Page 9 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“We better get back before the rain soaks you,” I say. Because if it does, I’ll be able to see right through that white blouse and my dick will encourage me to seduce her before she has a chance to seduce me.
She gives me a look like she can read my mind, but she says nothing. Instead of putting Curly down, she holds her while we run back to the house with the crazy wind and dark clouds threatening. She’s hampered by the heels, so I take it slow and keep her within arm’s length until we reach the front door. I let her crash inside first, huffing and puffing as if she’s crossed the finish line of a triathlon.
“You’re out of shape, Pink. We’ll have to see about working you out—”
“Don’t even think whatever you have in mind.” She goes for the couch and falls onto it with Curly and it takes everything in me not to sit right next to her, close enough to nuzzle the delicate shell of her ear and the pale white skin of her neck under the mess of silky blond hair. I watch her petting Curly, showering real affection and attention on the lucky little pup.
Then the lights flicker and Pink gently tosses the puppy onto a cushion and jumps to her feet, real panic in her wide eyes. She runs past me into the bedroom and my heart picks up. I’m a die-hard optimist and right now even the idea of Pink in the bedroom in a panic and without me is enticing. A second later, she screams as if someone’s died. “The Internet is down!”
The lights go out before I have a chance to shout back the amused taunt on the tip of my tongue. The pups bark and whimper, mostly whimpering, as they crowd around my legs. My eyes adjust enough to the semidarkness of the early evening when it should still be bright, to see Pink making her way back to me in the living room. Dejection looms on her face as I meet her eyes.
“It’ll be fine. It’s temporary.” I have no cause to say the words except for my need to console her.
“I’ll look for a flashlight,” she says, pulling her shit together. In spite of the dim light, she moves efficiently, with confidence, toward the kitchen, opening drawers. I sit on the ottoman near the pups’ bed, cajoling them into calm, scratching and petting them.
“Or candles,” I call to her. “Candles would be nice.” I look at the fireplace and a smile takes hold from the inside out. A nice cozy fire, candlelight, and a stormy night would be the perfect setting for a seduction. Everything I need to instigate her to make the move.
“Shit,” she says. “These flashlights don’t work. We need new batteries.”
Using our cell phone flashlights, we search for candles. I find a couple of small ones. But they won’t be enough. Fuck, now I’ve used the last of my cell phone’s power.
“We need provisions,” she says. “I’ll go into town and—”
“No way. I’ll go.”
“Why? Because you’re a big macho man—”
“Exactly.”
She rolls her eyes, standing with her hands on her hips, back to her true form. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How about if we both go.” I’m not really asking, because I suddenly don’t want to leave her behind. I want her with me. The irrational imperative feels like some kind of immovable iron wall of need that can’t be defied. It’s like some primitive survival instinct in me’s been kicked up with the storm, surfacing in the form ofprotect the girl or perish. “We’ll take the pups too.”
I sound normal, but I feel far from it. Raw instincts having nothing to do with seduction drive me, tangling with my rational brain in a losing battle. Fuck this shit.
She stares me down then lets out a huff as if she’s giving in, as if she has a choice. “Fine.”
At the supermarket, we join half the town in stocking up on necessities. We clearly should have come earlier because many of the shelves are empty. But we only need to worry about two days. Tops. Then we’re gone. A lurch of disappointment zings me.
Finally in the checkout line with our chips and cookies, ice, bread and cheese and salami, we get to the cashier. Pink engages her in conversation.
“Your husband looks familiar.”
Pink snorts and says, “He’s not my husband. Not even close.”
I don’t like it. I stand closer to her, a reminder that I’m her protector if not her husband or even her boyfriend. I don’t know if she gets it yet. That I’ve taken responsibility for her as if she’s in danger. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me because likely the only danger to her is from me. I roll my shoulders and take a breath, trying to ease up on my internal battle whipped up by the storm.
“You look familiar,” The checkout lady says again.
“Maybe you’ve seen him in a used car commercial,” Pink says.
She’s mocking me, but I like that she answers for me. Am I sick or what? I lean in, far closer than I know she’d like, and get a noseful of deliciousness. I want to nibble her earlobe, but instead I whisper, “You watch my commercials.”
Her shiver and the eruption of gooseflesh along her neck set my dick straight up into begging posture. That’s more like it. Now we’re back on familiar ground, the kind of instincts I know all about, that make perfect sense. She tries shifting away from me, ignores me in favor of carrying on small talk with the cashier. But the genie’s out of this bottle and I can’t wait to get back to the cold, dark house. Her shivering response says she’s into me and it won’t take much to get her to go for the gusto.
“So this is the worst of the storm, right?” she says to the cashier, who sports a pink name tag saying NELLIE. Nellie flicks her gaze at me intermittently and I give her a reassuring smile back.
“Oh no. Haven’t you been watching the weather reports?” Nellie’s face goes all surprised and she practically clucks her admonishment. “The storm’s been upgraded to hurricane level—it has all the meteorologists in an excited tizzy because it hardly ever happens—and it’s coming close. They’re not sure how close.”
