Page 32 of The Write Off
Her mouth drops open in surprise and the visual makes my cock stiffen. I’m beginning to understand why she enjoys teasing me so much. It’s quite fun. Once she gets over her shock, she seems to be much more relaxed.
The decision to invite Rilla to the game was not one I made rashly. After my meeting with Stuart, I went back to my office and thought about it at length. Manuscripts were ignored and emails went unanswered as I attempted to view the situation from multiple vantage points. I even made a physical list of pros and cons.
The cons were few in number, but significant nonetheless. There is a definite possibility that she may not be interested in exploring a relationship with me out of work. I have to acknowledge the strong possibility that this attraction is one-sided.
If she is interested in seeing me romantically, what happens in the event it doesn’t end well? We’ve officially finished edits on Of Cinder and Sand and at this time I have not yet been asked to continue as her editor for any future books in the series. We wouldn’t have to work together again, unless of course we want to. We wouldn’t need to see one another at all.
The pros were much more instrumental in swaying my decision. I like Rilla. More than I like most people. She’s sparked an interest in me that I haven’t felt in a very long time, if ever. I want to see if she feels the same.
Ultimately, I opted to proceed with caution. The next time she texted me with a gif of a pop culture reference I didn’t recognize, I told her that I had an extra ticket to the game and asked if she would like to accompany me.
It took her a long time to answer. Much longer than I was expecting. I wondered at one point if she was preparing her own list of pros and cons, but decided based on everything I know about this woman that this was not likely. Just when I was starting to regret extending the invitation, she wrote back asking who the Bruins were playing. I told her, sweetening the pot by mentioning that the tensions between the two teams have been escalating this year and someone was bound to bleed during the game. That seemed to have sealed the deal.
It’s different; being around her when we’re not working. She’s different. And maybe I am too. We sip our beers and chat about the plays happening on the ice. When she’s not hurling expletives at the referees, that is. I’m used to seeing her pretend to not care, but now she actually seems carefree. Her smiles are effortless and her laughter comes easily. When the Bruins score on a power play, she jumps up and down with unbridled enthusiasm. A warm feeling spreads through my chest as I watch her.
The contrasts between Rilla and the other women I’ve dated are obvious. I hate to admit it, but I feel like I’ve approached all of my relationships the same way up to this point; determine compatibility and assess risk levels. I evaluated prospective partners as though I were interviewing them for a job.
Tell me about yourself.
Where did you go to school?
Where do you see yourself in five years?
Do you have any questions for me?
I may as well have concluded most of my first dates by telling them I would check their references and get back to them.
I’m not going to do that with Rilla. I’m going to date her, or attempt to, because I want to. For once, I’m going to focus on the ride instead of worrying about the destination. Maybe it’ll go somewhere and maybe it won’t. Just because our flirting has escalated doesn’t necessarily mean there’s any real sexual chemistry between us.
The buzzer sounds indicating the end of the 2nd period. The players leave the ice as the jumbotron comes to life, picking out people from the stands who mildly resemble famous people. I don’t recognize any of the celebrities, but the crowd seems to be loving it. Rilla’s entire body goes rigid next to me and she looks frantically around our surroundings in horror.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, concerned by how alarmed she looks.
“What if they put us on the Kiss Cam?” Her eyes are panic-filled as she surveys the building like she’s looking for hidden cameras.
“What?”
“The Kiss Cam! What if it lands on us? If we don’t kiss, everyone will think there’s something wrong with me.”
“And if we do?” I’m surprised Rilla would care what tens of thousands of strangers think of her, but I keep that thought to myself. Are hockey arenas normally this warm? My palms start to sweat.
“Well. Well then we’d be kissing.” Color spreads through her cheeks, the pink blush making her eyes look brighter.
I huff out a laugh, my warm breath barely visible in the chilled air. “I’m going to leave that ball in your court.”
She scowls at me. “You shouldn’t use a basketball reference while we’re at a hockey game, Logan. It’s confusing.”
“In that case, I will leave that puck in your defensive zone.”
“Are you calling me defensive?”
I peer down at her, clearly exasperated and she bursts into laughter.
“Don’t worry,” I say, tentatively resting my arm on her shoulder. I’m pleased when she willingly leans against my torso. “It’s statistically unlikely that we’ll end up on the Kiss Cam.”
We end up on the Kiss Cam.
At first I’m not even sure what’s happening. One moment we’re discussing a recent defensive trade and the next people around us are pointing and clapping. I look up and see our faces on the big screen. We look massive. I’m staring at the big screen versions of us when Rilla turns to me.