For The One(32)

I flip the page to a blank one and begin to sketch as we talk. I’m choosing a safer subject to draw this time—the scoreboard that hangs centered over the ice rink. For a while, this helps. With Jenna beside me, I make it through the rest of the time that people file in—past us in our row, in the seats in front of us and behind—and even to the introduction of the players as they skate onto the ice when their jersey numbers and names are being called. I’m okay as long as I can focus on my pad and only look up occasionally.

It’s harder to block out the bright lights, the smell of food, the sound of feet shuffling all around us. It’s loud and Jenna has to lean close when she wants to tell me anything. I want her to keep doing it though. I like the way it feels when her hair brushes against my cheek. I like how she smells tonight… like rain on grass. Like ripe pears.

But after a while, it’s too hard—and the arena too dark—to concentrate on my sketchpad, so I’m forced to tuck it away in my back pocket. The noise is distracting and so is the presence of the crowd. It feels like ants crawling across my skin. I rub my hands along my thighs to calm myself, but that’s not working either.

Jenna, however, is keeping a close watch on me. She leans over again and says, “You okay?”

“Um…”

“Feeling a little…pickles?”

Her phrase is complete nonsense, but I remember that’s because it’s our code. So I nod. “Yes. Pickles. Sour dill pickles.”

Her brows rise. “We don’t want sour dill pickles. I, um, have an idea. Maybe it will help you take your mind off of things so you can watch the game.”

“Okay.”

“Well, it’s not going to be as good as a suit of armor or even a weighted blanket at the dentist.”

She stands up and then just as quickly sinks onto my lap. Then she settles herself gingerly on my thighs. I freeze, completely at a loss for what to do. In fact, I’m so confused right now that I forget to worry about the crowd around us or even the sounds of the hockey game.

She turns and says, “Is this okay? Are you okay?”

I lean forward a little so she can hear my answer. “Yes.”

A beautiful woman is sitting on my lap. As Jordan would say, What’s not to like?

Slowly, she leans back, settling against my chest. We are now touching from her ankles up through her legs to her hips, which rest against my upper thighs, and her back is pressed to my chest. Her head is tilted to the side so that I can still see past her if I wanted to watch the game. I don’t. Right now, I couldn’t concentrate on it if I tried.

My heart is racing. The feel of her and that smell—it’s even stronger now. Is it her shampoo? Her soap? Or is that her that I’m smelling?

“You comfortable?” she asks, turning her head again, her silky hair brushing against my face. I close my eyes, relishing it. Relish. The good kind of relish. Not ‘relish’ the code word.

Now would be a bad time to use that code word. I could sit with her like this all night.

My hands are gripping the armrests, but slowly I release my death grip. Jenna lays her arms along mine, resting her hands on my hands. Hers are so much smaller, but her fingers fit in the crevices between mine. I can feel my heartbeat in every inch of my body that is pressed against hers.

Her neck is three centimeters from my mouth. It looks soft…succulent. I want to taste it. Would she taste as good as she smells? What would her skin feel like under my hands?

She might not like me doing that. My hands have callouses on them from the blacksmithing and my artwork. They would feel rough and hard on her smooth, supple skin.

Suddenly, I’m imagining tasting her and touching her, and my body is reacting. I’m getting hard right where she’s sitting on me, and I don’t want her to know.

So I say into her ear, “Relish.”

I really didn’t want to say that word, but I don’t want her to feel my erection, either. She’ll think I’m a pervert or something. But her reaction is slow and she’s asking me to repeat myself. At the same time, the crowd jumps to its feet, cheering at the two players on the ice who are fighting.

I twist and slide my arm under her knees, pulling her up with me in one swift motion.

“What the—?” says the man next to me, but I’m not listening. I need to get out of here and she’s coming with me.

“Wil!” she exclaims, but the rest of her words are lost in the crowd. I shoulder my way down the row and out to the aisle. Then it’s up the stairs to the deserted concessions area, where I stop, finally able to breathe.

Jenna is staring at me with wide eyes but making no move to get out of my hold, so I don’t let her down. “I thought that sitting on your lap was helping.” She frowned.