Delayed Penalty by Shey Stahl

15. Beat the Defense

To get by one or both the defensemen.

Ami

When Evan gets back that night, he’s all smiles. We have one night left before he flies out to a game in Detroit before the playoffs start, so he takes me out to dinner. I think maybe it’s to avoid being alone with me in his condo and following through with his words of “what do you want…” but I go with it.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, taking me by the hand on the street outside the Trump Towers. Bystanders on the street point at him, smiling, doing that forget-my-own-name stare when they realize it’s a Chicago Blackhawk who they’ve just seen.

I laugh at their stares. “Yeah, I’m hungry,” I say, shivering to the point my teeth are chattering. I’m wearing a damn dress and it’s freaking freezing outside.

Evan chuckles, curling me into his side. “How many times am I gonna offer you my jacket and have you turn me down?”

“Probably a few more times,” I tease, stopping next to him when he gestures with a nod to the restaurant we’re standing in front of.

He leads me inside with our joined hands, and the waiter shows us to our table in the back that Evan had apparently reserved.

“You definitely have some clout in this city, don’t you?”

“Maybe a little.” He smiles sheepishly, as if it’s not something he’s necessarily comfortable with.

The dinner is amazing as always with him but it’s after when I finally get a peek into who he is. Or at least he shows me a personal side of him I never thought I’d get.

Before I know it, we’re at the United Center and he’s taking me inside. I’ve seen a little of the United Center before, given I went to a game the other night, but I’ve never walked in the way a Chicago Blackhawks player does. Through a few different doors, down a long hallway and to the left, is the entrance only players, the media, and coaches see. Above the door is a sign that reads One Goal. Walking through the double doors, I try to imagine what Evan must feel each time before a game.

I can’t because I’m not a player.

I sneak a glance up at Evan. He grins, his eyes shining and his hand on the door. “Wanna go inside.”

“Yes!”

“Follow me,” he whispers, taking me by the hand.

Through a series of locked doors he apparently has stolen keys for, we’re inside the United Center in a place only the players and coaches are allowed.

Inside the locker room are benches with cubbies and the names of the players plastered above them. On the floor is the Blackhawk Indian that Evan informs me you can’t step on. Something about superstition, and I’m not about to mess with it.

It’s quiet, not what I’m expecting, but it also isn’t swarming with players.

Behind a set of double doors, there’s the players’ lounge where only players are allowed. Plush leather couches are situated around the television that hangs on the wall. The individual players’ stalls wrap around that. “Wow, how do you ever leave this place?”

He leans into the wall, eyeing me in my dress. “I have something far better at home than a bunch of hockey players.”

“So this is where you guys all walk around naked?” My cheeks flush, thinking of Evan naked before the words are even out.

Evan chuckles, throwing his head back. “Yeah, we get naked in here.” He slips one hand into the pocket of his slacks. “Remy gets naked everywhere, though.”

I knew that already. I scan my surroundings. Sticks and gear are lined up in the stalls, ready for the players tomorrow night. I see Evan’s name above his stall and reach forward to touch his stick, stroking it just to mess with him. “Nice stick.”

“Jesus Christ.” He laughs, a growl then falling from his lips as his head drops forward. Pushing off the wall, he steps closer as I reach for his stick.

Taking it in my hand, I attempt to hold it like I saw him do on the ice. Evan laughs again at my stance and the way I have the stick held out in front of me in my striking position. “Am I doing this right?”

He moves forward, his chest pressing into my back, his voice at my ear. “Yeah, but you gotta stop that.”

“Why?”

He eyes me carefully. “You know why.”

I suppose I do. Motioning toward the doors, I stare at them. “What’s it like to walk onto the ice from here?”

“I’ll show you.”

Securing a pair of skates he finds, which are four sizes too big for me, even with ten pairs of socks, I watch closely as he puts a pair of pads over my shoulders. His hands are impossibly gentle given how aggressive he can be, tugging occasionally to tighten either the laces on the skates or the pads he insisted I wear.

“Why do I have to wear all this just to see the ice?”

He pats my head gently after putting his helmet on me. “Because I’m not taking any chances with this beautiful head of yours.”

Nice of him, even if this is a bit of an overkill but I’m not arguing.

Before long, I’m all decked out in gear, pads, and a helmet. He’s also wearing his hockey gear. “Are you planning on knocking me around a bit?” I ask, laughing as he tightens the chin strap of my helmet.

“Safety first,” he whispers, kissing my cheek. “Have you ever been on the ice?”

“No,” I lie. It’s an honest white lie and something I can use to my advantage tonight. What little advantage I have on a guy like Evan Masen.

When we approach the long hallway to the ice, I wonder if he gets a rush out of this or if he feels overwhelmed by it at times, making this same walk.

“What do you think about when you’re making this walk during a game?”

Our skates make a clicking noise with each step on the concrete. “It varies.” He keeps his head down as he talks. “Sometimes I’m thinking about the game, others I’m thinking about the guys and what kind of game the refs are going to give us.” He gestures toward a trash can to his left by the door. “My first walk through here I threw up in that can.”

“I would never expect you to get nervous.”

“I do, sometimes,” he notes, stopping at the entrance to the ice.

Before we step onto the rink, Evan removes the skate guards and then helps me through the boards.

I skate forward slowly, but my legs are so weak and tense that I constantly feel like I’m going to fall. I catch the ice a few times, pitching myself forward, but Evan is right there, his hands wrapped around my waist. “I’ve got you,” he assures me, still holding me close. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod, watching my feet.

Unwinding his arms and moving in front of me, he reaches out and holds my hands as he skates backward.

“There’s something incredibly sexy about a man who can skate backward.”

Evan raises his brow, watching me carefully. His fingers brush over my cheek. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I’m pretty good on my feet if that’s the case.”

“I know, I’ve seen.”

“I haven’t shown you all my skills.”

We continue to make our way around the ice, Evan lazily coasting backward as I try to skate. I didn’t tell him this isn’t my first time ice skating, but soon enough my strides become longer and smoother, and he glances at me in surprise as I skate past him.

“You’re such a little liar,” he says, racing up to me and holding my hips with one of his hands. His chest presses to my back, his breath heavy in my ear. “You can skate.”

“Hey, I couldn’t give away all my secrets.”

“Since you’re so good on your feet, what’ya say we play a game of one-on-one.” He circles around in front of me and I quirk an eyebrow at him, waiting for what he’s going to say next. “Only I make the rules.”

“What do you have in mind?”

He chuckles with mild amusement, his voice lower than before. “For every goal you score, I take something off, but for every one I block, you take something off.”

“Is it safe?” I ask, clearing my throat as though I actually have to think about it. Freak ya I wanna play strip hockey with him.

“Are you afraid you can’t get it past me?” he hedges, waggling his eyebrows.

“No, I’m afraid some old dude on a Zamboni is gonna walk in and see me naked.”

“We’re all alone,” he says playfully, skating over to the bench. He leans over the boards and grabs two sticks and a puck.

He lets it fall to the ice, the sound echoing throughout the arena. He eyes me with wild eyes. “Ready?”

I nod, unsure of how exactly to play the game, but I understand the general idea. Get the puck in the goal.

In front of the goal, Evan stands in a defensive position and I remain stick straight but with the most intimidating glare I can muster. It’s all he can do not to laugh.

I try to act like I have moves, and I don’t, but when I shoot the puck at the goal, he lets it go by. He doesn’t even try for it.

“You didn’t even try on that one.”

He smirks as his jersey comes off with that goal.

I grin, feeling confident, only I know that will probably be my one and only goal. I’m not so sure he’s going to let the others go as easily.

Next one, same thing. I take my shot and he acts like he’s going to get it but misses it.

“This doesn’t look that hard, Evan,” I say, mocking him, trying to get under his skin. “Maybe I should play for the Blackhawks.”

He laughs, chopping his stick at mine and then hitting me in the ass with it. “You can bet your ass you’ve never met a defenseman like me on the ice, though, in a game where I’m all over you.”

I smile again when he removes his chest pads. “You’re right, Mase, I’ve never met someone like you.”

When he grins, I take another shot between his legs and score again.

“You’re not even trying!” I exclaim, throwing my arms up and dropping my stick to the ice. “I’m not playing if you’re not gonna try.” Then I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to continue. It’s a little hard to do it with all the gear, but I think... I hope... I prove my point.

He picks up my stick for me and comes closer, his chest meeting mine. He doesn’t say a word to me but I do take the stick back and try my shot again. I swing as hard as I can and that asshole just simply pivots a little to the right and deflects the puck as if I had thrown a rice cake at him. My swing felt really good too. I thought for sure it would have gone sailing right into the goal, and he’d be taking his compression pants off.

My glare earns me a smirk. “You didn’t want me to take it easy on you.” I reach for my helmet, not taking off my clothes that easily, until Evan stops me. “Helmet stays.”

“Fine.” I throw my gloves down instead.

“You know...” Evan circles around me, his eyes low and focused on the ice before he comes back around, his stick tucked under his chin as he leans on it. In a motion that’s meant to tease the hell out of me, and is quite possibly the sexiest thing he’s ever done, his eyes travel the length of my body before focusing on my face. Sighing, his tone is rough. “Dropping your gloves only means one thing: you’re ready to throw down.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m going for.”

He circles me again. “Fair enough.”

After that, I’m intently focused on trying to get him down to his underwear or even better—naked. I do not succeed. Not even close. Instead, I’m down to my bra and underwear with just a jersey on and he’s not missing anything aside from his jersey and pads.

When I shoot again, and he naturally deflects it and my bra goes with it, but I still have the jersey on.

Evan’s eyes are on my breasts when I take my next shot and I manage to get one in.

As I gloat, he circles me with a smile. I feel like I’m his prey with the way he keeps skating around me.

“I’m pretty awesome,” I mock with a purse of my lips that erupts into a squeal when he hip checks me, catching me off guard with the sudden movement.

“You have no idea what you just started,” he warns, grinning, lingering back a bit, waiting for me to let my guard down.

“I’m surprised they let you play in the NHL with moves like that. Weak.” My lips curve up in a knowing smile as it finally sinks in that I want him to actually put some effort into this.

He groans quietly, as if actually working for it is unheard of.

Deciding to play with him a little more, I lift my arms and stick over my head, arching my back and pushing my chest out. The jersey moves up my body to reveal my bare legs and panties.

His stick hits the ice with a slap, and when I look up, he’s gone, vigorously skating up the ice toward the other end. When he gets to the goal, he sweeps around the outside, his head down as he makes a rush back at me. He has the puck this time, which I didn’t even see him grab, sweeping it with choppy motions from one side of his stick to the other. Each time he hits the ice with his stick, the sound echoes like someone slowly chopping vegetables.

It’s such a swirl of movement it’s hard to follow, but I know enough that I’m about to be schooled.

He’s by me in a whirl, and the next thing I hear is the puck bouncing off the crossbar and the grate of Evan’s skates as he cuts right away from the goal.

“Play the pipes, honey,” he says, bumping his shoulder against mine when he comes back around. It knocks me just slightly but not enough to take my balance away.

I’m going to need to rethink pushing around hockey players.

Watching him gloat in his victory goal dance at center ice, I can’t stop laughing at him. “Done this a few times?”

He skates closer, his breathing heavier than before. “Just a few.”

He stops a foot in front of me, shifting easily back and forth between his feet. I know what he’s going to do and I want it. Badly.

I don’t have to wait long. Pressing his chest to my back, his hands find mine, bringing them up over my head and then twirls me to face him.

Evan can skate backward perfectly. I cannot.

With very little effort, he picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. His eyes are dark and intense, his fingers digging into my bare thighs.

When he notices my stare on him, he swallows and looks away, continuing to skate around the rink with me around his waist, him supporting me by holding onto my waist with one hand. It should have been hard, but not for him.

“Don’t,” I urge him quietly, stopping him from turning away from me by brushing his hair from his face. “I like it when you look at me like that.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

He sighs and I think maybe he’s going to put an end to it.

I panic. “Board me,” I blurt.

What?

Evan laughs. “Do you even know what that means?”

“No, but it sounds cool.”

With a slight dip of his head, a nod maybe, as his slow skate all but halts and his damp hand slips around my thigh when he lowers his head even more. Is he going to reject me? Or maybe I used the wrong term? Maybe it isn’t even a term in hockey. Damn Callie. She’s always saying shit I don’t understand, and now I feel stupid because I repeated the words not knowing what they meant.

“Ami,” he growls softly, possessively, against my lips, drawing back with a smile. “Don’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” I counter, my voice low. Leaving one hand on his shoulder, I dip my hand lower to run over his hard chest.

His free hand catches mine and puts it above my head.

“I’m a hockey player.” His eyes roam over my face and chest. “We’re rough.”

And then suddenly his mouth is on mine. His lips intoxicating as they move softly over mine with the slightest hint of tongue. My head spins with the victory. Suddenly, he moves quicker, the air moving past me with speed until he slows and lifts his mouth from mine. I’m jerked forward with a grunt and my back hits the glass behind me.

He boarded me like I wanted. The echoing bang against the glass is hard to register over our breathing.

He’s right. He is rough, but his arms of steel cradle me in a protective way. I feel the hit in my bones and sure there’ll be a bruise on my ass later. But fuck if I don’t want those bruises on my ass from Evan.

“Hi,” he says, completely Evan-like and grinning.

I giggle. “Hello.”

I breathe in deeply, lacing my fingers into his hair, gently pulling him into me, wrapping my legs around him a little tighter. We melt together so perfectly. In a flurry of kisses and touches, Evan loses a little of that control he so desperately clings to around me. The jersey rides up, his hands underneath it, right where I want them. When I start to slip, from all his touching and my wiggling, Evan takes a deep breath, readjusting his hold on my legs. His hips press against mine, securing me against the glass.

But then his movement and kisses stop and he watches me, waiting for my next move.

Go for it.

His hands move higher to my bare breasts and cup them for the first time. I feel so tiny under his touch, moaning as my nipples harden. And then I say the most embarrassing thing yet.

I say what my eighteen-year-old brain wants. “Have sex with me.”

Silence. I’m met with horrifying silence.

Immediately Evan pulls back away from my lips, smiles sweetly and avoids my eyes. “Don’t say that.” He places a cool finger to my lips. His eyes are on fire, his cheeks flushed, and that calm demeanor is slowly fracturing, cracking like the ice below us.

“Please,” I beg. My hand on his chest trembles and I feel him between my legs, hard, wanting what he won’t give in to. I press my knees together in frustration; he knows what I want.

“Evan...,” I whisper. “Don’t make me beg you for it. That’s embarrassing.”

He looks up at my words, sweeping his eyes from my exposed breasts to my eyes.

“I’m not trying to make you beg, but we can’t do this in here,” he whispers. He laughs softly, the sound shaking my own chest with how close we are pressed together. “I know it’s hard for you, but you’re young and went through something horrible. I can’t take that from you.”

“Take what?”

“Sex.”

I’m confused by what he means, but I also don’t think about it much. “I’m—”

“Shhh.” Evan moves, trying to set me on my feet, but I won’t let go. He touches my thigh, my knee, and then my calf, trying to get me to let go. I won’t. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Ami... this is where I’m the good guy, the gentleman. We can’t do this here. Not like this, right?” His hands brush over my hair, his question hanging between us. “You deserve something special and not this. Not on a fuckin’ hockey rink.”

I smile, not knowing what to say. He’s looking for an answer. One I’m not going to give him. Somehow we’ve moved away from the boards. Evan holds me securely around him.

“Come on, Ami,” he begs, his words pleading and raw. “Don’t look at me like that. You gotta let me be the good guy, please. We can’t do this here.” His eyes flash with worry that I’m going to beg for that and he won’t be able to stop himself.

I hate the fact that he’s so hung up on my age. I’m only three years younger than him. That isn’t that big a difference.

Groaning when I don’t answer, he jostles me around and then slams me up against the boards again. A deafening boom sounds through the arena, followed by both of us panting. His eyes search mine. “Why do you insist on pushing me to the edge?” His hands move desperately over my body, everywhere they can. One second his hands are on my hips, assisting in him grinding against me, and then they’re back to my face, guiding his mouth and mine together.

“Because I want you. All of you,” I tell him between kisses.

His lips part, his mouth moving from one spot to the next, searching for relief. He tries to pull back more than once, only to crash right back to me, every time letting me know this is a struggle for him. He may have been trying to do the right thing, but his body has other ideas, just like mine.

His arms shake, trying to hold back, when he removes his mouth from mine, gasping. “Fuck... tell me to stop. Please.”

The problem is, I want Evan to take this from me, I do. I want this memory. When a girl is raped, it doesn’t matter if she remembers, if she knows she was raped, control and power has been taken from her. Intimacy is something you give to someone else, not something that should be taken. “Don’t you see? I want this with you.”

For me, I want that control back. I want to choose who I’m with and how intimate I am with them.

For me, that’s Evan.

Evan has stronger feelings surrounding what happened to me because he remembers more than I do. He saw first-hand the aftermath of what I went through. That couldn’t have been easy on him, and for that reason, I know I can’t push this with him. I may not remember, but Evan, his memory is enough for both of us.

“Come on,” he growls into my lips. “Honey, please. Push me away.”

“Okay, be a gentleman.” I smile, gasping for breath and not wanting to push the issue.

He sighs in relief, dropping my legs completely and skating a few steps back. Steadying myself against the boards, I adjust my bra he hands back to me. Embarrassment licks my face, the heat nearly overwhelming. Touching my fingertips to my puffy lips, I remember his kiss as he twists away from me.

He looks agitated and annoyed as he tries to gather clothing that has been shed on the ice. He picks up his shirt first and then his compression pants and my shirt that are together by the goal before skating toward me.

Watching his irritation makes me realize Evan’s right. We do have time. But then there’s a good part of me that knows we might not have a future. We might have tonight only. Andrew and Leslie didn’t have a future. They were going to get married and died on that plane together before they could.

What if Evan and I aren’t any different?

What if Evan is killed tomorrow?

What if on the way home we die in a car crash.

I have an ache for something more. It’s down deep in my bones. An ache to belong to someone again.

I’m drawn to Evan in ways I can’t explain, tethered by an event in which he saved me. Maybe I was born to meet him, saved for this.

Evan must sense my mood change because he circles around toward me as I stand near the boards, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. He presses against me again, his body still warm and a nice contrast from the chill in the United Center. His warm palm cups my cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Disappointed then?”

I send a quick half smile in his direction. “Maybe a little.”

“I just can’t.” He motions around the arena.

I nod. “I understand.”

The problem with the ache I have for him is that anytime he’s close, I want more. Before I know it, we’re kissing again and he’s not stopping me.

“Fuck...,” he groans. “We have to stop or I’m not going to.” His mouth moves from my lips to my neck and then my bare shoulders, and back to my neck and lips. His breath hits my skin and I shiver. “It’d be so easy right now. Damn it... I want you so bad.” Twisting, he has me against the boards, his hips preventing me from moving.

“Take me...,” I venture, trying my luck one last time.

“Not here.” And then he pulls away completely and takes me by the hand. Did you catch on though? His answer isn’t no.

The second we’re inside his condo, Evan’s mouth is on mine, the warmth of his chest a reminder of how close we are again. His lips skim over my shoulder as we fall together against his couch.

His hands move to the zipper on my dress and before I can help, he has it undone and peeling it off me.

Leaning forward, bare-chested now, I pepper kisses over his scruffy jaw and straddle him again. Next is his dress shirt. Slowly, I unbutton it, waiting for him to stop me, only he doesn’t. I remove it, my hands gliding over his powerful muscles. Evan lets out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut and tightening the grip he has on my hips.

His fingers dig into my ass, bringing me closer to him, reading my mind, knowing I need something. His hands grope me blindly, moving from one spot to the next. “Did you decide what you like?” he asks, his voice husky, teeming with need as he drags me over his erection.

“No.” I gasp at how hard, and, well, big he is. I know what you’re thinking. You’ve felt it before. And I have, but now it’s like the realization finally hits me. “I don’t have much experience with this.”

His heated gaze travels over my face before he draws me closer to him, rubbing me back and forth over his length.

Goal.

His head falls against the back of the couch, his pelvis thrusting against me slowly at first but gradually picking up speed.

Our sounds fill his living room, my fingers clenching in his hair, my mouth open in a strangled whimper as I ride him.

“Have you ever had an orgasm before?” he whispers in my ear, tingles shooting up my spine.

I rest my hands on his chest as he moves me back and forth, my cheeks probably so freaking red they can heat the room. Unable to answer him, I shake my head.

There’s a smirk on his face when he rolls us to our sides and just before he covers my body with his, he kisses me. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

I hold onto his shoulders again, unsure what he’s referring to. “Okay.”

Settled between my legs, the sheerness of his dress pants provides easy movement. I’ve done this dry humping thing with Josh once before but never had an orgasm.

Evan takes over and I eagerly welcome the warmth of his body, clinging to him.

As our kisses deepen, so do his thrusts. I move my hips, the tiniest shift to find the right angle but I didn’t expect it to feel so good.

Evan’s urgent, hot and heavy with his needy kisses and even more determined motions. After a minute, he sorta checks out, one hand on my ass, the other supporting some of his weight from crushing me. Before I know it, something builds inside me. A spark, an unfamiliar sensation deep inside my stomach but anchored between my legs. Heat licks my thighs, my calves, hell, between my butt cheeks and without much warning, it takes off and I’m left on the edge, a second away from falling. Evan grunts, his entire body shaking with each careful movement he makes above me. It’s a twinge, a quick thrust, a movement in his arm, a twitch of his hips that tells me he’s just as into it and close.

And then I fall, completely, over the edge and into his safe arms as he shows me what intimacy looks like when it’s with someone you trust.

In the same space of time, Evan tenses above, his face nestling in my hair, releasing a moan against my neck, sending shivers throughout my entire body. His body stills, the only movement our gasping breaths.

Holy. Shit.

Evan chuckles, raising up on his hands. “I feel like I’m fucking fourteen again and making out in the back seat of a car, only to lose my shit before anything cool happens,” he mumbles, his voice gritty.

“That wasn’t cool?” I giggle, burying my blushing face against his chest

He holds my head to his chest, kissing my hair. “It was definitely cool. Just messy.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Standing, he pulls at the front of his slacks awkwardly and sighs, extending his hand to me. “Shower?” My mouth gaps open at the invitation, and he adds, “Separately.” He laughs when I stand, wobbling a little. “If I saw you completely naked I can’t guarantee I won’t go for the hat trick.”

Hat trick? I laugh a little, unsure what he’s talking about but not wanting to sound stupid by not knowing.

Inside the bathroom, Evan hands me a towel, hums quietly, and moves his face to nuzzle against my cheek. “I’m hungry again... you?”

“Yeah, I could eat.” I lean against the glass door of the shower, my feet cold from the stone floor.

“I’ll make something.” He kisses my cheek, noticing that it’s burned slightly. “Take your time. You’ve got quite the scruff burn.” His hand rubs over it. “Sorry. Got a little carried away.”

“It’s okay.” My cheeks warm again, remembering the tiny grunts he made. “I liked it.”

“Me too.” He winks, reaching inside the glass doors of the shower to turn the water on. The spray sputters for a moment and then finds a continuous line. “Like I said, take your time.”

I watch him walk away, his black dress pants hanging low and the top of his black boxer briefs just barely seen at the top. Just before he gets to the door, he shakes his ass a little, knowing I’m watching, and then closes the bathroom door behind him.

Damn hockey player. He’s so smooth.

I do take my time, as I always do in Evan’s shower. Shitty thing is it gives me time to think about what just happened. I don’t regret it, and I don’t feel weird. It’s natural to want this.

When I left the hospital, they had this counselor come in and talk to me about being physically intimate again. They made it sound like it would be hard to let someone get close like that. When I imagined what happened to me, I imagined it being horrible, and I can’t even begin to comprehend what women who remember go through. I feel for their loss, their fear, but inside, I don’t have that yet.

When I listened to that counselor talk about how I would feel, and that it was okay if I did have sex again, I had concerns that maybe I wouldn’t be able to be intimate again. What if I can’t do it? What if that guy had ruined me for someone like Evan? Because naturally my mind immediately went to us. I imagined what it would be like. The things he would say to me and the gentle way he would regard my body and treat it as if it was a gift to him.

And so far he’s done everything my imagination has painted. Slowly, despite me trying to rush it, he’s giving me back my power and control. He’s letting me choose. Since that first kiss to now, he may have instigated the intimacy on more than one occasion, but he always waits for me to make the move. Instead of taking, he’s giving.

After showering, Evan made me nachos. “Are you okay?” he asks from his place on the floor next to me in the living room as we watch Sports Center. Freshly showered himself and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, he rests his back against the couch.

I seek out his questioning eyes and push the sleeves of his overly large sweatshirt up to reach for another chip. “Yeah, why?”

“Just making sure I didn’t scare you.”

“Why would you?”

He shrugs one shoulder, his eyes moving from mine to the chips between us. “Maybe too soon.”

“I don’t think so,” I add, trying to reassure him.

“Would you tell me if it was?”

I lift my gaze at the tremble to his words. He’s scared. “I will always tell you the truth.”

Evan smiles at me and then it fades quickly, his eyes focusing behind me. “That little fucker.”

I turn my head to see Ice, our kitten, using the curtains in the living room as a rope to climb to the top of the rods where he sits and stares down at us.

I laugh, covering my mouth. “It’s like he’s getting ready to attack us.”

Before I can get the words out, he launches his tiny kitten body from ten feet up, right onto Evan’s shoulder. Let me just say that Ice might be looking for a new home soon because I don’t think Evan appreciates the racing stripes of blood down his arm.