Page 26 of Icy Pour

He sets his cup on the table. “What am I in trouble for?”

“You left without telling me this morning. You can’t leave a man in your bed with no goodbye…he might think you’re trying to run.”

“You were in my bed. I was always going to come back.” He smirks. “But now that you mention it, I do have something else.”

I tilt my head, my brows raised. “Oh yeah?”

He nods as I take a sip of the caffeine my body’s craving. “When I was at the pastry shop, they had some posters on the wall. And I saw one and decided…” He taps his fingers on the table, the rhythm faster and unsteady. “I decided I’m going to try.”

My jaw falls open, but no words spill out. What the hell is he talking about?

He pulls an envelope out of his coat pocket and passes it across the table. I feel the heat flush on my own damn cheeks, and I swear a tiny little bit of mist forms in my eye. Must be some dust in here. I open the packet to find two tickets to tonight’s Riders game.

“You got me hockey tickets?”

“No,” he says firmly as he places a hand on mine. “I got us tickets.”

I walk around the table, palming his cheek. “You don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”

“I know. I mean, I’d like to not make out in front of the entire arena, but we can maybe share a popcorn.”

“Walter Bennet, are you asking me to share a popcorn bucket with you?” I gasp. “What if people see us and think that we…you know…both like popcorn?”

His deep roar of laughter is warm enough to melt the thickest layers of ice during a winter storm, my body heating at the sound.

“I could listen to you laugh all day, boss. In fact, I’d do just about anything to hear that sound every day.” I lean in to press my lips against his in a quick, gentle, morning kiss like any other couple. Would he want that? To be like any other couple? The hope woven into the thought is strong, but that damn fickle bitch of doubt still creeps in. He could get angry, panic, and spiral at any moment. I shake away the thought, choosing to focus on what’s in front of me. Him. “You know, now that I think about it, no one’s ever gotten me gifts before. It’s almost like you want to sleep with me or something.”

“Something like that.”

“Milwaukee Steel Riders gooaaal! Scored by number ten, Gordon Calhoun!” the announcer yells over the loudspeaker, my cheers joining in with the roar around me. The Riders are up 3–2, and the crowd is going wild.

“You weren’t kidding!” Walt leans over to yell above the noise of the fans. “This is a fun sport.”

“Have I been wrong about anything yet?” I ask, settling back into my seat.

He shakes his head with pursed lips. “Very funny.”

“Well…have I?”

“I don’t think we’ve covered enough topics.”

I laugh and give him a quick little nudge on the arm. “Maybe we can play Trivial Pursuit later.”

“You like board games too?”

“If it’s one I can whoop your ass at, you bet I do.”

His shoulders shake as he laughs. “Didn’t peg you as the competitive type.”

“I’m not that competitive, buuut…” I sing-song as I lean in a little closer, making sure he’s the only one that can hear me. “I think you’d like it if I whooped your ass.”

The flush across his cheeks is redder than the line in the middle of the ice. I sit back and toss a handful of popcorn in my mouth, knowing I’ve gotten him rattled once more. If getting him worked up is a game, then I’ll work my damnedest to be sure I win every time.

“Hey, Walt; that you?!” a voice calls out across the crowd, interrupting the moment.

The man beside me who was joking around moments earlier turns white as a ghost, his body rigid as he scoots as far away from me as possible. My stomach twists harder than the ankle of the player they took back to the locker room earlier in the game. This can’t be good.

“Oh…hey, Bob,” he says, his voice strained as he forces a smile.