Page 84 of A Guy Walks Into My Bar
I groan. “You realize that sounds red-hot?”
“I know. That’s the issue. We’ll combust. But you made your pact for a reason. You need to honor it. I want you to honor it.” His hand slides down to my shoulder, along my arm. “I’m not going to be with anyone else. I can’t.”
“I can’t either.”
Dean squeezes my arm. “Do you get it? Why I’m saying this?”
I swallow roughly, getting it. “I do. You’ll be all I think about, and I need to focus on the ice, on the game plan.” I draw a deep breath. “But what then? After the season starts?”
“Maybe when you’ve done your thing, whatever this pact thing is and however it works, then call me. Text me. FaceTime me. We’ll do . . . something.”
I manage a sliver of a smile. “Something?”
My guy roams a hand over the fabric of my shirt. “Something good.”
I can smile again. The prospect of his something, someday is enough to keep me going. “Yeah? You mean it?”
Dean pushes his pelvis against mine. “Of course I mean it, dickhead.”
I laugh and slide a hand around the back of his head. “You sure?”
“Yes. And I don’t know what happens then, so don’t ask me now. I don’t have a crystal ball. All I know is I care about your career and your job and your family, and I don’t want to be the reason you can’t focus, or that your teammates toilet paper your locker or whatever it is that you guys do.”
I smirk. “You think they’d TP my locker if I got distracted by the sexy British bartender I left behind? That’s what you think they’d do?”
He shrugs. “I honestly have no clue.”
I laugh. “Maybe they’d throw eggs at my car?”
“You have a car?”
“No. I don’t have a car.” I clear my throat. “They won’t TP my locker, or throw eggs at my car, or pour glue in my shampoo. They’d do something else if I was all fucked in the head.”
“What would they do?”
“My captain would give me words. He’d sit me down, tell me to focus. To get my head out of my ass. He’d tell me to do more passing drills. More shooting drills. More one-on-one drills.”
“That last one sounds fun,” Dean says, wiggling his brows.
“One-on-one drills with you and me sounds hella fun.” I cup his cheeks. “I thought you were ending this.”
Dean shakes his head. “No. I don’t think I can.” He lets out a long exhale. “But, Fitz, I still don’t have any idea how to make us work. I have no more answers today than I did yesterday. All I know is you need to focus on your job for the next thirty days or however long, and I think you can do a better job at that if you’re not doing naked stripteases for me over FaceTime.”
I let out a low rumble, then tug on the waistband of his jeans. “Let me show you my striptease right now.”
And that’s what I do.
Still, the morning marches to a cruel end.
I pack my bag, zip it up, and unplug my phone from the wall where it charged this morning.
A message from Ransom sits on the screen.
Ransom: You ready? You better be. We’re gonna bring it.
I send a quick reply.
Fitz: Let’s fucking do this.
Ransom: World domination, bro. World domination.
Fitz: Nothing less.
I close the thread, one more reminder that Dean is right. Best to shut this thing with him down for now. For a while.
Fifteen minutes before I need to go, Emma rings the buzzer. She comes upstairs, where I give her a hug and tell her I expect regular updates.
“You’ll get more than you can handle,” she says.
“I can always handle your updates,” I tell her.
She stands on tiptoes to give Dean a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you around.”
“Be sure to come by some time,” he says.
“And let me know if you ever want to go to the National Gallery.”
I roll my eyes, cutting in. “Are you guys trying to kill me here? You’re making me ridiculously jealous.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll livestream the Van Goghs for you,” she teases.
“It’s not the Van Goghs I want to see,” I tell her.
She shoots me a duh look. “I know, James. I know.”
We walk out together, the three of us, and as I wait for the Lyft to Heathrow, I walk with Emma a few feet away. “Thanks again,” I tell her.
She smiles. “I had a feeling about the two of you.”
“You were right,” I say.
“Call me when you figure out what you’re going to do.”
“There’s nothing to do.”
“Like I said. I’ll be here.”
She waves goodbye and leaves, and I return to Dean and the Lyft that’s pulled up.
I nod toward the car. “Come with me to the airport.”
“Ah, the old airport goodbye.”
“Give me the airport goodbye, babe.”
“As if I’d do anything else.”
