Page 42 of King of the Crease

“Picturesque. Christmas trees everywhere. The smell of hot cocoa wafting from the shops, the sounds of carolers on the street. It’s a winter wonderland in the truest sense of the word.” His gaze is far off, as if he’s right there, in the thick of everything.

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear someone call Baltimore picturesque. That sounds cool. Baltimore as a Christmas destination. I’ll have to check it out sometime. Do you miss it?”

“Around this time of year, yes. It’s my home. Whatever struggles I have with my family, it melts away during the holidays.”

“Why’d you come here if you love Baltimore this time of year?” I would’ve waited a month to visit my cousin, but that’s just me.

“I guess I needed to get out, and it couldn’t wait. I really needed to play hockey.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a charming smile that has no business capturing my heart.

Nick and I are friends, and that’s it. Whatever buzzy feelings are lighting off like fireworks inside me need to chill out. The comic relief doesn’t get the guy. If Nick fed me a line like the New Year’s guy did— “I’m not looking to date”; “I just want to be friends” —it’d hurt more than the time my sister kicked me in the nuts because she thought guys were lying about it being painful.

Our hands hang dangerously close to each other as we walk. Isn’t there some physics force that compels certain objects together? Inertia? Gravity? Man, I wish I’d paid more attention in class. I’ll ask Brody when I get home.

The rebel in me wants our hands to brush against each other, just to see what would happen. Would we feel a jolt?

An older woman walking in our direction stops and stares at us. With all the queer men in this town, seeing two guys walking together shouldn’t be that surprising. Yet she turns her interest to Nick.

“You look so familiar,” she says to him.

“With so many people in the world, it’s bound to happen,” Nick says.

She stares at him for an extra second. “I swear you look just like⁠—”

“I get that a lot. I have a blandly recognizable face. We gotta get going.” He gives her a pleasant enough nod. Nick presses his hand to my back to get me moving.

And yep, I totally felt a jolt. Although judging by the serious, stoic slant of his eyebrows, I’m the only one who felt anything.

“Who did she think you looked like?” I ask when we round the corner.

“Uh, the guy from Fifty Shades of Grey. Happens all the time.”

The public parking lot is full up with cars. We find my teal blue fifteen-year-old Honda in the middle of the row. Cathy was mortified anytime she had to drive in this. Even after we were divorced, she requested that I not pick up Brody in it. The car still works great, 220,000 miles later.

“The passenger door squeaks for dear life when you open it. That’s normal. It won’t fall off,” I assure Nick.

For some reason, I get the sense Nick has only driven much nicer cars.

“It’d be a fun ride home if it did.”

Nick comes around to my side as I unlock the driver’s side door.

“Hey.” The two dark wells that are his eyes plumb my depths, gazing into me. And before I can ask if he needs anything, he leans forward and plants his lips on mine.

If a hand on my back was a jolt, this is like hugging a wet circuit box. My body sizzles and reconfigures and flits around the known universe. Our mouths open and he slips in the barest hints of tongue, before pulling back.

“Now you can say you’ve had one good, non-burp-y kiss.”

He gets in the car.

I…I need a moment to collect myself. How the hell am I supposed to operate heavy machinery after such a glorious kiss?

I manage to turn on the engine and remember how to operate my car. Gas pedal, break, gear shift. It’s coming back to me.

We don’t speak on the way back to his cousin’s house. I fight to remain neutral. Inside, I’m all giddy smiles.

13

NICK