Chapter 14 All Gas, No Brakes
ALL GAS, NO brAKES
MATS
I THINK THAT WAS OUR BEST EVENING SO FAR, I SAY AS WE DRIVE HOME FROM MARJORIE’S HOUSE.
Tonight was the first dinner where I really felt relaxed, both because Cleo and I aren’t outright lying anymore and because she has my back now.
We’re working as a team, so maybe that donation is within our grasp.
Hard agree, she says. Of course, I may be prejudiced because we spent so much time talking about my penalty shot. Who knew that teenaged Marjorie always wanted to have someone score a goal for her?
Cleo’s smile is dazzling, even in the dim interior light. She’s been radiating positive energy all night. I’m finally getting to see the real Cleo Nelson, and it’s easy to see why her teammates love her.
Do you think Marjorie really dated one of the Minnesota North Stars? Cleo wonders.
She mentioned his name, didn’t she? Rob? And he was a forward. I guess we could look up rosters from back then and see if it lines up.
Cleo sticks her tongue out. Bleh. Too much fucking work. Let’s just pretend it’s true.
Okay. I watch as she removes her gloves and toque. Her blonde braids remind me of how wild her hair looks loose. You know, at first these dinners felt dumb. Like we were puppets putting on a show to amuse Marjorie.
She giggles. Yeah, but you got to eat all those great dinners.
I groan. A lot of that food I had to eat was your fault. I’m not going to miss Cleo’s hobby of making sure I got huge portions of anything fattening.
She reaches over and pats my shoulder. Don’t worry, I’m sure your physique has only deteriorated from a ten to a 9.9995.
I ignore the compliment and clear my throat.
Anyway, once I got to know her and Geraldine, I liked both of them.
Marjorie, especially, has really lived a full life.
Stories from her business days are so interesting, I say.
But that started a whole new problem for me.
I hated that we were tricking her by pretending to be a couple.
Cleo waves this off. All that fake-couple stuff was bullshit. But we never did anything that wasn’t real. It’s not like we were holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. Even tonight, we were pretty much ourselves.
I’m just glad that we’re on the same side now. She thinks we’re friends, and we are, I say.
Are we just friends? Cleo is watching me closely.
It’s pretty early to put labels on anything.
She scrunches her nose. Okay, I could take that answer two ways. One, you’re not interested in anything happening between us. Or two, you’re saying that it’s too soon.
I say what I mean. I’m not a complex guy. I do like Cleo, but I’m being cautious. My breakup left me feeling fragile, so I’d prefer to proceed slowly.
Fine. But I’ve been mean to you for so long that I need to double down on being nice now.
It’s fine. Just be yourself. Cleo is very direct about going for what she wants, but I’m more guarded. We’re attracted to each other, but do we match in other ways? Personality-wise we’re very different, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
I look up at the almost-full moon shining in the night sky. Hey, do you have to rush back?
She raises a suggestive eyebrow. What do you have in mind?
I usually go for a walk after these dinners. Would you like to join me?
Cleo giggles. So that’s how you’ve been burning off all Geraldine’s cooking.
I nod. I’ve been walking after each dinner so I can digest and sleep. There’s a trail near the shelter. The moon tonight is bright enough to light the way.
No need to sell this, you had me at walk, she says with her usual enthusiasm.
I park in the shelter lot, then pull on my toque and get out of the car. Cleo’s already out before I get to her side, all bundled up in her puffy jacket and chunky boots. She lifts her knees like she’s warming up for real exertion.
I know this trail. Becks and I were running it, you know, that day we met up with you here?
I can still remember how she pissed me off that day. How far we’ve come.
Did that dog get adopted? she asks, as we start along the trail.
I’m not sure which dog you’re talking about.
She makes this crazy face, with her tongue lolling out to the side and her eyes wide. I immediately recognize Bruno and shout with laughter as Cleo dissolves into laughter too.
Joy bubbles up inside me. How long has it been since I’ve laughed so hard? I reach for her hand as we walk, and she smiles at me when we touch.
Yeah, he did. He went to a great family with two kids. I was there that day, and the last thing I saw was Bruno bouncing joyfully between the two children as he made his way to their car. I love a shelter happy ending.
We stroll along the trail, the crisp snow crunching underfoot.
This feels nice. She lifts our joined hands.
I really like being with you. You’re full of surprises. Most people are so predictable, myself included.
I like being with you too. It’s restful. She stops walking, her eyes wide. Wait, does that sound like I think you’re boring? Because it’s the fucking opposite. All I mean is that sometimes my energy is all over the place, but you’re so calm.
That makes sense. We complement each other.
As I breathe in the crisp night air, it feels like I’m breathing in joy. Her openness has been healing for me after what happened with Lana. Cleo seems to like me exactly as I am.
Now that we’ve finally gotten past the issues with her brother, things feel good. In fact, I might even have to reconsider my opinion of Jordan. At least he told the truth when Cleo confronted him, and that freed her from her misconceptions about me.
Isn’t it great out tonight? I ask.
She smirks. What? The delicate West Coast flower finally appreciates our Minnesota winters?
I still hate how cold it gets. But I can appreciate the good parts. I motion upwards. Tonight, the sky is so clear that you can really enjoy the moon and stars.
It’s funny, but the sky appears bigger here. Back home, there are taller trees and mountain ridges that shrink the horizon.
I’m glad you like my home state, she says. What could be more fitting than hockey players living in the state of hockey?
One reason that I chose Monarch is that there are so many teams in Minnesota that we don’t have to do long road trips. I’m a creature of habit; I like to sleep in my own bed and maintain my routines.
Yeah. When I was growing up, I used to fantasize about living somewhere where I could play hockey outside. And scrimmage for as long as I wanted. Imagine playing hockey by moonlight. I look up at the almost-full moon.
Cleo wraps her arms around me in a bear hug.
What’s this for? I trap her arms with my own because she feels so warm and comforting.
You’ve been hiding your adorable boyish side from me, she says.
Well, I don’t think anyone likes to reveal their vulnerabilities in front of people who dislike them.
We break apart and continue walking.
I couldn’t keep hating you when you turned out to be such a nice guy. A nice guy who can do a mean Watusi.
I do a couple of hip swivels, and of course, Cleo joins in. We both end up laughing.
You do know that Marjorie and Geraldine think you’re a nice chunk of eye candy, right? she asks.
I turn towards Cleo and put my hands on her broad shoulders. And what do you think?
Her bright eyes sparkle even in the moonlight. I think you’re beautiful. Inside and out.
A compliment from someone who hasn’t held back her insults feels more genuine. And isn’t authenticity something I’ve been craving?
Thank you. I lean closer until I feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek.
Feel free to compliment me back, she demands.
What to say? It feels selfish to explain that she makes me happier, even if I suspect that Cleo spreads joy wherever she goes. It’s too crass to say that the memory of her half-dressed in bed has been replaying in my brain. My attraction to her is a collection of tiny moments and revelations.
I like your freshness, I say.
She laughs, shoving me away and then pulling me back. What the fuck does that mean? Is that a hygiene thing? Or my sass?
I can’t help laughing too, but then explain myself. It’s the perfect word. Freshness describes so many parts of you: your natural beauty, your spontaneous nature, your unexpected reactions, and your spirit.
She freezes and stares at me for a long moment. Oh, wow. You have such a way with words. That may be the best thing anyone has ever said to me.
We walk again. Cleo stops abruptly, raises her face to mine, and licks her lips nervously. Seeing her pink tongue makes me imagine how it would feel on my skin. On my cock. I swallow and pull her closer.
Tell me we’re going to kiss now. Cleo’s plea is hoarse.
Her directness makes me want to laugh again. Instead, I brush her mouth with mine, feeling the softness of her lips. Our skin-on-skin contact lasts only a few seconds but establishes the crackle of attraction between us.
I raise one hand to stroke her cheek with my gloved thumb.
Then I kiss her again, this time relishing the feel of her soft, yielding lips as they part against mine.
Cleo tastes sweet. Our kiss is both intense and slightly awkward, like she’s trying hard to make things perfect.
But the longer we kiss, the more she relaxes.
I relish the contrast of our fevered kissing against the chill night air. Being out here in the moonlight feels romantic, like we’re one with nature. Cleo’s warm body presses against mine as I kiss all over her face, her cheeks and chin, the tip of her cute nose, and her fluttering eyelids.
Why do you keep opening your eyes? I ask.
She flushes. Um, well, everything feels so good. I just want to memorize each moment. You know, in case it doesn’t last.
So, it’s not just the two of us in this moment, but her history of bad boyfriends as well. I wrap both arms around her and kiss her forehead. Cleo, it’ll be okay.
I can’t give her any guarantees. But in this beautiful, moonlit moment, we seem to be made of potential.
It is getting cold out here, especially while standing still. We loop back to the car in a silence that feels both new and comfortable. I relax into this rare contentment.
We get back into my car. I start it up and let the fan run while the windshield defogs.
I’ve always liked being in small spaces. Like this. She motions around the car. They feel safe.
I wait, sensing she has more to say.
When I was around ten, my parents started fighting a lot.
I hated hearing it, so I would take off.
I spent a lot of time at the rink, or at a friend’s.
But if they fought at night, there was nowhere to go.
That’s when I discovered my mom’s car. It was in the garage, so not too cold in the winter.
I’d take Jordan with me. We would read comic books or game.
I’d bring blankets and snacks, because he was always hungry.
Sometimes we’d fall asleep there, and my mom would wake us up and put us to bed.
Cleo turns to me, her face as unbothered as if she just shared some innocent childhood memory instead of something so gutting.
I reach out and stroke her hair. I’m sorry you had to go through that.
Ugh. I didn’t mean to bring down the mood. Sitting here just reminded me of that. And it’s not a bad memory. She smiles cheerfully. I still like being in cars. I’ve even had sex in a car.
She lifts a hopeful eyebrow. Which we could do here and now…
My cock rises at the suggestion. But I don’t want our relationship to start out the way that all her other ones have. I think we should wait. Get to know each other better.
Really? Because I already know how much I’d like to fuck you. Her voice is a husky purr.
I kiss her soft mouth gently, then pull back and settle into my seat. Hold on to that thought.
Cleo groans. What is wrong with you?
Because any other guy would take her up on her offer. And the sex would be great, but it’s too soon. It’s not about morality, but intimacy.
Anything I say right now is going to get me into trouble, so I shrug.
She sighs noisily. Fine. But can you share something, then? Because it feels like you’re made of secrets. Maybe secrets isn’t the right word, but you’re so deep. And I want to know all about you.
I don’t think I’m deep as much as I’m more reserved than most people she knows. I keep my inner issues to myself. But, other than revealing how false my last relationship turned out to be, I have no trauma to share.
What’s to tell? I don’t have any big secrets.
C’mon, Mats. There must be something, Cleo insists.
I search my brain for something she’d like. Okay, I’ll tell you something, but you cannot ever mention it to anyone.
She claps her gloved hands together. Oooh, this sounds good. What is it?
I hold out my pinkie. Promise first.
She links our fingers. I promise. Although you know I suck at secret keeping, right?
In that case, forget it, I reply sternly.
Noooo. I can do it. For you, I can do anything. She scrunches her face like a little girl, and I grin.
Please? she begs.
Fine. What do you think Roy is short for?
Roy? It’s not just Roy? Oh, wait, is it Leroy? Hey, Leeeeroy. She starts giggling uncontrollably, so I wait until she’s done.
Still, I can’t keep the disgust out of my voice. It’s short for Royal.
What? That’s crazy. Although you are kind of a Prince Charming.
It’s my mother. She has delusions of grandeur. Maybe she figured it would help me marry a princess or something.
Cleo squeals. Oh, I have good news for you, then.
You’re secretly a princess?
Even better. A fucking queen. Because my name is short for Cleopatra.
I squint at her. Are you serious?
She grits her teeth and nods, then we both collapse into laughter.
Whose idea was Cleopatra? Someone into ancient history?
My father, of course. He’s a big romantic. And a dreamer, she confesses. I think that’s why my mother eventually got fed up.
I finally shift the car into drive and take off.
With our names, maybe we were meant for each other, Cleo muses.