8. Mimi
Mimi
I hopped off the couch and headed to the guest room, berating myself the whole way. Thankfully, the power kicked back on soon afterward, and I could sleep in cool comfort—though I tossed around a lot, wishing I hadn’t bared part of my soul to Ev.
He could use my past against me. My mother had. Naomi tried hard not to let her, but my mom weaseled her way into my life, forcing the issue.
It didn’t matter; Evan and I were doing something for the Wildcatters to curry favor for him to stay on the team—that was the least I could do after he’d let me stay here. And I benefited, too, with my class credits. That was my new narrative, one that made sense, and I planned to stick to it.
Evan and I would go back to seeing each other occasionally in social situations, and everything would be fine.
I refused to acknowledge the hollow weight in my chest when I considered moving back into my place and returning to my life pre-Evan Pelletier. That was the only option. It’s what he and I agreed to, what we both wanted, after all. We’d known each other for less than a week.
I couldn’t fall that hard, that fast…
Could I?
I had two morning classes that Evan insisted on driving me to since we’d left my car on campus the day before.
I was too exhausted from my emotional wrangling to argue.
It was also another opportunity to show off our “relationship” and help Ev’s chances at sticking around Houston.
Still, I worried I’d messed up his day, but he assured me I hadn’t.
I drove back to his place, wondering if I should head over to Naomi’s.
But thanks to my frazzled state, I’d left my phone charger in the guest room.
I let myself in with the key he’d given me in time to find Evan in the kitchen. He took out a brace of bananas and yanked one away from the others. He was still in team sweats, hair damp from a post-workout shower. He looked so big and out of place while holding a banana, as it had offended him.
It offended me because it wasn’t ripe. In fact, parts of the peel were green. Not fully green, but not ready-for-human-happiness yellow either.
“Why are you eating that?” I set my bag in one of the bar chairs. “I can make you lunch.”
Evan didn’t look at me; his focus remained on the stem like a jeweler checking a diamond for flaws.
“It’s game day,” he said.
“And?”
He nodded once, as if that explained everything, and tried to peel it. The peel snapped halfway down with a dry crack. Evan stared at the broken peel while I stared at him.
“Are you fighting with it?” I asked.
“It’s fine. This happens sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” I repeated. “So this is a regular thing?”
He carefully worked another strip down, jaw tight with concentration. The banana inside was pale and firm. Too firm.
“From the look on your face, you hate bananas like that.” Oh my god, I wasn’t sure if I needed to laugh or if I was getting turned on. I worried it was both.
This had to stop.
“I don’t hate them,” he muttered.
I pressed my thighs together, needing relief from the warm ache building between them. “Evan, what’s going on?”
He exhaled through his nose, then glanced at the microwave clock.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
My eyebrows rose as confusion and desire swirled through me. This man drove me crazy, but in the absolute best way. “Oh no, what?”
“I’m behind.”
“Behind on eating the fruit you don’t want?”
He closed his eyes, like a man gathering the strength to confess a crime. “It has to be eight bites.”
I blinked. “What’s that now?”
“Eight bites,” he repeated. “Exactly. Before I leave for the rink.”
I waited for the punchline that never came. “Why?”
“It’s just…” He gestured vaguely with the banana. “It’s a rhythm thing.”
“A rhythm thing.”
“Yeah.”
“For your mouth?” I whimpered as I pictured his lips wrapping around the fruit.
“For the game,” he said.
I stared at him for a full three seconds. “You’re a professional athlete.”
“Technically, I’m on a two-way contract,” he said, then winced. “I hate thinking about that, and it’s not the point.”
“No, please, continue. I need to understand how chewing fruit wrong could affect a puck traveling at ninety miles an hour and your career. Because from what Adam told me when I talked to him earlier, your two-way contract is one-way, as in you’ll be staying with the Wildcatters.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because my brother-in-law is a blabbermouth and because I didn’t know you, so he could blab then.”
“But telling me now is unethical.”
I rolled my eyes, thankful some of the lust had dissipated. “All right, Chidi. Let’s refocus on the banana. Because that’s what’s weird right now.”
He straightened, defensive but a little pink-cheeked. “It’s not weird. It’s a tradition that started in juniors. I had a shutout after I ate a banana in eight bites.”
“So, you decided that was science.”
“I decided not to mess with success.”
“Oh my god, you’re serious.”
He lifted the banana like an Olympic torch. “Don’t talk to me. It throws off the pacing.”
I clamped both hands over my mouth, eyes wide with delight even as desire slammed back into me, heating my midsection. Evan was neurotic but most adorably. I’d compared him to a golden retriever when we met, and everything pointed toward that being the most accurate assessment I’d ever made.
He took a bite. Chewed with intense concentration and held up one finger.
A muffled wheeze escaped between my fingers because I’d been right: this was erotic and hilarious at the same time, something I’d never before considered possible. He shot me a betrayed look while still chewing.
“This is important,” he said. “I can’t rush.”
“Please do not rush.” I leaned in closer. “Continue your fruit sacrifice.”
He turned away from me, as if that would restore dignity, but his eyes still sought mine as he took the second bite. He chewed, raising two fingers. I slid onto a barstool because my knees were giving out. I was so freaking turned on, I worried I wasn’t going to survive Evan eating the banana.
A banana.
Good golly. If he could do this to me with a weird goalie ritual, imagine what would happen when he focused solely on me—devoted those skilled hands to my body. My breathing increased as sweat popped out of my pores.
I’d never felt like this. Ever.
By bite four, he was visibly struggling, but then, so was I. The banana was firm enough to squeak faintly when he bit into it. Oh, that had to be so gross, yet he persevered, just like I knew he would. Somehow, I kept my hands in my lap, even though I was desperate to fan my face.
His willingness to work through something he didn’t like hit me in the chest. I rubbed my sternum, sobering as the lust eased a little. Evan was earnest and adorable. He was thoughtful and kind.
He was a good—no, great—man, and he cared about me.
I remembered when Naomi started dating Adam, and he’d helped me with homework and taught me to drive.
Not because he had to, but because Naomi and I needed help.
Because he considered me family. Evan had the same affliction—that same caring—and it terrified me even as it made me feel safe, loved.
No. No, no, no. This wasn’t love. We’d only met four days ago. Love couldn’t possibly happen that fast. My mother was the one who’d brought men home in that time frame, sure, he was the one…only to realize he was a dud at best and most likely an abusive asshole.
So, what I felt for Evan could not be love.
By bite six, he looked like he regretted every life choice that had led him here. I did, too. I wanted to run away from everything he was making me feel, even as I wanted him to put his arm around me and make everything better as only he could.
“You could just… take normal bites,” I offered.
He shook his head. “Then it wouldn’t be eight.”
“That’s not how numbers work!”
“Shh!” He bit again and chewed faster. Then he paused, staring at the last chunk in his hand, which was smaller than the others.
I leaned forward, a wicked smile flirting across my lips. “Uh oh. That one looks like a half bite.”
“It’s not,” he said.
“It’s suspiciously small.”
“I accounted for tapering!”
“You tapered wrong, Pelletier.”
He narrowed his eyes, then resolutely popped the last piece into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Held up eight fingers as he’d just completed a sacred ritual. “I never taper wrong, Emmy. I’ll show you just how good I taper later.”
Heat blasted between us again, and my breath caught as the wave of desire slammed into me. He stepped closer until his fingers slid into my hair and his body was a hair’s breadth from mine. He stared into my eyes before his gaze dropped to my lips.
“I want to kiss you.”
I reached up and clutched his thick wrist. “Yes.”
His lips brushed over mine. Soft. Sweet.
So Evan. He parted his lips, and I followed suit.
His tongue brushed mine, and the banana flavor exploded in my mouth, but I didn’t care because I wanted more of Evan—his heat, his strength, his kindness.
But most of all, I wanted all that intensity focused on me.
The kiss turned wild the moment I pressed tighter to his chest. Tongue, teeth, and lust. So much need…
I drowned in the pheromones, the stroke of his tongue, the way his chest rubbed against my sensitive nipples.
The blare of his phone startled me, and we pulled back. His gorgeous eyes were more green than blue; the lids drooped to half-mast. His lips were puffy from our kiss.
Desire looked great on Ev. I wanted to see that look in his eyes again—every day.
“I’ll add that to my list of pre-game rituals.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Let’s go to the arena.”
I trailed behind Ev, my mind still reeling. Once settled in my car seat, I cleared my throat, desperate to lighten the heavy atmosphere. “I cannot believe that my sister warned me you were ‘intense,’ and this is what she meant.”
“You’re not allowed to tell anyone.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely telling everyone.” I giggled at his horrified expression.
He shifted into drive. “Emilia.”
“I’m starting with the captain.”
His eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t tell Cormac.”
I patted his arm, enjoying the thick biceps, wishing I could pet him further. “Of course not. Relax, goalie boy. Your secret’s safe.”
He sagged with relief.
I smiled. “Unless you let in a soft one tonight. Then I’m blaming bite eight. For the lack of tapering.”
He shot me a half smile that nearly gave me an orgasm. Oh, teasing Evan was dangerous.
He kissed me again at the arena’s doorway, where he headed to the locker room. I ignored the click of cameras, too busy enjoying the moment.
Later, when he tapped the inside of his glove wrist three times before the first period, I understood just how vital ritual was to him. Being part of that terrified me, even as it delighted me.
I was glad my sister wasn’t there to quiz me on my reaction because I still wasn’t sure what I was doing, experiencing. I just knew that I couldn’t wait to kiss him again.