Chapter 8

8

BEN

Since it’s the All-Star Break and we don’t have a game until next week, it feels okay to indulge in booze, a little junk food, and a few hands of poker, which all turns into a late night at Dilly’s place. In the morning, I wake up around ten, and when I roll out of bed, my sore muscles and bruised hip protest.

Our last game was physical and I’m still sore.

For me, anyway. I was trying to show the guys how we should play and I’m the worse for wear because of it. But that’s okay. It was worth it to get them fired up and we ended up winning by one goal late in the third period, avoiding OT.

I need Advil. I drag my sore ass to the bathroom, rubbing my eyes. My head’s a little fuzzy and I need coffee, too. As I walk into the bathroom, I’m greeted with the sight of Mabel standing in front of the mirror, bent over at the waist wearing… not much, her hands under her tits.

She bolts up straight, eyes nearly flying out of their sockets, and crosses her arms over her front, letting out a wake-the-dead screech.

I freeze, my eyes popping as wide as hers. My mouth falls open and about a million thoughts race through my head in the space of two seconds. The first one being, holy fuck, she’s hot. The second being, her bra is see-through. Then I back out and slam the bathroom door shut.

Fuck! What the fuck?

I rub my face, and yell, “Sorry!” through the door.

Oh, Christ. That image will be imbedded on my retinas for the rest of my life. Mabel Smits naked except for sheer pale pink bra and panties, her tits plumped up in her hands, ass sticking up in the air in a perfect curve.

What the fuck was she doing?

I swipe my now sweaty forehead. Is it too early for bourbon?

I glance down the hall, waiting for Smitty to come running to the rescue of his sister, possibly with a weapon, but all is silent. He must still be asleep. Thank Christ.

The door yanks open and Mabel glares at me. “What was that?” she demands. She’s now wearing clothes over her underwear. “Why did you walk in on me?”

“Sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t know you were in there.”

“The door was closed!”

“I know, I know.” I hold up my hands, palms facing her. “I was still half asleep and hurting and I needed Advil and I wasn’t thinking.”

Her gaze wanders down my body. Because I, too, am barely dressed, wearing only my boxer briefs. The air around us goes heavy. She blinks a few times then says, “You need Advil? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. A few bruises.”

“I see that.” Her eyes linger on my hip where color is spreading from beneath the shorts. My purple boxers with eggplants all over them, almost the same color as my bruises. And in response to her scrutiny, my actual, er, eggplant stirs. “What happened?”

“Just a check into the boards.” I will her to stop looking at my crotch.

She rolls her lips inward and presses them together. “I’m done. Go in and get your Advil.”

She advances out of the bathroom and I take a hasty step back to give her room. “Thanks,” I choke out, and hustle inside to close the door.

Goddammit. I wasn’t even thinking. For a moment, I brace my hands on the vanity and drop my head forward.

Smooth, pale skin. Long legs. Luscious curves…

Fuck me.

I take care of business then wince as I open the door. All clear. I hike back to my room to get dressed, pulling on a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved Henley. Okay, this is where I can hole up and recover from the sight of her in barely-there lingerie. Not a problem. So what if I’m a little hungry? And need caffeine. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

I can handle a little deprivation. I throw myself down on my bed again with my phone and settle in to scroll social media all day to distract me from thoughts of nearly bare Mabel.

I make it an hour, and then a soft knock sounds on my door. “Yeah?” I call.

“It’s me.” Mabel’s soft voices floats into the room. “Are you okay?”

No. I am not okay. I am scarred for life by the image of her nakedness. That makes it sound like it was bad. It was not bad. It was very, very good. And I know the first time I lay eyes on her I’m going to remember it. And probably every time after that. I have to leave. I have to move out. Right now. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Do you need any more drugs? Water?”

I sigh and throw my legs over the side of the bed. I cross the rug on the floor and steel myself to open the door. She stands there looking at me with soft brown eyes, her bright hair flowing over her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” I say again. “I took some Advil.” Then I sigh. “I wouldn’t mind a coffee, though.”

“Do you want me to make you one?”

I eye her. “Why are you being nice to me when I just embarrassed you?”

She lifts one shoulder. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah.”

“And I was worried about you.”

Yeah. She should be worried… about the filthy thoughts I’m having.

“You’re hurt,” she adds.

Oh. Right. “It’s just a bruise.”

“I’ll go make your coffee.” She turns and heads off.

I follow her. “I can make it myself. I’m not that injured.”

But she walks straight to the machine and gets to work.

I slide onto a stool at the counter.

“Those were cute boxers,” she says, watching the coffee brew, the corners of her mouth slightly lifted.

I rub my jaw. “Thanks?”

Now she outright smiles. “Sorry. I should be pretending I didn’t see them.”

“Do you want me to pretend I didn’t see your underwear?”

The atmosphere in the room goes thick and sticky.

Jesus. What am I saying?

She looks up at me and our eyes meet. The air around us shifts and heats. Her lips part. We both saw everything. We know we saw it. We can’t unsee it. “Only if it was horrifying for you.”

Of its own volition, my head moves slowly side to side. “Definitely not horrifying.”

My groin tightens again. I swallow, our eyes still locked.

“Well, at least there’s that,” she says lightly, her cheeks a little pinker than usual. “I was worried that I’d traumatized you.”

“Not the way you think,” I mutter, resisting the urge to adjust myself. “Uh… what were you doing, anyway?”

Her cheeks get even rosier. “I was adjusting… the girls. In the bra cups.”

“Oh.” Why did I ask that?

“Just making sure everything was perky and in place!”

I swallow a groan. “Tell me about your plan.”

“Right.” She flashes a bright smile and hands me my coffee. “I’ve been working on it and we’re all set to start tomorrow. Unless you want to start today? I have a lot of ideas and some questions for you. Or maybe you’re busy today. If you are, that’s okay, we can stick to our plan.”

I almost think she feels the same attraction I do. But we both know that can’t go anywhere. “I have no plans today.” I take the coffee.

“Okay! Good.”

Do I want to start this earlier than expected? I haven’t prepared myself for it. I don’t like it when plans change, unless they’re canceled. Then I love it. But I’ll go along with this.

My stomach rumbles.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You need breakfast.”

I grimace. “I do.”

“I’m hungry too. I can make us something. Do you like eggs?”

“Sure.”

“Denver sandwich?”

“Okay. I can help.”

“You can toast the bread.”

We set about cooking, her getting eggs and ham and an onion out of the fridge, me toasting multi-grain bread.

“Did you work on your plan all day yesterday?” I ask her.

“Mostly. Then I went out.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d you go?”

“I went to a full moon circle.”

“A full moon what now?” I pause with two slices of bread in my hands.

She smiles. “A full moon circle. For women. I found it online when I was looking for something to do. It was…” She pauses. “Interesting. There’s a full moon, so a bunch of women get together in a circle and connect with the energy and power of it.”

“That sounds… woo-woo.”

“It was definitely woo-woo.” She nods and chops the onion. “But kind of cool. We did some meditation and set an intention. Then we let go of something or someone we want to get rid of in our life. Mine was Julian,” she adds matter-of-factly. “I cut the cord with an axe.”

Uh… I gaze at her, speechless.

“In my imagination,” she adds hastily. “Then we danced and howled at the moon. It was very freeing. The full moon is a good time to reflect and make change in our life, and to manifest our goals.”

I’m hesitant to ask. “What is your goal?”

“Well.” She pauses, her expression earnest. “I need to find myself.”

“Oookay.”

“I know it sounds dumb.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s so trite. What I mean is…” She pauses, her gaze going distant. “I was trying so hard to please Julian that I lost sight of who I am. And I was pretty great.”

I have to smile at that.

“So it’s not really finding myself. It’s going back to who I was.”

“Do you think you can really go back?”

She focuses on me and blinks, tilting her head. “Oh. That’s a good question. I guess you really can’t. I’ll never be exactly the same person I was before.”

This motherfucker seems to have really messed her up. How bad was it? I get a rigid feeling in my gut.

She drops her eyes to the cutting board. “Maybe it’s not exactly finding myself… maybe it’s creating myself. Who I want to be.”

“I guess we’re all doing that.”

The look on her face is mesmerizing. Her lips curve in a small smile of wonder, her eyes reflective. “That’s true.”

The softness of her lower lip tugs at something in my chest. I want to know more. It’s not my nature to ask questions, but she fascinates me and the words slip out. “Who do you want to be?”

“That’s what I need to figure out.” She gives me a self-conscious smile.

“Did he hurt you?”

She blinks rapidly at my abrupt question. “Not… physically.”

Shit. That’s good… but not good. “Okay.” I exhale. “Well. I’m a good listener if you want to talk about it.”

She meets my eyes. “Thank you. You are a good listener.”

I like that. “So where did this moon circle take place?”

“A place called Zen Haven. They have yoga and a spa and some other stuff.”

Butter sizzles in the pan.

“Okay. Wow. That’s… interesting.”

She bites her lip on a smile. “You think I’m cuckoo, don’t you.”

“No.”

“Yeah, you do. It’s okay.” She shrugs. “The best part of the whole thing was when I imagined Julian’s reaction to me dancing and howling at the moon.” She cackles and stirs the diced onion. “He would die . And it was hilarious.”

I always admired how she did her own thing and didn’t care what people thought. This full moon thing is a little out there for me, but she just goes with it.

“And I even made some new friends,” she says. “We went out together after. It was fun.”

Friends. Huh. “Girlfriends?” I ask before I can stop myself.

She smiles. “Yeah.”

As we eat breakfast, she talks about some of the research she did to help me and then we move to Smitty’s dining table where she has her laptop open.

“I have questions,” she begins. “Let’s start with this meeting you have this week. What is it exactly that you’re worried about?”

“Are you sure I can’t pay you for this? I can definitely pay you.”

“No, it’s fine. Now… what are you worried about?”

Hmmm. “I feel kind of pressured,” I confess. “I’ll be representing the team, so if I say something stupid, it’ll reflect badly on them.”

“Are you worried about embarrassing yourself?”

“Oh hell, yeah.”

She tilts her head.

“I never know what to say,” I go on. “My head goes empty. I’m not good at small talk. And I know a lot about hockey, but I don’t know much about kids who’ve been abused or how they help them and I’ll either go blank or say something dumb.”

She nods, totally not judging me, and it feels like a relief to say this stuff out loud. “Okay, that’s good to know. What other situations are difficult for you?”

“I hate going to parties.”

“Right. You told me that.”

“Well, not all the time. If I know people there, it’s okay for a while. But if there are people there I don’t know, it’s the same thing – hard to talk to them. I end up saying things like, ‘Hi. I’m Ben. I see you’re wearing a shirt.’”

She covers her mouth, eyes dancing with mirth.

“And charity events that we have to do – every year there’s one to raise money for some organization. We have to dress up and schmooze with a bunch of people we don’t know.”

“Okay. You don’t like dressing up?”

“Eh… It’s okay. I just like to be comfortable. The schmoozing is harder. Anyway, there’s a big fundraising event Keeping Kids Safe is throwing that I have to go to and probably speak at. Ugh.”

She purses her lips thoughtfully. “This helps me. I got some ideas yesterday about things we can try. I learned a lot about introversion and extroversion. Have you ever done personality tests about that?”

“Yeah, with my old team. The sports psychologist wanted us to do that so he could understand us better.”

“What did you learn about yourself?”

“Introvert. Big shock.” I make a face. “Which means I get energy from being alone.”

“Yes, exactly.” She pauses. “Spoons.”

“Huh?”

“Spoons. That’s your energy.”

“Mmmkay. It shouldn’t be that big a deal,” I say. “But everything is set up in this world for extroverts. Being someone who likes to be alone gets you labeled a hermit. Or stuck-up or boring.”

She squeezes her eyes shut briefly.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “It’s so true that this is a world for extroverts.”

“I’m not stuck-up. I like my friends. And my family.” Humor ripples in my chest. “I’m actually a nice guy – once you get through the cynicism, reclusiveness, distrust, and disappointment in humanity.”

She bursts out laughing, falling back in her chair. “You have good self-insight,” she finally wheezes.

Nobody can accuse me of not knowing myself. I’ve thought about it a lot. When I’m home alone all those hours, ha. I’m a freak and I know it.

“So in terms of goals – you’d like to be able to meet strangers more easily, make a little small talk, maybe have a deeper conversation…?”

I nod.

“What else?”

“Public speaking. When the media interviews me. If I’m captain, I’ll have to do more of that. And working with Keeping Kids Safe, I’ll have to speak to groups.”

She makes more notes. “Anything else?”

“I just want to be normal.”

“Oh.” Her mouth softens and she blinks a few times. “Here’s the thing. We can’t change who you are. But we can practice doing extroverted things to make them easier for you.”

“Right. I get that.”

“What about women?”

I freeze. “What about women?”

“Do you want help talking to women? Dating?”

My eyes widen. “Uh…”

She waits.

“Not from you,” I finally mumble.

She frowns. “Why not?”

I swipe my forehead. “I don’t know. That’s too weird. Anyway, I don’t have trouble getting a date.”

Her eyes flicker. “Well, that’s good.” She doesn’t sound impressed.

I want to laugh. “I’m not bragging.”

“Uh huh.”

Now I do laugh. “Seriously. I go out with women all the time.” It’s not a lie.

“But you don’t have a girlfriend.” She frowns. “Or do you?”

“No.” I shrug. “Not right now. The women I’ve met haven’t been interested in long-term relationships.”

“Really.” Her frown deepens.

Actually, I’m pretty sure they didn’t want long-term relationships with me . But I don’t say that.

Mabel bites her lip and gazes at me for long seconds. I can see she wants to say something but she bows her head to her notes. “Well. You might find some of the things we work on help you with girls, too.”

“Whatever. That’s not my goal right now.”

“Fair.” She moves to her laptop and uses the track pad. “So, here’s what I think we should do.”