6. Noah

6 /

noah

I’m such a chicken. And I’m not sure who I’m more afraid of—Frankie or her brother. Maybe it’s a combination of them both.

That was my moment. The moment. I didn’t kiss her last night, and now I’m never going to get the chance again. I feel it like a rock sitting heavy in my gut.

I blew it.

To top things off, I was basically a zombie at the bar last night, and it felt as though Anthony was grilling me the whole time. First, over the fact I barely finished a single beer. Second, when I didn’t lose my shit when the Bears scored a last-second touchdown before halftime. And then when I excused myself early before they pulled off what I’ll admit was a huge upset win that everyone will be talking about until the new year.

The only thing I am absolutely sure of is that my old Warrior goalie stick is getting a new home. I simply need to figure out where Conner Graham lives. And find a way to get it out of this locker room without Anthony asking me a dozen questions.

“You want to work the goal a little tomorrow morning?” He swats his hand towel in my direction before flipping open his locker.

“Sure. The sprints are good for me, too, though.” I shrug, surprisingly not as winded as I was yesterday. I don’t even remember the last set of sprints. Maybe I blacked out.

“Yeah, I know. But I figured even the great Noah Drake could use some practice,” he says through laughter. There’s an acerbic tone in his voice. I’ve always sensed a little jealousy, but I try really damn hard to make Anthony feel like my equal. I’m getting a little tired of diminishing myself to make him feel better. Or maybe this feeling comes back to Frankie. Perhaps I’m just tired of him telling me to stay away.

I roll my neck and rub the back of it.

“I’ve never said I’m too good for practice, dude.”

He slumps down on the bench a few feet to my left, tugging his T-shirt and practice jersey over his head before tossing them into the open duffel now at his feet.

“Yeah, I know. I was just fucking around.”

I drop my chin and roll my head to the side, forcing a smile I don’t mean on my mouth. He’s fucking around, but he never finds out. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

“You know, I’m sure my sister would sign whatever form you need for school to say you volunteered those hours. I bet we can find other people to take some of the shifts.” He stands and grabs his body wash and a clean towel, turning to point a finger at me as he backs away toward the showers.

“I don’t like cheating,” I say.

He laughs loudly this time, his head falling back as his palm flattens on his stomach.

I scowl, but he ignores my expression and points at me again.

“You’re fucking hilarious.”

His laughter fills the steam-filled locker area and follows him all the way to the showers as I hunker down for a few minutes and consider his words. Is that really what he thinks of me? That I’m a cheater? Like at hockey? Or . . . life?

I run my towel over my head, drying my damp hair by hand before slipping on a clean undershirt. I’m not planning on being Disco Santa today, though it was kind of fun to catch Frankie looking at me like she wanted me.

I step into the red pants, deciding to wear my compression pants underneath this time. As heavy as this costume is, it’s shit at keeping a body warm. Once my outfit is complete, my beard tucked in my pocket, and my gear bag packed, I snag my old hockey stick and speed out of the locker room before Anthony is done with his shower. He’s got ten minutes before he has to report to the ice for the kids’ camp, so I doubt he’ll pay a visit to his sister and me out in Santa’s Village.

I tuck the stick on the floor of the back seat of the Bronco just as Frankie pulls up next to me. My pulse quickens, and I feel like a dork for being so excited that she parked right next to me, but I am. It makes it a lot less obvious when I walk her to her car, and maybe I’ll find a way to recreate last night’s magic.

I’m grabbing my skates from the back when she peers through the window on the passenger side of my SUV.

“Hi,” she says, fogging up the glass while she spies at me through binoculars made of her hands. She steps back, leaving two circles in the condensation, then completes the drawing with a dot for the nose and a huge U-shaped smile.

“You’re happy this morning.” I chuckle. I wasn’t happy until now.

“Yeah, I guess I am. Yesterday was fun.” She shrugs, then steps around the front of my Bronco to meet me by the driver’s side. She taps my chin with a cold fingertip, and I pretend to bite it. I’m relieved when she giggles. I can be playful with her.

“I mean, your beard is missing. There might be kids out here.”

“Oh, yeah. Good point.” I snatch it from my pocket and loop it around my head and ears, pressing the sticky part under the mustache to my upper lip, but it slips loose right away.

“I’m not sure this thing is going to make it through the season.” I blow upward at the fake white hair that’s sticking to my lips.

“ Hmm , come with me.”

Frankie tugs the white fluff on my sleeve, and though it’s not quite holding hands, it feels a little like it. I let her drag me out to the public ice rink, where she unlocks the side gate for the red carpet that leads to our workshop set. My eyes scan the rink, and I raise my hand and bellow, “Ho, ho, ho,” when a little girl skating with who I guess is her mom pauses to stare at me. She tugs her mom’s sleeve, and the woman bends down, nodding before the two of them skate in our direction.

“Sorry, I think I snagged our first customer. Whatever this fix is, I hope you can deploy it quickly.”

“I can. Don’t worry. You just take a seat on your chair. You can put your skates on there.” She literally slaps my ass to send me on my way, and I yelp a little, just loud enough for her. At least, I hope that’s all it was.

I scurry to my chair and slip off my slide shoes so I can lace up my skates. Frankie flips open a lockbox and pulls out a small pink bag. She rushes over to me, stopping to greet the little girl and her mom on her way. She instructs them to wait behind the set, shielding us in case this beard business gets tricky.

“He’ll be ready in one minute. Santa likes to skate during his breaks, so he’s getting his blades on.” Frankie sells the story easily, and when the little girl bounces excitedly, I feel as though I want to, too.

“Hold still,” she says, unzipping the small bag and pulling out what looks like fake eyelashes.

“Are you going to glue a bunch of those under my nose and hope people don’t notice they’re brown?” A breathy, slightly nervous laugh slips from my mouth. Frankie leans her weight to one side and pops a hand on her hip as she purses her lips and flutters her eyes at me.

“I’m going to use the glue, bonehead. You get hit a lot with those pucks?”

She pulls the strip of glue from one of the sets of lashes and leans forward, resting her hand on my upper thigh while she steadies her other hand to press the glue in the perfect spot. I’m not sure why she has the fake lashes because hers are already so long and thick. They bat a few times inches from my face until her gaze settles on mine. I don’t dare look away, but I can see enough of her mouth to spot the crooked smile pulling up her top lip.

“What?” Her voice is soft but not quite a whisper.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . you don’t need those things, is all. You’ve always had really nice lashes.”

Yeah, Frankie. I notice your lashes.

My mouth falls into a soft, closed smile as my neck heats. A touch of pink colors Frankie’s cheeks. The shade grows deeper as she places another dab of glue above my mouth and fights against letting her smile get bigger.

I lift my hand to position the mustache just right, but Frankie’s hands tangle with mine. Our eyes connect.

“Let me do it so it’s not crooked,” she says.

I give a slight nod, and her delicate fingers press the soft hair against my face, locking it in place. She tugs the beard a few times, then combs her fingers through the curls to give it the official Santa look. Somehow, she has managed to maneuver her body so she’s straddling my right leg. My gaze dips, and I shift in the chair, glad I’m wearing both sports boxers and compression pants.

When her fingers sink into the beard and nudge my chin upward, I flit my gaze back to hers. I widen my eyes and relent with a guilty, crooked smile. I expect her to back away and roll her eyes, but instead, she bites her lip, the inside of her leg leaning into the inside of mine in no other way than on purpose.

“How do you know these lashes are real? Maybe I wear fakes all the time.”

My head tilts to the side as I take in the entirety of her face.

“They’re real. I can tell. I know those lashes, and I know that face.”

Her breath hitches, and I feel her air kiss my nose when she exhales.

“You better get ready for this kid. She looks excited,” she says as she backs away. I clear my throat as she spins around, and I note the extra sway in her hips. That skirt she’s wearing dances just above the curve of her ass.

“She’s not the only one excited,” I mumble, exhaling with a whoosh as I stand and do a lap around Santa’s chair.

We were busier today than yesterday. Norris set up just as I finished hearing the very long wish list from our first visitor of the day. By the time we finished with the girl’s photo session, the line of kids and parents and couples and, awkwardly, random single women, stretched to the parking lot. I barely had time to take a water break, let alone stretch my legs and skate a few laps. I managed to get one session in but was joined by about a dozen kids who wanted to link hands and skate with Santa.

I can’t lie. I loved every minute of it.

Frankie and I help Norris pack up again. When we reach his car, he stops us while he fishes something out of his glovebox.

“I figured you two might want to remember this holiday,” he says, handing a manila envelope to Frankie.

She eyes him skeptically and slips out a large eight-by-ten photo.

“Oh!” she laughs out, hugging the print against her chest.

“Let me see,” I insist, but Frankie only hugs the photo tighter.

“In a minute,” she says, flashing me wide eyes.

My body warms and a flash of sweat trickles down the back of my neck as I wonder what exactly Norris captured in that shot. He steps into Frankie, kissing her cheek before speaking something in her ear. His gaze passes me, accompanied by an odd smirk, as he gets into his car.

We both wave goodbye from across the hood of his car. My upper lip still stings from where Frankie ripped the mustache and beard from my skin. I’m not sure I can handle ten more days of that.

“Are you going to tell me what he said?” I finally ask.

Frankie begins to stroll toward her car, and I squint my eyes. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this move. When we were kids, she used to swipe the last Otter Pop from my parents’ freezer and wander off before Anthony or I noticed.

“Nope.” She speeds away, darting for her car a quarter second after refusing to share the picture I’m in with her.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

I sprint after her, dropping my skates between our two cars as she rushes around them in a figure eight. I finally catch her as she flings open the back door of my Bronco to crawl inside and go out the other side. My arm circles her waist as her hands stretch forward to keep the envelope and photo out of my reach. She freezes instantly, and her arm muscles slacken, allowing me to finally grasp the picture in my hand.

“That’s your high school stick. The one you saved for all summer your junior year.” Her body flexes underneath mine, both of our lungs working a little extra from running around the cars.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, holding my weight up with my free hand grasped around the seat back. Even bracing myself, my chest covers her back.

I lift myself more as she shifts, reaching for the stick on the floor. I sit back on my knees as she moves to lay on her side, holding the blade in her hand.

“I figured I don’t use it much anymore. The college bought me a dozen of them, and I’ll probably have to use a sponsor brand for the rest of my life, and?—”

She lays the stick back on the floor and twists until she’s on her back, resting on her elbows while I straddle her legs. This position we’re in is so far beyond a simple kiss after getting caught up in the moment. This is the kind of predicament two people fall into before they blur lines for good. I should be reveling in it. I’ve wanted it for months. I’ve really wanted it for days. But the way Frankie’s looking at me right now somehow makes everything feel heavier. It’s making me doubt my next move. My next word. Next breath.

“Conner Graham,” she says, her voice a raspy whisper.

I chew at my bottom lip and scrunch a shoulder.

“There are two Graham households in Miller Brook, and one is in the senior center, so I figured?—”

Frankie sits up in a flash and grabs the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to hers before I have a chance to finish my thought, let alone my sentence. My hands fly to her face, cradling it as her mouth widens to deepen our kiss. A faint whimper escapes her as she breaks for only a breath, then clutches at the buttons along my chest, pulling me down until I’m caging her between my arms.

She nips at my upper lip as I suck in her plump bottom one, my teeth grazing along her soft skin until her mouth eventually slips from my hold. A ragged breath accompanies my name for about a second before she covers her face with both of her hands. I sit up, this time giving her enough room to pull her legs out from under me and sit up on her own, a good two feet of space between us.

I rub the back of my hand along my mouth, not shocked at the smear of pink that comes off. Frankie stares at me with wide eyes, then swivels her head to stare at the quiet and empty rink outside the windshield. She drags her index finger along the edge of her mouth, and I breathe out a laugh.

“You’re going to need a mirror.”

Her body quakes with a silent laugh, her smile fleeting. She steps out of my Bronco, and I shift to sink back in the seat by myself, groaning when she shuts the door. I’m not sure how many times I’m allowed to get this wrong.

Was that wrong? I let her decide. I followed her lead. That kiss was real.

My brow lifts in surprise when Frankie opens my passenger door and flips down the visor to check her seriously smudged lipstick in the mirror.

“Can I go with you?” Her gaze shifts just enough to meet mine in the reflection.

“Uh, yeah. I’d like that. I mean, I think Conner would like that.”

I’d like that. Why can’t I just say I’d like that?

I flip over the now crinkled photograph and press the dome light. It’s not the shot I was afraid Norris captured, the one where I nearly finished in my Santa trousers thanks to my helper’s ass on my swollen cock. But I see what I think got to Frankie. Norris managed to snap the one moment our eyes were locked in a trance, and the strangest sense of wonder and possibility hung in our expressions.

We look like two people in love.

“It’s a nice photo.”

I smile at it and think of how much my mom would love this shot.

“It is.”

I flit my gaze up to meet hers again in the mirror.

“You can keep it,” she says.

I drop my attention back to the image, tracing the curve of her leg, light along her arm, and rosy, perfect face.

“Thanks.”

She flips the visor back up as I tuck the photo back inside the envelope. I’ll flatten it under some books or something. Or maybe I’ll see if Norris will print us each new ones. I guess that depends on how this mission goes.

I pull the beard back out of my pocket and slip it on as I climb into the driver’s seat. I need to stay in character in case Conner spots me. This job is bigger than me.

“They might lock the gates before I can get you back to your car. You just want to follow me?”

Frankie shakes her head, then reaches her hand to where mine rests on the gear shift. Her palm blankets the back of my hand, and I flex my fingers so she can slip hers in between.

“I’ll hitch a ride with Anthony in the morning. I’d like to watch you two skate. It’s been a while.”

My mouth forms its first easy smile of the night.

“It has.”

Four months, six days, and a handful of hours.