“You no cook?” Antony tried to remember the size of her kitchen, but all he could picture was the table covered in makeup and magazines. Then he said, “No problem. I visit you, in case oven works.” He imagined Maxine arriving at his apartment and seeing all his hockey paraphernalia, plus there was Marc. An unexpected shiver swept over his skin—Marc knew all his secrets.
“Friday night?” she prompted.
Friday night.
The familiar burden of consequence pulled on his heart. Antony wanted to tell her the truth, to make things clear between them, but the fear of losing her was too great, overshadowing any scrupulous intentions. Still, he couldn’t resist her. He’d become an expert at convincing himself the gratification was worth the betrayal, no matter how deeply it stained his conscience.
The mental debate left him exhausted and hopeless. He wanted to reach through the phone and touch her. “Je souhaite que nous étions ensemble,” he said, hanging his head.
“I don’t understand.”
“I wish we were together,” he translated. Together, in every sense he thought. In each other’s lives for real instead of this stupid game he’s pulled her into.
“Me too.” There was a soft laugh on the other end of the line. “Where are you now?” Her playful tone got his attention.
“In the hotel room, on the bed.”
“Are the lights on? I know you have a thing for
illumination.”
There was no mistaking her tone. Antony had to concentrate to get the words perfect. He said, “They will be Friday night.”
“Maybe.”
“Maxine, you tease me.”
She made an exasperated noise. “I’m not a tease! I’m shy. And damn it, isn’t it obvious? You’re a hot chiseled guy, and I’m a fat blob.”
“Not blob.”
“It’s okay, I know I’m fat.”
“I like your curves and girly parts.” She didn’t answer. “Maxine?”
She sounded far away. “Yes.”
“You remind me of…how do you say, needle up girl?”
It was quiet, then she said, “Pin up girl?”
“Right,” he said. After a small hesitation he began,
“I was young, only thirteen…found her under box of old camping magazines in mon grandpapa’s basement.”
“This is getting interesting.”
“She had red hair and sweater that was too small…or no, wrong, knitting. She was knitting, and it showed her…” He was surprised to feel himself getting hard.
“And it showed her what, Antony?” she asked, impish and suggestive.
“Um…her big seins. Wait, is that English word?”
She burst out laughing. “No, but I think I know what you mean. So this calendar girl stole your heart?”
“She was my first, uh…first time I…”
“Saw the face of God?” she finished. Maxine gave him a nervous laugh. “Hmm, I have to admit, I’m a little bit jealous.”
“Non, you’re my pin up girl now,” Antony said. He shifted his position on the bed, pulling his shirt lose from his pants. “Your seins are better.” His growing hard on agreed.
“See ends? I guess I know another French word, now. That makes me practically bilingual.”
Antony could hear the smile in her voice. “Start lesson tonight?” he proposed. “Qu’est-ce que tu portes?” He waited, then repeated in a softer voice, “What are you wearing?”
“A…a bathrobe.” She was hesitant, but there was a hint of anticipation. “I wish you were here,” she whispered.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Je suis avec tu, t’embrassant…I’m with you, kissing you.”
Over the phone, her breathing matched his own racing heartbeat.
There was a pause on the other line, then her voice came through so clear, he was certain she was lying on the bed next to him. “Where are you kissing me?” she asked.
“Déshabille-toi—take your clothes off.” He made sure to keep his tone even, to let her know it was a statement, a demand…not a request.
“You’re bad.” There was a rustling sound in the background, and he pictured her untying the knot in the sash, then fanning open both sides of the robe as she lay on the bed. Her voice came through again, salacious and heavy with want. “Don’t stop.”
He pressed further; his erection had its own pulse now. Antony pulled down his zipper, as he began to describe the seduction he was imagining.
The smile was permanent on Antony’s face, even when Chase stumbled into the room two hours later, drunk with a pair of pink lacy thongs tucked into his jacket pocket. And even the next day when the Russian defender’s knuckles split his bottom lip open, requiring three stitches, All the while, Antony kept grinning.
He’d skated off the ice, leaving a trail of blood while one of the trainers held a towel to his face. There was a standing ovation from a group of fans dressed in the blue and white Maple Leaf’s jerseys.
“Christ, Laurent.” The trainer smiled as they went under the bleaches toward the medical room. “One goal, one assist, and a highlight reel worthy fight. You’re my hero.”
Don’t lose your passion. Not a chance.