7. Arlo
Hota is so hesitant to touch me.
It’s a knife to the chest.
One I’ve earned a thousand times over.
I hold my hand across the abyss between us and wait.
The discomfort I feel surrounded by strangers, who could brush against me at any moment or bump into me and set me into a panicked spiral, is a small price to pay for the potential to truly touch my guy for the first time in so many years.
Hailey’s voice seems to bring a reassurance mine could not. After that, Hota nods and lifts his hand toward mine. For a fraction of a second, I’m terrified.
What if he touches me, and I feel nothing? On the flip side, what if I feel everything?
What if it cracks the dam on all the feelings and emotions I’ve blocked through the years where he’s concerned?
I don’t know which would be worse.
That’s not true. I do.
Hota slides his hand into mine. For anyone else, it looks like a handshake at least and a helping hand at most.
To me, it’s the explosion that started the universe.
As if my skin has memory, mine has been welcomed home after years lost at war. The warmth and familiarity, the yearning and joy threaten to knock me on my ass. My chest goes tight, and my nose burns with tears I refuse to set free.
Not here. Not now.
I grab him like I never intend to let him go. I pull him to his feet. Suddenly, we’re eye to eye and chest to chest.
There’s a sheen of tears in his deep, dark eyes.
“Hi,” I say stupidly. As though I haven’t seen him almost daily for the past decade.
“Hey.” He smiles back just as dumbly.
I shift to grab his nape and pull him close. Something happens. Namely, ice skates. The world teeters for half a second before I tilt and fall.
My back meets the foam padding of the staging area a moment before Hota’s massive chest lands on my belly. The wind exits my lungs like Hota was looking to exit the ice skating portion of the night just a few moments ago.
We land in a heap of tangled arms and legs.
“Are you okay?” Hota gasps, trying to push up and off me. There’s alarm in his eyes. The man never panics, not in the tensest business meeting or in the face of physical danger. I know he’s freaking out, waiting for my panic to surface. I know he’s trying to protect me, even from himself.
I hold tight to his hand, which I didn’t release during our fall. My free arm wraps around the breadth of his shoulders.
He takes the hint and stills. His stunning eyes blink me in, blink us in. In rapid succession, I watch him clock our hands still clasped, our chests touching, and our legs tangled.
Then his frantic gaze lifts to Hailey.
She smiles at us and then squats near our heads, graceful as ever. “Koi to seki to wa kakusarenu.” With that, she stands and heads for the ice.
Both Hota’s and my mouth are wide the fuck open. Shock at the fact that Hailey spoke Japanese is quickly overridden by what she said. It doesn’t translate into English verbatim. The gist of it is…love and a cough cannot be hidden.
Meaning that Hota and I cannot hide our love for each other. And she said it with a smile, the sweetest smile.
“Did you know she speaks Japanese?” Hota asks.
I shake my head because words somehow fail me.
“What the fuck?” he whispers between us in a bit of a daze himself.
I can’t fight my smile. “I don’t know. Maybe we both hit our heads.”
“Um, excuse me.” A tiny voice filters into our already slanted world. When I look up, a girl no more than three feet tall stares down at us. She’s wearing teal from her knit cap to her skates and everything in between. The only thing not teal on her is her jet-black hair and mocha skin.
Where do people find a tiny teal coat?
“Sorry!” Hota puts two and two together way faster than me. He hustles to his skates and hoists me up like I’m not as big as he is. “There you go, miss.” His big hand showcases the newly cleared path to the rink with a flourish.
She laughs. “My name is Coco, not miss.”
“I apologize, Coco.” Hota presses his palms together and bows. “Please forgive me.”
Watching Hota interact with this little girl dissipates the chill from the cold winter night and wet flooring I’d just sprawled across. It makes my insides mushy and produces a weird sense of euphoria unlike any I’ve ever experienced.
“Okay.” Coco toddles toward the rink while I stare back and forth between the two of them.
“Should we keep an eye on her?” Hota’s neck cranes left and right. “Where are her parents?”
About the time the little girl reaches the ice, she transforms from a literal toddler to a fucking Olympic-level figure skater before our very eyes.
“You. Definitely, you. I can’t keep up.” Hota urges me toward the ice.
“Hell, I can’t either.” I gawk at the munchkin doing twirls while skating backward.
“Coco?” A woman’s frantic voice pulls our attention to the left.
She pushes out of the bathroom with her hip, balling up a paper towel and tossing it into the nearest bin as she attempts to run on skates on the foam flooring. The woman is built like a ballerina. Her Afro and face are so perfect, she looks like one of Nat’s model friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has graced the cover of a magazine or five.
“She’s on the ice, putting the rest of us to shame,” Hota offers, pointing toward the teal princess.
The woman’s shoulders immediately lower a good five inches, and she slows to a hurried walk. “Thanks.” She buzzes by. “I can hardly keep up with her.”
“Better than me.” Hota laughs.
I don’t know what to say, so I just watch as she hits the ice and transforms into an Olympic-level speed skater to catch up with who I assume is her daughter. But Hota isn’t looking at the mom or the little girl. No, his gaze is locked on Hailey in the center of the ice.
Her arms are by her sides as she turns in a tight circle that gets tighter and faster as her arms move closer to her body. The point of her chin is aimed at the night sky, elongating the grace of her neck, while her legs make a pretty point from hip to toe.
“Your psychologist doctor girlfriend raises money for women and children, speaks Japanese, and ice skates like a young Michelle Kwan.” He says this while staring at her swooping about the ice. “Please, tell me she hates sucking dick.”
“Can’t. We don’t lie to each other.” The appendage in question goes hard. I adjust myself and grin at Hota.
“Fuck.” Hota adjusts himself and nearly falls over again.
“She came while sucking me off, just from the friction of her thighs and her love of blowies,” I add.
Hota groans like I socked him in the belly.
I hook my arm through his and grin. “Let’s go.”