Overnight Sensation(77)

“Almost. I have to finish my lashes.”

“No you don’t,” I argue. We still bicker all the time, and sometimes our arguments get heated. The dumber the argument, the more stubborn I become. I swear Heidi almost punched me last night when we were arguing over which pizza toppings are the most all-American.

I can’t even remember what position I took in this great debate. I think I made a speech about the importance of sausage, and she made a speech about the patriarchy. After we fought it to a bitter draw, though, the make-up sex was spectacular.

“You know, babe,” I say, instigating yet another argument just because I can. “Eyelashes don’t really matter. No guy ever turned to his buddies in the bar and said, ‘Look at the lashes on that one.’”

She doesn’t take the bait. She screws the cap onto whatever diabolical dye or paint or glue she was using and then turns to face me. And this is how I lose arguments, because she’s so pretty I get a little distracted. “Jason, the lashes aren’t supposed to be noticeable. But they’re part of the whole effect.” She makes jazz hands to emphasize this point.

And, fuck, I guess she’s right. Because the whole effect is making me wish we had a few extra minutes, so I could pull up that soft-looking sweater and…

She snaps her fingers in my face. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t make your horny face. It’s time to go.” She slips past me.

“I have a horny face?”

“Of course! All men do. Yours is sort of cross-eyed, and your tongue hangs out of the corner of your mouth.” Her phone pings.

“No it doesn’t! Jesus.” I chase her toward the kitchen, hoping for a kiss.

She puts her coffee cup in the sink. “The car is downstairs. Saddle up!”

“Oh fuck.” I sigh. “I need two more minutes. I forgot to make my peanut butter and…”

Heidi grabs a paper lunch bag off the counter and thrusts it into my hands. And from the weight and shape, I know it can only be another peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich, cut diagonally just how I like it.

“Ohh.” I let out a moan of happiness. And, fuck. My tongue is hanging out—but just a little. And only for a second. “You’re the best girl in the whole fucking world.” And can I take off your sweater now?

“Had to do it,” she says. “Can’t break the streak. San Jose looks tough this season.”

“But I’m tougher, right?” I actually puff out my chest.

“Of course, baby. That’s just a given.” Her heeled boots click importantly on the wood floor as she hefts her suitcase off a chair.

“Hey now,” I say, stopping her. “I said I’d carry that.”

“I can lift my own bag,” she says at close range, those big eyes going slightly soft now that we’re nose to nose.

“Sure you can,” I whisper. “But you’re not going to carry it when I’m standing here with two functioning arms. Thanks again for the sandwich. I know you’re doing it for the whole Brooklyn franchise. But I sure do appreciate it.”

Her gaze softens again. “I know you do. And I’m not superstitious at all. Peanut butter and jam can’t beat San Jose. I only make that sandwich because it makes you happy.”

Well, now I have to kiss her. I duck my head and quickly skim my lips across hers. She stands up on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around me while I slowly claim her mouth.

“Mmm.” Heidi sighs against my tongue as we kiss.

Didn’t I say it’s been a great month? I pull her body against mine and her warmth does nice things to my heart.

“Keep the make-out sesh brief,” Silas says from the front hall. “Isn’t it time to go?”

My girl pulls back with a smile on her face. “I’ll let you carry my bag if only to save your tender male ego.”

“Good call.” I steal one more kiss. “It will be nice having you in my hotel room tonight.”

Slowly, she shakes her head. “The support staff are staying at a Holiday Inn near the airport.”

“What? No! I need you close to me.”

“We’ll see,” she says. “I don’t want to look like a prima donna.”

“You’re not,” I insist. “And please don’t rent a shithole apartment just to prove your independence. It doesn’t need proving.”

She lifts her blue eyes to mine. “Maybe it does. To me.”

“Oh.” I really don’t see why that would be. But I’m a smart enough man not to say so. “Let’s go to California. What job did you say you were working on this trip?”

“I didn’t say.” She strides into the hallway in front of me. And I swear there’s an extra little butt wiggle there that’s meant to torture me.





My girl is right. San Jose does look tough this season. The game is a gongshow. It’s dirty. So many of our opponent’s hands are grabbing various parts of my body, that it’s more like a rave than a hockey game.

Midway through the second period we have a hard-fought 1-1 draw. I’m gulping Gatorade when Coach says, “Let’s mix it up a little. I’m putting your line up for the faceoff next time.”