“Fuck,” I mumble, turning and shifting the bag so it’s behind my back. “Yep, it’s me!”
Even my voice sounds guilty. He opens his bedroom door just across the hall, stepping out and holding a tie in the air. The sight of Fletcher Graff in a suit always does something to me. Tonight, he’s in a navy blue suit with a white button-up underneath, the top two buttons undone.
Our relationship has been entirely platonic since dayone, but I can admit my best friend is objectively hot. I mean, the man is a hockey player, for heaven’s sake. His body is sculpted from straight marble, all hard and muscular, with a sharp jawline. His hair is in loose dark waves that he coifs into a perfect swoop before every game. Every little detail of his features is burned into my memory after years of studying him. The tiny scar in his eyebrow from the time he got hit in the face with a stick, the slight bend in his nose from a fist fight on the ice that resulted in a break, and the way his pupils dilate when he gets excited.
Not the time to be admiring your best friend’s pupils, Lydia.
I clear my throat, backing up against the wall with my arms behind me.
“What’s up?” I question, hoping I sound nonchalant.
“Tie, or no tie?” He waffles his hands up and down with a tie that matches his sage-green eyes.
I glance at the outfit, and then at the fabric. “Tie. I like this one. It makes your eyes pop.”
“Help me?” Fletcher holds out the tie, and I take it with one hand only to remember the bag behind my back in the other.
“Um, one second.” I try to sidestep into my open bedroom door so I can chuck the pregnancy tests into my room, but, like always, Fletcher is too observant.
“What’s in your hand?”
“Nothing,” I squeak, trying again to step into my room.
“Lydia Elaine Ward, you’re hiding something!” Fletcher’s eyes glint with delight as he reaches for the bag.
“Fletcher, no!” I nearly launch into my room.
I have to think of something, fast.
One, I’m not ready for him to know I need to take a pregnancy test. Two, I’m not about to distract him on his bignight. The season opener always puts him a bit on edge, and he worries about me too much. I can’t distract him, not tonight.
Throwing the box into the corner of my room and slamming the door, I breathe heavily, telling him the first thing that comes to my mind. “It’s a new vibrator, okay?”
The grimace that instantly flashes on his face is almost comical. “You…” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, tugging at the already loose neckline of his shirt. His cheeks are flaming red. “You can get vibrators at the drugstore?”
I swallow my embarrassment, reminding myself this is better than the alternative. “Mhm. It’s a new thing.”
I take the tie from his still outstretched hand and change the subject. “Are you ready for tonight?”
Fletcher buttons up his shirt, hiding the wisps of dark chest hair. “I think so. Our new goalie, Trigg, is a machine. If anyone can help us get to the playoffs, it’s him.”
“Where is he from again? Denmark?” I wrap the tie around his neck, draping the fabric over and pulling it through methodically. I’ve helped him with his ties for years, and I genuinely don’t think he knows how to put one on himself.
“Norway. He’s great. I can’t wait for you to meet him. You’re coming to the bar after, right?” He quirks his dark eyebrows. “You can either help us celebrate or drown in our sorrows.”
“Hopefully, we will be celebrating, but yes. I wouldn’t miss it.”
I just might not be drinking.
Once his tie is perfectly done, I pat his chest. “You’re good.”
“Awesome.” He grins. “Thanks, Lydi. How much time do you need to get ready?”
I glance down at myself. “Fifteen minutes?”
Pretty much all I have to do is change out of my work clothes, throw on my jersey, and make sure my hair and makeup still look decent after work.
Oh, and take a pregnancy test that may completely alter the course of my life.
