Roman (Cold Fury Hockey #7)(42)
“Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom,” I say with no hesitation.
“Never saw it,” she responds. Another casual strum, her fingers very light on the strings.
I shift on the couch, scooting my body down a bit more. We’re on opposite ends, facing each other. Lexi ditched her boots and she’s sitting cross-legged with her back against the armrest. I’m laying sprawled on my back, also having removed my shoes. My body is longer than the couch, so my legs are slightly bent, with my feet resting on the cushion at the sides of her hips.
“Not surprised,” I say lazily. “I think it was made before you were born.”
“If it’s so old, how come you’ve seen it?” She’s stopped strumming and is watching me with her head tilted to the side.
I shrug. “I like action movies. Even the older ones.”
“I like chick flicks,” she says with a grin. “What’s your take on them?”
“That you should never ask me to watch one with you,” I tell her adamantly.
I’m thinking there are a lot of ways I’d be happy to spend my time with Lexi, but I do have my limits.
Lexi snorts at my response. “I’ll give you a pass.”
We’ve been sitting here lobbing questions at each other since we finished dinner over an hour ago, and in that time I’ve learned some very interesting things. For instance, she was bitten by a copperhead snake when she was fifteen while hiking in the woods with friends, and to get over her fear after that, she took a snake-handling course through a local wildlife agency. Though it was no surprise to me, I learned she’s a daredevil and a bit of an adrenaline junkie, bungee jumping being her favorite rush. She’s highly allergic to bees and carries an EpiPen in her purse. She’s also slightly allergic to shellfish, but that doesn’t stop her from eating it. Lexi’s favorite food is spaghetti, she hates carrots, and is a terrible baker, but she continually tries with repetitive failure.
Lexi likes to read psychological thrillers, has a soft spot for dogs, admitted the fact I work with golden retriever rescue was a major point in my favor, and once got arrested for underage drinking when she was seventeen. She snores lightly when she sleeps, hates taking baths, preferring a shower instead, and almost choked to death once when she was dared to try to swallow a tablespoon of cinnamon.
I’ve learned a ton of other inane stuff about her, but some important stuff as well. Her favorite flower is a yellow rose, her birthday is week after next—she’ll be twenty-seven—and she’s never had a relationship last longer than six months.
“Best vacation you’ve ever had?” I ask her, since it’s my turn to question.
“That’s easy,” she says with a fond smile. “When I was eleven, my mom took me to Disney World. She had saved up for like three years to be able to do it, because as you know, teachers don’t make all that much money, but it was amazing. She rode all the rides with me, and I had so much junk food I almost got sick. It was amazing and my lesson from it was if I have kids one day, I’m going to start saving up money a lot sooner so I can take them when they’re a little younger.”
She speaks with such determination there’s no doubt that it’s a goal she’s had set in her mind for a very long time. While the passion with which she talks about that vacation and her desire to pass that on to her own kids one day is touching, it’s also a bit of a mystery to me. Vacation for me was my parents shipping me off to my grandmother’s house for long weekends when I was growing up. Trying to imagine my mother and father at Disney World is quite ludicrous, actually. It wasn’t until I was an adult and playing professional hockey that I started to appreciate the time off in the summers and made efforts to travel for pleasure and play, but never once did I feel like I was missing anything growing up. I guess when you don’t have something or know of something, it’s hard to miss it.
Lexi starts picking out a tune on her instrument and I recognize it immediately: “Let It Be,” by the Beatles.
She starts to sing the song that most everyone in the world knows, using a combination of strumming and picking at the strings, alternating back and forth fluidly. I watch her carefully, love how she closes her eyes sometimes when she’s particularly feeling a lyric or melody, and when she opens them back up, they’re on me and nowhere else. That voice of hers…smoky, husky, so fucking sexy. She has no hesitation holding my gaze as she performs, always doing so with a sweet smile, and I admire that there’s not a moment of shyness or doubt in herself that causes her gaze to drop.
When she finishes the song and only after the last chord fades away, I nod toward the ukulele in her hands and tell her in a gruff voice, “Put that down and come here.”
Her eyebrows rise, but there’s clear interest in her eyes. “Come there?” she asks for clarification as she points to my body.
I tap my chest. “Right here. Right on top of me.”
Lexi’s cheeks flush and a little puff of breath blows out of her, but she immediately leans to her side and places her instrument on the floor.
With absolutely no hesitation, she comes up to her knees and slowly crawls up my body. Our gazes are locked tight and her eyes darken with intensity. When her chest comes level with mine, and her knees are pressed into the cushion just inches from my crotch, she asks me softly, “You going to kiss me?”