Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Bash

Later in the year, during the playoffs, we won't be able to get together much. The off-season is filled with parties and game nights, but it's also when I visit my family. I don't often have a chance to fly back to Canada during hockey season, so I sometimes feel out of step with the guys because when they're home all the time, I'm in another country.

The Oh, Canada party is my chance to host an event for my friends to remind them that I'm just as much a part of this team as anyone else.

And, of course, to remind them that Canada is the better country in every way.

The morning of the party, Sage is nowhere to be found. I check the whole downstairs floor, but there's no sign of her. I can't find Annie, either, so I assume Sage must have taken her for a walk. No matter, I can get myself ready and prepare the food without her help. So long as she comes back for the party itself, I'll be happy.

I climb the stairs, running through my to-do list again and again, trying to think of anything I might have missed. I have the supplies to make poutine, of course, as well as tourtière and butter tarts. A cooler's worth of Molson's, Labatt, and Moosehead is in the kitchen awaiting ice, and an assortment of maple creams and candies is on standby. I even got my hands on some Clamato so that I can trick Briggs into trying a Bloody Caesar. I bet he'll like it if I don't tell him about the clam broth until afterward.

I strip down to my underwear, lost in my own thoughts, and toss my clothes in the laundry bin. An angry wail startles me back to the present, accompanied seconds later by a thump and a cry of "Dadgummit!"

Annie emerges from beneath my dirty clothes. She gives me the most disapproving feline glare and slinks out of the room. But if she's here…

A few more thumps from my bathroom have me peeking inside to see what I've missed. A pair of worn-out pink cowgirl boots stick out from beneath the sink. Boots attached to some very long, tan, shapely legs. And I'm wearing something completely inappropriate for the way my body is tightening. What the hell is she doing down there?

"Sage?" I ask, tapping one of her boots.

She jumps and mutters an oath when she hits her head on the pipes. "You scared the heck outta me, Bash!"

I crouch down beside her. "I, too, was startled. Your cat is in my laundry, and your boots are outside my vanity. What are you up to?"

"I was trying to take a shower, but the water pressure wasn't that good. I had to figure out what the problem was, so I went around checking the pipes, and hoo boy did I find the issue. Don't you know that you have to clean the drains from time to time? There's so much hair in here I could make my own cable-knit, and…" She emerges from beneath the sink, still grumbling, hair tangled and cascading over her breasts until her eyes land on me. " Oh. "

I straighten up abruptly. My boxer briefs are loose enough that she might have seen… something. Except, even standing up, there's not a lot covering me. Sage's gaze sweeps down my chest, across my stomach, and all the way down my legs before snapping back up to my face. My eyes stay trained on her pebbled nipples underneath the thin fabric of her white tank.

"Sorry!" she says. "I didn't think you'd be… um… gosh, there's a lot of you." She blinks a few times. "Lots of muscles, I mean. Not that I was looking!"

"I think you did," I say. "Look. I saw you look."

Sage crawls back under the sink. "Let me just get this put back together right quick."

I retreat to the bedroom and wait for her to finish up. When she leaves, she charges past me without so much as a peek in my direction. "Sorry to have bothered you, Bash."

She was right about the water pressure. Now that the pipes are clean, the shower is much nicer. As I soap up, I imagine Sage beside me, wet and sudsy. In my fantasy, I take one of those hard nipples in my mouth and suck. Without a second thought, I pump myself a couple of times.

Oof, no, better not to think like that, or my own pipes will require manual maintenance. I cannot nut in my shower with Sage only a few rooms away, and dozens of my friends set to arrive shortly.

Once I finish and dry off, Sage is in the kitchen, already adding ice to the beer cooler. "How can I help? I think you were gonna teach me how to make poutine, right?"

It is so nice having Sage here, building and cooking and decorating. It feels as if we are nesting. Like a real couple. As I show her how I make the filling for butter tarts, I wonder if this is what marriage would look like, having someone capable and affectionate around to spend my days with.

What could I offer her that would compare in any way to what she brings me?

A silly question. She doesn't live here. She has a life, and I'm just one pit stop on her ongoing adventures. A story for her travel blog: the nice Canadian expat who introduced her to hockey for a few weeks during that disastrous road trip to Vegas. A footnote.

But I don't want to be just a brief chapter in her life, mentioned in passing. I want to be the co-author, the one who writes the rest of the stories with her. The thought of being merely a pleasant memory, a small anecdote about Canadian cuisine and hockey games, makes my chest feel tight. How do I become more? How do I ensure that when she looks back on this time, on us, it's with the longing to return to me, instead of making me a faded memory? The fear of being so easily replaceable, of not being enough to make her stay, stirs a desperate urgency in me to create something deeper, something lasting between us.

I just wish I knew how.

When the house smells of maple and poutine, I finally realize what I forgot. I leave Sage in the kitchen and rush back to my room. The Canadian flag I ordered last week is almost the size of a compact car, and I have to enlist her assistance in hanging it over the fireplace.

"You know," she says, "I love my country, but if I walked into someone's house and they had a flag this big, I'd start asking questions."

I brace my hands on my hips. "You think it is too much?"

Sage bobbles her head back and forth. "It's… huge. But so are you. Go big or go home, I guess."

"In that case, consider this soiree underway! Would you like a Bloody Caesar? I can make you one right now."

"Is that a drink?"

"It's like a Bloody Mary, but better. Unless… wait, are you allergic to shellfish?"

Sage stares at me for a moment. "I'm not. But I am worried that you had to ask."

"I'll make you one, and you can decide." I hurry to the kitchen and start mixing. Sage trails after me, her eyes growing larger with every garnish I add. Like Bloody Marys, it's all about the garnishes. A celery stalk, a lime wedge, an olive skewer, a whole slice of bacon, and a single Old Bay cocktail shrimp round out the presentation.

"Golly." Sage approaches the drink warily. "It's a whole meal, huh?"

I present the drink with a flourish. "It's a feast for the eyes. I hope you like horseradish."

Sage nudges the shrimp aside and takes a sip of the drink. Then another. She licks her lips. "I'll give it to you: that's a mighty nice drink."

"Right?" I spread my arms wide. "Is it liquid courage or social lubricant? Take your pick."

Sage pulls the bacon out of her glass. "Social lubricant? Really?"

"What? I learned it from Two and a Half Men ! It's a thing, right? And as Kramer would say, ‘Here's to feeling good all the time.'" I lift my drink to toast her.

Sage bumps her glass with mine. "I'll toast to that, but did you just quote Seinfeld ?"

" Oui , but when I say it, it feels… different, non ?" I wiggle my eyebrows.

"You're a trip." She nibbles her bacon. "Did you really learn English by watching TV?"

"Some. You do what you have to when you're getting teased by the other guys on the team. My English was formal. I understood the words when I came here, but phrases in Québécois and English are not always exact translations. My friends who have been to France have a similar problem. Yes, we grew up speaking a version of French, but Québécois is its own thing."

"While I'm here, I could help you," Sage offers. "Although you've probably figured out that my English is also its own thing."

I try to keep a straight face as I say, " Dadgummit ."

"Yeah." Sage laughs, and the sound is beautiful. "Exactly."

People start arriving soon after. Layla and Scarlett gravitate toward Sage, while Latham and Briggs immediately challenge each other to see how many maple syrup shots they can take over the course of the party.

"They're going to be sick," I hear Layla say.

"They're grown men," Scarlett retorts. "If they are, it's their own fault."

"At least I hid my dick shot glasses, so there's that," Mona intones.

I'm surprised when the door opens to reveal Julie and Dante. Instead of a polite greeting, all I can think to say is, "Oh, I didn't think you'd come."

Dante looks around at the house with obvious disdain. "It wasn't my idea."

Julie snickers. "Dante and I have an understanding."

I lean closer and lower my voice. "Oh, did you make him an offer he couldn't refuse?"

Julie laughs, but Dante's features remain in aggressive neutral. "Ha. Ha. You're really funny. Like stomach cramps while swimming in the deep end."

My smile slips. "That's not funny at all."

"Exactly. You know this wasn't my idea, but since I'm here, how's it going with the girl?"

"The girl? You mean Sage?" I point to where she's standing.

"Right. The cowgirl. With that cat. Speaking of… where is that thing? We had a moment." He looks around, but not very hard, as if he expects Annie to come running with the power of thought.

"Annie's in her own room during the party. She doesn't like most people." I feel bad about sticking her in a small room for most of the day, but Sage said it was for the best. She'll be more stressed out if she's around too many people and is more liable to scare someone.

"I know how she feels." Dante flicks an imaginary fleck of dust off his sleeve. "Let's get real. Is she going to sue?"

"Annie? I don't think she can afford a lawyer." I am funny, dammit, even if Dante doesn't get my jokes.

Again, Julie laughs, but Dante's lip only curls in disgust. "Not Annie, you knucklehead. Sage. Is she going to sue?"

"She hasn't mentioned it."

Of all things, that's what makes Dante smile. "Good. Keep her happy. What do we need to do? Wait, who am I kidding? What do you need to do? What does she like?"

I turn to look at Sage, who is currently surrounded by laughing women. Everyone is avoiding Dante like the plague. I wish I had that luxury. "Um. She likes horses."

Dante nods. "That's good. I'll make some calls. Buy her a horse. Anything else?"

Julie catches my eye. I never expected to have an unspoken understanding with Julie, but just for a second, we're on the same page. We agree that Dante lacks some fundamental element of humanity, and he sees everything as transactional. He thinks he can throw money at any problem to make it magically disappear.

What a miserable way to live.

I choose my next words carefully. "She has horses already. Breeds them, from what I understand. They're world-class. The family has a ranch in Montana."

"Ah." Dante's eyes drift upward. "So, buying another horse won't cut it. I'll think on it."

I release a sigh of relief. I'm starting to see how Julie manages him: by dropping hints and letting him come to his own conclusions.

"Yo, Uncle Dante!" Coop waves an arm over his head. "Come here, we're doing maple shots!"

Dante grabs Julie's arm. "Christ. Get me outta here. When did he think it was okay to start calling me his uncle?"

Julie leads him toward the door, and he only stops long enough to kiss Toni on the forehead and whisper some loving words to her. "Thanks for having us, Bash," Julie says warmly. "I'll be in touch."

Maybe I should call them back and offer Dante some poutine. If anything could force his cold, dead heart to grow three sizes, it would be the magic of poutine. They're gone before I can ask him, though, and anyway, I'm not sure he deserves it.

Sage is talking with Molly and Stella on the porch when I find her again. Stella is extremely pregnant, but she's drinking what looks like a colorful cocktail, while Molly and Sage sip beers.

Stella holds up a hand when she sees my raised eyebrows. "It's a mocktail. I was feeling left out. Sage made it for me."

"At least she can have the moose-shaped cookies." Sage indicates the plate of sweets in the middle of the table. "Those are amazing."

Watching Sage get along with my friends makes me feel all kinds of feelings. She lifts the bottle of Labatt's, and I find myself jealous of the glass that those full lips are wrapped around. What would it feel like to have them wrapped around my hard flesh? Would she swirl the head with delicate licks or suck me straight down the back of her throat until those pretty eyes water? The base of my spine tingles as I consider it. Then I shake my head. I have to stop with this before I get my heart broken. Why does fate have to be so cruel as to put an amazing woman in my path and then not let me have her?

We mingle and chat until the sun sinks toward the desert. Latham, who has been interspersing syrup shots with beers, slides up to Sage.

"Hey, Sage, in case Flossie asks, I could be into some dub-con. I tested… had Scarlett up against the wall last night…"

Anders smacks him. "TMI, dude. We don't talk to ladies that way."

Stella giggles over the rim of her third mocktail. "Ignore his bad attitude. He's just pissed because I'm so pregnant, and I shut him down all the time. He's a little crabby and frustrated."

"Yeah, but did you have to tell everyone?" Anders wraps his arm around her and kisses her cheek. "How am I going to keep up my reputation as a stud under these conditions?"

"You knocked me up good." Stella pats her belly. "I think everyone knows you can get it, babe."

From one of the pool chairs, Delilah says, "I'm a little jealous. I'd be into all the cons. He's probably going to need more social lube." She wiggles her eyebrows at Ranger.

"Oh, yeah?" Ranger slinks over to her and tips up her chin with two fingers. "Let's go home. No lube needed, I promise."

Sage stares down into her drink. "Why don't y'all head out? Bash and I can clean up." She gives Molly a significant look. "Maybe knock someone else off on your honey-do list?"

"Someone?" Noah asks.

"A slip of the tongue." Molly takes his arm. "And speaking of tongues…"

Their departure leaves a new tension between me and Sage. During our preparation for the party, we brushed into each other frequently. Now, we go to great lengths to keep distance between us. I'm not sure what is happening, but I know what I want to happen. Even if she is going to end up leaving me. I'd rather have just a slice of Sage than none at all.

Just this once, I want to know what it feels like to possess the woman you want and not the one you're settling for.

"Sage?" I ask. "I hope Latham didn't upset you. He and Briggs lack a filter."

"Nothing to be upset about." She keeps her back to me. "It wasn't like he made a pass at me or anything. Just talking about how things were going with his wife, and she didn't seem to mind. So, no harm done."

"Right." What could I say right now to ease this tension? I desperately want to touch her. To reassure her.

To kiss her.

I'm still thinking about it when Sage turns around. I didn't realize how close we were standing until she almost bumps into me. "Gosh, sorry!" she blurts and proceeds to trip over my feet in her haste to get away. I catch her to steady her, and she leans into my touch.

A curl of auburn hair lies against the curve of her neck. I want to brush it aside and kiss her throat. I want—

"I'm gonna go read!" Sage blurts.

I take a step back. "Good idea. So will I."

Sage scurries up the stairs first, and I make the climb to my bedroom a few minutes later. Was she uncomfortable? Or did I fumble an opportunity we both wanted?

No point in wondering about it now. In my room, I change into my pajama bottoms and climb into bed. I really don't want to think about what Latham and Scarlett get up to in private, but pinning Sage against a wall? Now, that sounds like an idea I could get behind. Or between. Or into.

I'm not tired yet, so I reach for my nightstand and the book Mona recommended. The first few chapters are kind of slow, but things get interesting around chapter five, and they stay consistently interesting after that.

It's a long time before I fall asleep. Sometime around midnight, I lock my door.

And clean my own pipes.