“Right.” I pinch my smile off sardonically at Violet, who returns the display of attitude by sticking her tongue out with a giggle. I flip the phone over on my lap, feeling the tingles rush through my body at the memory of Nicky and my first kiss. It was unexpectedly perfect. Which is exactly how I feel about the man who’s just sent me another text.
Russian Daddy
The silence is really doing something for my ego, solnyshka.
Would it make you feel better to know it’s because I had to wrestle my phone back from my best friend? She was practically drooling—be sure to tell Crosby.
Russian Daddy
That picture was for your eyes only, but it helps to know I’m appreciated by others.
I think your ego will recover fine, Nikita. You still want me to take Nat to your house after the game? You don’t want us to wait here for you?
Russian Daddy
Go to the house. I like the idea of both my girls waiting there for me. Nat knows the key code for the door.
Both of my girls.
My stomach erupts in butterflies, so I send off a quick “good game” and try not to melt into my seat. Since the holiday party, our schedules and the Christmas holiday have kept us apart, or strictly on professional terms. There have been endless texts and a few short FaceTimes, but nothing more. It has been an exquisite type of torture. There’s no definition of what is happening between us, just the surety that itishappening.
Today, due to it being New Year’s Eve, The Midnight have an early-afternoon game, and Nicky invited me to come over for a pizza date with Natalia. I offered to bring Nat to the game since she doesn’t have school, and the ease with which Nicky agreed to let me look after his daughter has only heightened the intensity of feelings inside me.
“So, you’re spending the night with him?” Violet asks from beside me.
“I’m taking Nat home and staying for pizza,” I correct. My best friend just stares at me. I give one more look at Natalia, who is now talking to Allison and cooing over baby Juliette. The Texiers have joined us for the game, and in this moment, I’m glad Nat has a distraction. Violet follows my gaze and waits patiently for me to continue. “Nicky and I haven’t really had any time to figure out what all ofthis—” I wave my hands in the air, like it gives a name to our evolving relationship status, “…means. I know having Nat makes things more challenging. He told me he’s never brought a woman home in a romantic way.”
“But she knows you,” Violet counters. “Natalia adores you. I don’t think she’s going to take it badly if you and Nicky start dating.”
“I’m happy to take this at his pace,” I say with a lot more conviction than I feel, and given the way Violet smirks, she knows it. With a single eyebrow lift, I spill my real feelings in a rushed whisper. “Okay, it’skillingme that I’ve only kissed him once. I haven’t had sex in eight months, and I actually had tobuy a new vibrator this week because all I can think about is how badly I want to climb that man like a tree.”
“Fair.” She cocks her head. “What else?”
“I don’t think this is going tojustbe sex. It scares the shit out of me. It makes me nervous that I could screw it up simply by wanting it.”
Violet gathers me close, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and leaning her head on mine. She squeezes me tight. “It’s okay to do this, Bea. It’s okay to try. It doesn’t have to be a forever thing.” I nod awkwardly against her. “But I think it could be, if you want it enough to figure it out. You’re so good for each other, and everyone knows it.”
“Except Human Resources,” I crack. “Too soon to get the suits involved, evenifeveryonethinksthey know what happened at the Christmas party.”
“Oh, we all know.”
We dissolve into giggles and sit quietly for a few more minutes. I obsessively check my phone, even knowing I won’t get another message this close to game time. Human Resources will be something to handle when I finally figure out what to tell them. But for now, that’s Future Bea’s problem, and I’m content to try and live in the moment.
“Daddy likeshis pizza with just pepperoni, and I like mine with just cheese. Is that okay, Bea?” Natalia asks as we get out of my car in front of the house. I help her out of the booster seat Nicky installed yesterday while I was in a meeting, and walk hand in hand with her to the front door.
“Those two choices both sound delicious to me!” I reassure her. At the front door, there is a small keypad to enter an electronic code. “Your Daddy says you know the code; Do you?”
Nat nods enthusiastically, and I turn to the side to let her try privately. I know where the hidden key is in the front garden, if Natalia can’t remember the numbers she selected as her personal entry code. But a few seconds later, I hear the whir of the lock pins releasing, and Nat pushes the front door open.
“I did it!” she cheers, and I run my hand affectionately over the back of her head. She bounces on her toes before stopping in the entryway to slip out of her boots and ditch her puffer jacket. I close the front door and twist the lock before I sit on the bench to remove my own shoes and hang up my coat. “I practiced yesterday with Ms. Margaret to remember all the numbers.”
“You did a great job,” I tell her. Natalia waits for me to finish slipping my shoes under the bench, then we wander deeper into the house. I put the call in for our pizza when we pulled onto the street, so I busy myself with turning on a few lights. Nat runs upstairs to change clothes.
I’ve been to Nicky’s house half a dozen times or more over the course of the season. It’s functional and comfortable with the open layout and a lived-in appeal. In the living room, a grand Christmas tree stands in the corner near the front window, its bows full of bright multicolored bulbs. The decorations are a mix of glass spheres, homemade by Natalia, and milestone commemoratives. There is a photograph in a craft stick frame, painted a shocking purple that clashes with everything else, showing Nat a few years ago, a wide smile on her face. A silver pacifier ornament catches the light as it hangs, “Baby’s First Christmas” written in loopy script with the year underneath. Instead of a gold star at the top of the tree, there is a jaunty Father Christmas hat in red velvet.
I gently run my finger over the stiff needles, smiling when I spy a hockey puck tucked among them. There’s a date written on the front, and I recognize from my research into Nicky’s history with the team that it’s from his NHL debut. Something about having it in his Christmas tree, where momentous hallmarks of a life well lived and loved are shown instead of displayed year-round, is so reflective of the man I’m falling for that my chest aches warmly. I hear Natalia’s feet on the stairs and turn as she bounces into the living room in a fuzzy set of pajamas with penguins and snowmen on them. Clutched in her hands is the pastel-pink bunny stuffy I sent her home with from the baby shower at the Texier house this summer. One ear flops, while the other remains upright, a clear sign of the love Natalia has given it.
“I know that bunny!” I point to it when Natalia deposits herself onto the couch. She clutches it as I drop down next to her. We share a knowing smile, and I reach my hand to run it along the softness of the outside of the stuffy’s ear, the cheerful polka dots inside.
