Offside by Kelly Jamieson Page B

fun as much as the
next guy. But since my injury, that kinda lost its
appeal.”
    “When do you think you’ll get to play
again?” she asked.
    His lips pursed. “I’m hoping Tuesday
night’s game. I guess we’ll see how Monday’s practice
goes.”
    She nodded. “That would be
great.”
    “Fuck yeah.” He sighed. “I feel like
I’m ready.”
    “Then you probably are. You’re the
best judge, right?”
    He grimaced. “I don’t know. They keep
telling me not to push it too fast. It’s possible I’m a little
impatient.”
    “No!”
    He slanted her a crooked
smile.
    “Hockey players are crazy,” she said.
“You think you’re so tough. Didn’t you play with a broken finger
once?”
    “Yeah.” He shrugged. “It was taped up.
It was the playoffs.”
    “And I seem to remember once you were
playing with a cut on your head that was gushing blood and needed
stitches.”
    “They put a butterfly tape on it and
it was fine until the game was over.”
    She eyed the small scar just above his
right eyebrow. “My brother played with a broken bone in his foot,”
she shared. “Idiot.”
    He laughed.
    They sat a while longer, chatting
about nothing much, admiring the vast blue view in front of them,
sunlight glinting off waves, foamy whitecaps crawling onto shore.
Eventually, Honey said, “We should probably get moving or I might
never be able to get up off this bench.”
    “You got it.”
    When she stood it wasn’t as bad as
she’d expected. They climbed back onto their bikes and fastened
their helmets and cycled back toward Santa Monica, experiencing the
earlier ride in reverse. The sun was lower now as they approached
the sphere of the Ferris wheel at the pier.
    When they’d returned the bikes, Matt
started guiding her in the opposite direction of the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
    “To buy you a swimsuit.”
    “Oh my god. Really?”
    “Yeah. Really. It’ll be good for you
after all the riding. I’m also really good at massage.”
    The idea of his big hands on her naked
body massaging her made her belly swoop. “I don’t know, Matt…I
should go home…”
    Her protest was half-hearted and he
knew it.
    “We’ll go back to my place and order
in some dinner,” he said. “Keep it low-key, right? A little time in
the hot tub, a glass of wine, maybe some seafood…sounds pretty good
to me.”
    It sounded frackin’
awesome.
    But also frackin’
dangerous.

 
    Chapter Nine

     
    Matt was ninety-nine percent sure
there was a little shop across the street that sold souvenirs and
beach crap, hopefully including miniscule bikinis. Now he had that
idea in his head—Honey in the hot tub mostly naked, all mellow and
warm—he was determined to make it happen. But as they passed by a
liquor store, he stopped and made a sharp turn. “Wine,” he muttered
to her. “Unless you want to drink beer.”
    “I hate beer.”
    “I know.”
    He did know. It was weird, that he
knew things about her. Despite all the years that had passed. He
knew she hated beer and cucumbers and the smell of bananas. She
loved shrimp and Kahlua and any kind of cake but especially
chocolate. Her favorite color was pink and she hated plastic purses
and wedge shoes.
    She chose a bottle of wine and he paid
for it over her protests. Christ. He had more money than he knew
what to do with, he could afford a fucking twenty-dollar bottle of
wine. Then he led the way to the next shop where they found a
selection of bikinis. Since he knew she liked pink, his eyes went
right away to a pink suit on a hanger. Please let it be her
size. Except he had no clue what size she was. His gaze moved
back to her as he held it up, then he squinted at it.
    She laughed and grabbed it from him.
“I am not size eighteen.”
    “I thought it looked a little big,” he
mumbled.
    “I do like the color, though.” She
shook her head, muttering, “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” as
she rifled through the rack. Finally she pulled out