14. All Rainbows

FOURTEEN

ALL RAINBOWS

BAILEY

C ome Monday morning, our cubicle buzzes with excitement. Peter and Maggie are all ears as I share about my weekend with Kris, the wedding, facing off with my parents and my ex, Kris and I agreeing to see where this leads between us, all of it. As I finish up, the mail clerk delivers an enormous box addressed to me.

“It says it’s from Kris.” I open it to find a few Glaciers’ jerseys. I know which one is mine, the one marked number ten with Kringer on the back. I finger the mascot pictured on the front, a characterized block of ice with a funny face on it, in the team colors of icy blue with bright red accents.

When the team formed, the owners held a contest to create the mascot. Many Portlanders complained of one artist's submission of a block of ice with a face on it, which came from a first grader. It wasn’t the best, but the team owners loved it and selected it to win, anyway.

Maggie grabs a jersey with no name on the back, elated and holding it up to her front. There’s also a couple of hats and bumper stickers and more inside the box, all of which I give to Peter, who practically salivates seeing the stuff. He’s a huge Glaciers fan.

“I took the liberty of printing out the hockey schedule, and I texted a digital copy to your phone,” Maggie explains, possibly even more excited about the news of me and Kris getting together than I am. “You date a player, you need to attend his games at home, at least. And try for some out of town, occasionally, too. In fact, they go to Denver next week for games. I could be down to travel with you there. Road trip!”

I scrutinize the remaining dates of the season, gasping at the realization. “From now through April, they play at least three times per week?” My sudden status as a hockey player’s girlfriend means giving up a lot of my free time if I’m expected to attend as many games as possible.

“And in the playoffs, they could play up to thirty more games until there’s one last team who wins it all. This year, thanks to your—new boyfriend—that could be the Portland team.” Peter dons the new Glaciers hat backwards with a goofy grin on his face like a boy with a new toy. He’s sort of cuter this way.

My—new boyfriend—is generous with all of this stuff, including a card inside the box with a few tickets to his first game with the team this Friday. We haven’t yet talked about me going, but I take it this is him asking me to. Coming home from our weekend on Sunday afternoon, we were both tired and agreed to give each other space to recuperate.

Except he showed up at my door close to midnight. We had a very sexy sleepover. I grin at how he brought me a cup of coffee with plenty of cream and sugar in it to my bedside before he left just after sunrise to go work out. The man’s energy is insane. I should hit the gym more myself so I can keep up with him.

I check my schedule to see when I could fit in more cardio, and one thing on my calendar this Friday pops out at me. Peter’s birthday. I know exactly how to mess with him. “Oh look, tickets to the game Friday from Kris. Too bad I’ll have to miss it since it’s Peter’s big day, and we’re going out to karaoke like we always do on each other’s birthdays.”

“I think we could make an exception this year. After all, wouldn’t want to let Kris down if you’re not there,” Peter insists, lunging for the tickets I hold in my hand, but I pull away.

“Of course you’re taking us to the game, right?” Maggie jumps in. She looks different this morning, with a particular glow on her face and a sheen in her hair. I’ll have to ask her later if she’s using any new products; we try not to bore Peter with conversations about makeup and hair in his presence. “Your two amazing coworkers slash friends would love to accompany you to this game, so you’re not alone.”

“But surely Kris will understand if I can’t make it?”

“And risk giving his stick bad juju? It’d be a great way to piss off half of Portland.” Peter practically jumps down my throat, like he’s upset I’d even try to get out of this one. “Trust me on this, Bailey. The wrong move can screw with a player’s head and undermine his ability to play on the ice. You’re a hockey player’s girl now, so you either need to take this seriously and accept the responsibility or get out of the way and give it to some other woman who can handle the job.”

“Dang. I knew you were a fan, but seriously?” I laugh. “Of course I’m taking the both you to the game. I can’t very well sit in the stands alone, watching a game I hardly understand.”

“Yes. We’re going to the game.” His fist pumps the air. “Happy birthday to me.”

My phone rings and I answer it the moment I see it’s Kris calling, his first phone call to me. I’m cataloging all the firsts we have together in my journal at home. This time last week, my heart was mired in muck. This week, it’s filled with hope and sunshine.

“Good morning, Kris.”

“Happy Monday, Irish. I hope you aren’t too exhausted from the weekend.” His voice comes through clear, brightening my day even more.

“You know exactly who kept me busy this weekend. If I’m tired today, I blame you.”

His sly chortle comes through the phone. “I got the delivery notice that the box arrived. Do you have my jersey on yet?”

“At work? No. The colors would clash with what I’m wearing today.”

“Take it out, go to the bathroom, put it on over what you’re wearing and send me a bathroom mirror selfie of you like that,” he commands.

“Nope. Not happening, but I’ll model it for you tonight with nothing on underneath.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Irish. I’ll take it. It’s a date then. Dinner at my place. And bring the jersey.”

Date…my heart melts.

“Now about Friday’s game…”

“Unfortunately, I have plans.” I’m messing with him. Peter groans behind me.

“Cancel them.”

“I can’t. It’s a birthday karaoke party for Peter, and Maggie comes, too. It’s our tradition as friends, and we don’t mess with it.”

“Hockey game with me first, then you can go do karaoke,” Kris says, his voice commanding.

“Ugh. Why do you have to be so?—”

“Handsome? Irresistible?”

“Cocky.”

“Well, we both know I am cocky. A big one. Long, hard, and oh so satisfying. You held the proof in your hands and doused it in chocolate.”

“Oh my God, I can’t?—”

“Wait to be with me Friday night? I’m looking forward to it, too. See you at the game, Irish.”

He hangs up with a wicked chortle. My mouth drops.

“What the—?” Flabbergasted doesn’t even describe my feelings right now.

“We’re going to the ga-ame. We’re going to the ga-ame.” Maggie and Peter sing-song and hive five.

I blink at them.

“Honey, you somehow had that last call on speaker,” Maggie explains. “So about his cock…”

“Nope, not going there, ladies. You know that any discussion about another man’s genitals in this cubicle is strictly off limits. Don’t you two have deadlines today? Can we get back to work?” Grumpy Peter returns.

“For the record, I think it’s adorable how Kris calls you Irish. It’s like in a romance novel; I love when a man finds the perfect nickname that only he can call his heroine,” Maggie says, and Peter once again clears his throat as a warning he needs his space and complete silence to work.

“I like it, too,” I gush because today the world is full of rainbows and unicorns and I’m…happy, for once.

“I have a great feeling about you two. Fingers crossed,” Maggie continues, then puts on her headphones and tunes me out.

I text Kris, realizing I forgot to thank him.

Bailey: Thanks for the box and tickets.

Kris: I’m glad you’ll be there for my first game.

Bailey: Get a touchdown and I’ll kiss your cheek after.

Kris: You really haven’t been to a game? First, TDs are for pussies who play football. In hockey, we score goals shooting a puck into a net. And we work our asses off for it. So I’d like something more than a peck on the cheek if I score.

Bailey: Like what?

Kris: We still haven’t used the paddle Mal put in the basket.

I swallow hard, a flush instantly rising on my cheeks. Vanilla sex has always been enough for me until a little jar of chocolate sauce and some feathers entered my life. Now I’m wondering what else I’ve been missing. The idea of spanking me with a paddle is a giant leap I’m not quite ready for, though.

Bailey: I have a better idea. Karaoke after the game if you score. You can meet my friends.

Kris: Fine, but I won’t sing. Of course, I’m hoping to score three times. That’s called a hat trick. It’s difficult to accomplish, but I’m known for them on a good night. If I make a hat trick, I think that’s worthy of some paddle play.

I squirm in my seat, and I quickly glance around me. Maggie and Peter are working away, not realizing the turn this text takes with—my new boyfriend.

A thrill works down my spine. I honestly thought our time was over after our one night in the cabin. Then he came back and fought for me to open my heart to possibilities. I’m so glad I did.

Bailey: Maybe. Get all three first and we’ll see.

Kris: That’s all the motivation I need.

Nervous energy spikes through my body, and not only at the prospect of spending more time in bed with Kris, but with him, talking and laughing. He has a way of bringing me out of my shell.

“Oh, Maggie…” I get her attention because I forgot all about her own weekend away. “How was your weekend? Was it all the romance you were hoping for? Tell me about the guy. What’s his name?”

“Oh, um…” She sneaks a glance behind her at Peter, making sure he’s not listening, and whispers. “That guy never showed, but I ran into Peter there, and we got a bite to eat. That was it.” She shrugs away her short, clipped story and starts typing again, returning her headphones to their place on her head.

Strange, but okay. I feel bad she had to be stuck with Peter like that. I really wish she’d find herself a nice man to date for once. The two article deadlines for the bachelor auction and the wedding stare at me, and aren’t going away. I try to write but drift off instead, daydreaming about Kris.

Last night after we spooned a while, he asked me what’s next in my career.

“Will you be an entertainment writer forever? Not that there’s anything wrong with it at all. Just curious.” A lock of my hair slid through his fingertips. He always seemed to play with my hair or touch me in some way, very affectionate, which I adored.

I chuckled and told him a secret I’d kept forever. “Growing up, I wanted to write fiction, actually. I have notebooks full of ideas and bits and pieces. I had to hide them away from my parents because they’d laugh at me for it, reminding me they expected I’d go to law school. Maybe one day I’ll pen a great American novel.”

“That’s amazing, Irish. Don’t listen to your folks. You can do anything you want. You’re so smart.” He kissed my head.

“You are, too. After all, you’re here in bed with me.”

“Oh, look who is turning cocky now. I’ve created a monster.” He bellowed and squeezed me to his body tighter.

“And what will you do when you’re done with hockey?”

He hesitated to answer, with a little sigh. “I hope I don’t see that day soon. But I have a couple of friends who run foundations, and another who runs training camps for players to upgrade their skills. I’ll have money when I retire or stop playing, so maybe I’ll join in with them for something to do. If you haven’t noticed, I need to always be active and doing something.”

“Definitely noticed. Did I wear you out enough to sleep yet?”

“Glad you asked. Not yet.” He dove under the covers, positioning me on my back, and proved to me again how going down was his thing. And he’s a definite ten out of ten at that.

I wake from my daze and force my fingers to the keyboard, starting to write details about the auction. Except they eventually turn into something else. A story inspired by the events that happened between Kris and me in L.A.

Like in a feverish dream, I set words to paper when a muse strikes me. I haven’t felt this muse in years, and I’m not keen on sending the muse away anytime soon. No longer do I have to hide what I’m doing from my family. I have Kris to thank for that.