel him watching me. Could sense the shift in him without seeing it. “I need you to agree to the scan.”
“Again with the scan,” he sighed. “I thought we were past that.”
“No, we only got so far as me telling you to do it, and you saying you wouldn’t.”
“I won’t,” he replied with a shrug. “Because I don’t need it.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“No, that’s bullshit.” He pointed over my shoulder, making me turn back to the mantle out of curiosity. “This—my arm—is fact.”
I picked up the trinket I was staring at before, our conversation momentarily on pause. Closer inspection showed the intricate detail in its design. The brass housing held delicate rivets and gears, aged to a golden-brown patina.
“What the hell is this thing?” I fiddled with the small hand-crank protruding from one side. On top sat a miniature figure poised over a lever, and he rattled every time I messed with the crank.
“I just told you.” He was right behind me all of a sudden. “My grandfather’s prized possession. He called it the Bullshitter. Like this.”
His hand closed over mine and guided me through slow turns of the crank. I would’ve been more fascinated by the tiny figure now tugging the lever back and forth, if Theo’s chest wasn’t pressed so close I could feel his heartbeat against my back. Or if every exhale didn’t drift across my neck, setting goosebumps prickling in its wake. I tried to focus on the narrow strip of paper unfurling at the base of the brass housing, I really did. But Theo’s presence kept slipping in, and twisting my attention until it wasn’t mine to control anymore.
“See?”
A printing press. That’s what it was, essentially. A teeny, tiny printer.
“What does it say?” I tore the strip from the base and stared at the words as if I would magically gain the ability to read French through osmosis.
Theo chuckled softly. “Va chier. La vie est courte.”
