14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
The next morning, after my non-date with Hannah, I skip the gym, instead deciding to enjoy a morning coffee outside on my back deck. I try not to think about how sore I am this morning, and I went for a ride not long ago. Hannah must be dying.
I should text her , I think to myself as I grab my phone seeing the dozens of texts we exchanged last night, until she presumably fell asleep, because she never told me what her favorite flavor of ice cream was. I should text her again this morning, or is that too clingy?
Nah, it wouldn’t make me clingy. But she flirted right back with me last night, confirming that this isn’t a one-way street.
When was the last time I just spoke, or in this case, texted with a woman? Usually it’s to set up a date for a certain event I need to attend, or to plan our next hook up. It’s never just to chat or to get to know her. My conversation with Hannah didn’t get deep last night, far from it, it was superficial really, but I have to admit it was nice to chat without any pressure. The last time I really got to know a girl past the surface stuff was with Alex.
That’s the last time.
Before I can let my thoughts get soured by the thought of Alex, I scroll up to the first photo Hannah sent me last night. I can picture how cute she looked all snuggled up in bed, reading, with a glass of wine. I’d be the happiest man alive if I got to come home after a late game or flight to find her sitting in our bed waiting for me.
Shaking my head, I wonder where the hell that thought came from. Not that long ago, I was reiterating to myself that I was happy being alone; dating, but never getting serious. I am not a relationship guy. As the thought crosses my mind, I think back to what my mom was telling me. Not every woman is Alex . . . and when has she ever been wrong? Maybe I should try and put myself out there.
Fuck it, I’m texting her. Smiling, I grab my phone and snap a picture of my mug of coffee and the trees that line my backyard. But before I can send it to Hannah, my patio door opens, and I hear Levi say, “There you are.”
Turning to look at him over my shoulder, I see that he’s in workout clothes and that he’s helped himself to a coffee.
“Hey, man, what’s up?”
“You weren’t at the gym,” he states as he takes a seat in the chair beside mine.
“Nah, I could barely get out of bed this morning. Too sore from yesterday’s ride.”
“Yeah, Hannah looked a little stiff when I saw her coming down the stairs this morning,” he says, making me smile.
Before I can ask if she’s said anything about our ride yesterday, he nudges my foot with his, and asks in a soft tone, “In all seriousness, Ian, what are your intentions with her? I know it’s not really any of my business, and I’ve told you how I feel about whatever is going on with the both of you, but I love her like a sister—she is my second older sister. She used to be so wild and free, always pushing the limits. Jesus, when she was sixteen, she convinced her parents and my parents to let her and Summer go skydiving for her birthday. But that girl got lost along the way when she met her ex-husband; she became quiet, composed, a passenger in her own life instead of the driver. Yet she was still heartbroken when he did what he did.” Taking a sip of his coffee, he continues, “I never want to see her like that again. I can see that she’s coming back into herself—she even rolled her eyes at me last night when I asked her why she was blushing. I hadn’t seen her do that in too long. I don’t want her to get her heart broken again, especially after she finally starts feeling like herself again.”
Letting his words sink in, I keep sipping my coffee. What the hell did her ex-husband do to her? What kind of man would do anything but worship that woman? Clearly, she’s shy, but she’s never had an issue talking to me or putting me in my place. I mean, she blasted Mariah Carey in my truck yesterday as “punishment.”
“Listen, Levi,” I start, not looking at him. “I don’t know where this is going, but I’m having a great time getting to know her. We all have a past, and we’ve all been hurt,” I say, taking a peek at him. Even though we’ve been best friends for a few years now, I’ve never told him exactly why Alex and I broke up. “I would never intentionally hurt her. I know she’s your sister. Besides, she’s twenty-nine, she doesn’t want to be dating a twenty-three-year-old hockey player, so I highly doubt you need to be worried about anything.”
“As I told her last night—you couldn’t be more wrong,” he says, taking a deep breath.
Not understanding what he means, but not wanting to get another speech from him, I let my mind wander back to Hannah. Everything seems so easy with her, there’s no awkward silence or pause. Even last night when I texted her out of the blue, sure the first few texts were clumsy, but I was just nervous about talking to her, worried I crossed a line by texting her without asking her for her number personally.
Plus, the woman has a great ass, an ass I thought about holding onto as I pictured taking her from behind in the shower this morning . . .
All right, change of topic . . . Mom. Hockey skates. Coffee. I can’t get a hard on thinking about Hannah’s spankable ass with Levi sitting right beside me. God, I’d love to get my hands on her ass.
Before I can stop myself, I find myself asking Levi, “Do you think she’s into me?”
“You’re not a child, figure it out,” he says as he stands. “Thanks for the coffee, and whatever you do, just be careful with her, okay?” he says as he leaves.
That’s all the okay I needed.
Once he’s gone, I stay outside still looking out at the trees as the sun starts to beat down on me.
Fuck it. Mom was right. Not everyone is like Alex, just like I’m not gonna be like Hannah’s ex-husband. Besides, maybe, just maybe, she wants nothing to do with me. But I’m still gonna ask her out on a date. But how? I don’t think I’ve ever asked a woman on a first date. Alex and I became boyfriend and girlfriend when we were thirteen. No one asked anybody out on a date at thirteen. And every girl after her has been a one-night stand. Holy fuck, how did I get to twenty-three and not ask any girl out on a date?
Hagrid meows from behind the screen door, and I swear it sounds like “loser.” Rolling my eyes, I get to join her in the house and refill my mug.
“Maybe I’ll ask Sadie,” I tell Hagrid as I scratch between her ears. “Or maybe I’ll ask Lacey. She did give me Hannah’s number, no questions asked. Yeah, I’ll ask Lacey,” I say as I grab my phone.
Halfway through writing my text to Lacey, I get a text from Hannah and can’t stop myself from smiling. I open it to see four more pictures: one of her sitting at Levi’s kitchen island with a mug of coffee and her laptop, and the following three were of tattoos. There’s also a text asking what I think of those tattoos.
Still smiling, I send her a picture of my own mug of coffee with the views from the window above the kitchen sink and tell her that I like the style of the second photo best, but that I’ll book an appointment with my artist and see what she thinks would work best with her body.
Hannah:
That makes sense. What was your first tattoo?
Me:
The one I sent you last night.
Me:
Then I got this one.
I send her a picture of my inner right forearm, where a horseshoe with a small pink butterfly surrounds Sadie’s birthday in black ink. Over the years, I got an entire sleeve done. Mostly black-and-white flowers, but Sadie’s horseshoe has stayed the main focal point.
Me:
Then this.
I send her a picture of my back. Where four birds lay in black ink through the swirls ending my sleeve; one for my mom, my dad and Sadie and me.
I got a few in-between, and my last one is the most colorful one I have. I text her back with a picture of a Mexican candy skull I have on my left thigh.