CHAPTER 3 #2
I remembered my orgasm as I ate my cranberry chicken salad and I found his stats online. I quickly got back to work when a plethora of Sasha and the movie starlets on his arm reminded me of who I was.
“Ain't gonna happen, Lucy.” I couldn't eat anymore so I pulled my goggles from their hook and went back to work.
By 3:30 p.m. Paulie walked in the front door for our pizza date. His hand pulling at my shirt startled me enough to almost nick my finger on the saw.
“Paulie, what did I tell you?” I barked.
“Stop swearing?” He was confused.
“Don't walk up on me when I'm cutting.”
“Sorry.” He let out a large sigh, dropping his book bag in a pile of sawdust and digging in his pockets for a quarter to put in the machine I kept in the back for him. Chocolate candies funneled into his hands as his eyes dropped.
“I'm almost done. I just want to finish this chair back.” My mind was lost in the buzz and the hum the saw left in my fingers as I inlaid a scrolling 'S' as a special request. The band saw was too rigid so the tight curves of the S were not as precise as I wanted, but I could fix it later with hand tools and a router.
“All right there.” I threw my safety glasses on the nearest table and flopped beside the kid. “How did you even make it to school? I'm like dragging right now.” I stole a candy from his ink-stained paw and bit it.
“Mom let Grandma drive me in late.” His eyes darted from surface to surface undoubtedly trying to find my change cup.
I dug in my pocket and slid a quarter in his direction. A mound of wood shavings gathering like snow piled up from a plow. “That's it though.” My voice caught in my throat as a yawn ripped through my body. “Oh, Shit. I'm tired. What kind of pizza do you want tonight?”
“Pepperoni.”
“Again? I swear you're going to turn into a pepperoni one day.” I picked up the dangling wall phone, a relic that came with the place, and waited as Lilo's Pizza rang endlessly.
“I can't help what I like.” Paulie shrugged his shoulders. His facial expressions resembling an old wise guy. His youth fleeting in the moment.
Neither could I. The hockey brute flashed before my eyes. His solid stomach with just enough chest hair. That line that cuts just below his hockey pants.
Yeah, I googled him shirtless, so what.
“You want wings?” There needed to be a quick subject change.
“No, maybe a salad.” He rolled his eyes.
“A salad? Man, you turn ten and now you want to eat healthy?” I laughed at him.
“Seeing The Sarge last night made me want to work at hockey more and when I asked Mom how I could skate better she said eat more salads.”
“All right.”
They finally answered the phone and took my order.
Half an hour later they rang the delivery door buzzer in the back and ten minutes after that Paulie had so much dressing on his salad it completely defeated the purpose.
But I didn't have the heart to tell him.
It was the first time I saw him eat anything green without an argument since he was born.
Two slices and an over-dressed salad made me loosen the top button of my work pants. I stretched the cold muscles that seized in my arms after a grueling eight hours of lifting and cutting.
“I think I want to write him a thank you note.” Paulie eyed his pizza.
“Babe, a ten dollar tip for walking two blocks is a thank you note. The pizza was overcooked to boot.”
“No, not the pizza guy. The Sarge!” He looked at me like I was dumb for not being able to read his mind.
My heart flew up into my throat at the mention of his nickname. The Sarge. I tenuously chewed on the same piece of bread until it no longer held form in my mouth. "I – I." My brain sputtered to start. Shirtless kitten holding pictures flooded my fallopian tubes with pure estrogen.
“I don't know where we would send a letter.” I guzzled soda.
“I found it this morning.” Paulie slammed down a scribbled piece of paper on the band saw table. Grease left over on his fingers made the little word “Sarge” melt. The address for the team beamed at me.
“I think that would be really nice of you.” I smiled.
“You don't think it's stupid?” He dropped the crust back into the pizza box.
“Being polite is never stupid.” I scrambled into my office and found thank you cards I use for the annoying customers that send flowers and baked goods when they've known their million last-minute changes to a piece of furniture was a pain in my ass.
“Here.” I handed him a card and pen.
“What the hell am I supposed to say?”
“How the hell should I know?” I winked at him and nudged him off his oak stool I had finally stained two weeks before. Paulie scratched his temple with the pen and started to chew on the tip until I swatted it out of his mouth.
“Don't do that, you'll break your teeth. As a hockey player you have to keep them as long as you can. And just say what you feel.”
“I think you're the best hockey player on earth and meeting you was highlight of my life.”
"Yeah, that sounds nice.” The pen thumped against my cheek as I wondered what I would say if I had the guts to write him a note.
Please jump my bones didn't seem appropriate. I want you inside me. Sounded even worse. So, I wrote nothing.
I took the letter and placed it in the envelope and had Paulie write his name and address in the top left corner, then address it to The Pucks.
For some strange reason, unknown to my mind, before I let the envelope fall from my fingers into the blue mailbox, I kissed the tan paper and held it to my chest.
“Thanks.” I whispered as it spun into the abyss of the mailbox.
“Do you think he'll write us back, Lulu?”
“Honestly Babe, I don't know. He probably gets a lot of mail and has a secretary open it. But, maybe.” I squeezed his shoulder and headed for the car with the same question pulling at the spongy fibers of my heart.