fifteen

Meghan left John’s before dinner, though it took about ten goodbye kisses before she made it out the door.  Driving home was like sailing.  Every nerve was firing - she could feel his lips, his touch, his weight and heat and even the cotton of his t-shirt between her fingers.  She turned up the radio and sang along.

James was on the couch when she came home.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.”  She was smiling.  Couldn’t stop.

He didn’t ask where she’d been, and Meghan didn’t offer.  She didn’t want to lie.  Instead she suggested ordering in for dinner and watching a movie on TV.  James jumped on the offer like a dog on a bone.

“I’ll call.”  He got up and went for menus.

Meghan frowned.  It wasn’t like him to be so obsequious.  James came back holding just one flyer.  “How about Thai?”

She knew right where this was going.  Just because she had an amazing day didn’t mean James had.  And no doubt Becki with an i had mentioned seeing her this morning.  

He didn’t bring it up until their food was laid out on the coffee table, using real plates he’d gotten from the kitchen.  It was the equivalent of formal dining for James. Meghan sat on the floor, helped herself to some pad see ew and leaned back against the edge of the couch to wait.

James had hoped she would say something before now.  He was also worried because she hadn’t come home furious about the night before.  From what Steven had recapped, since James didn’t remember, his performance at the party had not been pretty.  James had only meant to have a good time, not embarrass himself or Meghan.  But you couldn’t embarrass someone who didn’t care and Meghan’s good mood scared him now.

“Last night was crazy, eh?”

She nodded, mouth full.

“I, uh, heard you saw Becki this morning.  Sorry about that.”

Meghan looked at her plate until she could keep a straight face.  Then she said, “It’s okay.”

James slid to the edge of the couch and lowered himself onto the floor a few feet from where Meghan sat.  He folded his long legs up and balanced dinner in his lap.  “No, it’s not.  I shouldn’t have brought her back.  This is your home too.”

“I crashed out at Steven’s.  I wasn’t even here.”

“Still.”  James couldn’t tell her it wasn’t worth it, the short-time good time that wasn’t as good as he wanted it to be - wasn’t any good at all, really.  He couldn’t say it was about the chase because there was no chase.  Becki, and plenty of girls like her, posed no challenge.  The easy road led to easy girls and the whole thing was getting a lot harder for James.  

Meghan shrugged.  It was tough to agree with James without seeming to do so in her own interest.  He didn’t need girls like Becki, but he wasn’t about to get Meghan in some kind of trade for good behavior.  She reached for the remote and started the movie.

___

An hour later, the movie was in full swing and they had moved to the couch.  James was drained both physically and emotionally from the last twenty-four hours.  A slight hangover persisted.  Just a cushion away, Meghan lounged out, long hair fanned over her shoulders.  Her skin glowed in the screen’s reflected light, making her cheekbones more prominent and her eyelashes appear longer.  She laughed and the smile that splashed across her face almost broke his heart.

James shifted right and bumped against her side.  Meghan gave him a look.  He bumped again.  She smirked.  James leaned over and put his head right into her lap.

Oh James.  His lanky body curled up into his half of the sofa and he sighed, settling against her leg.  Long curls, longer than Meghan had ever seen on him, caught and pooled against the fair skin of his neck.  She unfurled one and watched it spring back into shape.  He smiled.

This is what he would miss if she left.  This innocent, unguarded moment was the most intimate thing James had in his life, when he wasn’t acting like he thought James Neal should act.  It wasn’t easy for him to turn off the show.  She wanted to tell him this friendship wouldn’t disappear over John - the fact she was here right now proved that. But James wouldn’t believe her, he needed to think more of himself than girls like Becki did.

Meghan raked her fingers through his hair and earned another smile.

____

John: What are you doing?

Meghan: What are you wearing?

He giggled.  It wasn’t very dignified but John was really fucking happy.  After Meghan left, and he convinced himself all that had really happened, John thought through what she’d said and the solution she’d offered.  Of course he had taken it.  But the more he thought about it, the better it sounded.

Or she sounded, he thought.

James was being a dick.  Meghan admitted that.  Instead of getting mad and throwing John in James’ face, Meghan was trying to be a better person.  She wanted to get her point across without using John.  In doing so, she could likely save them both the friction and tension of James’ first pass through the idea of them dating.  John wanted to buy an ad in the paper and announce he’d gotten his girl, but that was not the point of being with Meghan - to brag, that’s what James might have done.  If she was here and she was his, that far exceeded John’s wildest hope.  If she could help James… well, John didn’t care too much about that except it would make her happy.  He waited until he thought she might be going to sleep and texted her.

John: Shorts and a shirt.  You?

Meghan: Nurse costume.

John: Mean.

Meghan: Schoolgirl outfit?

John: Not better.

An hour away in Whitby, Meghan blushed.  Flirting with John might be the best part of this relationship - which was saying something after all the kissing they’d done that afternoon.

Meghan: Okay, you win.  I’m wearing my Tavares shirt.  It’s so comfy, I’m all wrapped up in it in bed.

John: I’m climbing in your window.

He didn’t even wait a beat before texting again.

John: Can I see you tomorrow?

____

Meghan came down stairs the next morning, dressed and ready for the gym.  James almost spilled the juice he was pouring.

“Marry me,” he said.

Meghan froze.  “Huh?”

He looked pointedly down her body, which was wrapped a bright blue workout tank with neon trim that came to a v just low enough to see there was cleavage beneath it.  It was a little long, drawing his eye all the way down to the curve of her ass.  If it were a car on a roller coaster, it would’ve been plunging down that drop.  Black workout pants finished the job, ending just below her knees.  The blue of her sneakers perfectly matched her top.

“Oh,” she laughed.  James nodded emphatically.  This was the old James - blatant, funny, kind of a pervert.  She smiled to herself.  Hope it works on John.

They drove to the gym and the instant they walked in, Meghan’s eyes were everywhere. James went toward the guys locker room.  John was nowhere to be seen.

Calm down!  She had to laugh at herself.  It wasn’t like she’d get to touch or kiss him here, but the butterflies in her stomach were an army, marching in formation, endlessly turning and stomping.  This would be the first real test.  Meghan knew she could keep it together - in fact, she was looking forward to seeing if John could handle it too.

___

John looked up the second Neal walked into the locker room.

“Hey John,” James said casually.

Whew.  Tension had crept in that morning, slowly hardening John’s heart like a tree in the petrified forest.  Now it relaxed.  Neal didn’t know about him and Meghan.

One day down, John thought.  He really wanted to say: I got your girl.

Stamkos showed up and Neal was as friendly as ever, relaxed and in good spirits.  While James would never apologize for his behavior, the return to normal was as much as they could hope for.  That and maybe Robs would go easy on them for a day.

Yeah right.

The weight room was crowded - people liked to get their workouts in early, and probably wanted Robs to see they were there.  Gary was at the desk talking to a trainer as John’s eyes scanned first the running machines and then the racks.  It wasn’t until a big guy in a black top moved aside that he saw Meghan.  And nearly stumbled.

That is just cruel.

She was doing ricep kickbacks - right knee and hand on the workout bench, her left foot on the floor.  In that hand she held a fifteen pound dumbell, pushing it backward along her side from 90 degrees to straight.  The pose highlighted the slender width of her waist, the tone of her thighs and mostly it just hung her ass in the air.  It was the closest any guy in this gym would get to seeing her on all fours.

Including me, if I die right now, John thought.  Meghan’s ponytail had slipped over her shoulder to reveal the spot on her neck where he’d kissed her till she whimpered.  Until she had to make him stop.

With a deep breath to steady himself, John walked right over.  The closer he got, the worse it was.  Meghan caught his eye in the mirror and smiled.

Ten people were within earshot.  James would be out of the locker room in a second.  If this was what Meghan meant by fun, John might have to reconsider their agreement.  For now he just cleared his throat.

“Morning.”

She struggled to keep from giggling.  “Morning John.  You’re looking fit today.”

He filled out a grey Islanders t-shirt very nicely, atop black shorts with black sneakers.  Meghan made a note to do something about the shoes.

“Er, you too,” he scratched the back of his neck.  She finished the set and slowly uncurled her body to standing.  It was calculated like a dance move and she saw in John’s eyes that he was well aware what she was doing.

“Tease,” he whispered.

“I was going to do some yoga next, right here on the floor,”  Meghan said quietly.  He narrowed his eyes and she let that giggle slip.  They were so busy staring at each other neither noticed James until he was right alongside.

“Robs is gonna start charging extra to work out when you do,” Neal said. “Cause everyone has to start over again when you leave.”

“Well don’t let me get in your way,” she said right to John.  “I only let the best players on my fantasy team.”

James turned away laughing, and John stepped back hoping to blend into the retreat.  His eyes never left Meghan’s.  “Can I see you?” he mouthed.  

Her only response was to drop back into position, back arched and ass high, and flip her hair.

____

John was counting.  It helped him concentrate on the task at hand, breathing into certain muscles and making them work, directing the exercise right where it needed to go.  At the moment he was counting clean-and-jerks.  When he got to twenty, he stopped.

Slow clap.

Meghan was leaning against the wall across from him.  The edges of her top were dark with sweat and her hair stuck to skin wherever it touched.  Her face was glowing.  John had an urge so strong to tilt her head back and lick her neck that he growled under his breath.

“You’re here, good!”  Robs let off torturing Stamkos.  The NHL’s best scorer slumped against a weight rack.  “Guys, I’ve asked Meghan to judge a competition for us this morning.  A little race.”  

James, John and Steven all looked at each other, alarmed.  

Meghan rolled her eyes.  These guys were so competitive.  Set a goal and they would reach for it.  Set them against each other and they would run, all out, until somebody won or died.  Throw a girl into the mix and forget it: testosterone tidal wave.  James squared up, rolling his shoulders back as if it made him look tough.  He really was getting too skinny.

“Here’s the drill.  You’re gonna do a push up, then a pull up, then again, for a set of thirty.  Full push ups too, ladies, I wanna see chests touching the floor.  Pull ups from a dead hang to chin at the bar.  Got it?  Meghan’s here to bust you for cheating, so I can time everybody.  The idea is to win today, and also to beat today’s time next week.  Got it?”

Unable or unwilling to glare at someone as intimidating as Roberts, the guys turned their eyes on Meghan.  She gave them a pageant wave.

“Remember where you live for free,” James said darkly.

“Remember you can move in with me,” Steven added.

John, who could have said a million things, shrugged innocently.  “You look nice today.”

Robs lined the guys up and called go.  They all hit to the ground at once, feet shooting out behind them.  Chests dropped to the mat.  Meghan walked behind, arms cross in a serious pose.  Really she was thinking how many women would pay good money for a website that showed hockey players doing push-ups all day.  Biceps were flexing everywhere, glutes and quads standing out like marble beneath practically useless gym clothes.  The boys jumped to their feet and reached for bars overhead.  Shoulders expanded, waists narrowed and somebody groaned.

It might have been Meghan.

By the five mark, Steven was a shade ahead.  By eight his lead was half a second.  At the tenth pushup, Meghan clicked her tongue at James for only going halfway to the floor.  He cursed but repeated the move.  It put him in last place.  

She tried not to watch only John - all the muscle going on help to distract - but her eyes kept drifting back to the boy on the end.  Each time he balanced on his toes, his calves strained into perfect relief.  He even had muscles along his shins.  It was a shame the rest of his legs disappeared beneath shorts, but when he hopped up to standing Meghan got a flash of the skin at his waist.  She’d touched him there once.

God, I can’t wait to do it again.

“One!” Gary called out the minute mark, wrenching Meghan back into reality.  Steven was still in the lead, John almost a full round behind him and James another half back of that.  Neal went carefully all the way to the floor under her watchful eye.  Steven executed a pull up like he was lifting a beer - no effort, no strain.

“Damn, Stammer,” she said appreciatively.  

He didn’t even blink.  “Sorry Meg, I have a girlfriend.”

“Ah,” she sighed.  “The hopes and dreams Whitby girls die so young.”

Halfway through Steven had opened a convincing lead.  His form was perfect - no surprise - and Meghan hoped this Kaylynn girl knew what she had.  John had no chance of catching up.  He was heavier and thicker than Steven, plus an inch shorter.  And Stamkos could jump about eight feet in the air.

“Two!”

The rate had slowed slightly across the board.  Steven had fewer than ten reps to go.  James had nearly matched John again, and Meghan saw John dig deep to find an extra gear.  No way he’d lose to James in front of her.  

“Come on Nealer, move that skinny ass!” she said.  He said a lot of four letter words under his breath.  “You gonna lose to this guy?  He tucks his shirt in!”

Behind her, Roberts laughed loudly.

“Hey!” John said.

“Don’t worry John.  If Neal had an ass to show off, he’d tuck his shirts in too.”

Stamkos finished his thirtieth rep with a whoop.  Meghan pointed at him.  “You’re telling me I should only date blond guys?  You brunettes can’t keep up?”

John grunted out his final pull up and dropped to his feet.  He was sweaty and panting.  Those dark eyes found hers in the mirror and his brows moved ever so slightly, like a challenge.  Meghan felt it right down to her panties.

How am I ever going to watch him play hockey?

Neal finished a heartbeat later.  “I hate you all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Meghan passed him a towel.  “But none of these guys can grow a ginger beard.”

____

Meghan was outside in her favorite reading spot when they guys came out.  All three were walking together, laughing about something.  They were too different physically to be brothers but they finally looked like a team.  She felt victorious even as her eyes slid firmly to the guy on the left and stayed there.

John knew Meghan was there.  His peripheral vision picked up her height and shape, the dark of her hair against the creamy lightness of her skin.  More than that, he could feel her nearby. The ground seemed to tilt in that direction, as if John had plans to go anywhere else.  He didn’t look right at her until they were only a meter apart.

Hi gorgeous, he thought.  Meghan flashed him a smile, he knew she’d heard it loud and clear.

“Lunch, please,” James held his keys out to Meghan.  Her mouth fell open in surprise - he never let anyone drive his car, especially not a girl.

“Was that the price of losing the race?” She snagged the ring with one finger.

“I lost because of you.  Now you have to take care of me,” James whined.  His head lolled to one side in mock exhaustion.

She made a face.  “I don’t hear these guys whining, ya loser.”

Meghan slipped into the low leather bucket seat of James’ Mercedes and fit the key in the ignition.  James slumped beside her, closed the door and let out a low, sad moan.  

“Today was bad.”

“Because you’re still hungover from Canada Day,” she reminded him.

James was, and worse he was sore in places he shouldn’t have been sore without meeting a girl he was embarrassed to wake up next to.  He spared Meghan that detail and leaned his head back.  She carefully pressed the clutch and dropped the purring engine into gear.  It wasn’t the cost or the power of the car that made her careful - Meghan was always careful with James’ things.  Usually he loved it: she put his dishes back where they belonged, bought new laundry detergent before the old one was empty.  Money was nice but that was the kind of luxury James wanted.  He always had Gatorade and his place never smelled like socks.  Lately though, James knew he’d been an ass.  There had to be a way to make it up to her.

“You can go fast, if you want,” he said as Meghan came to a complete stop and looked both ways.

“Safety first,” she replied.  “Precious cargo.”

“Precious cargo,” he echoed.  

She drove to a nearby cafe that was attached to a health food store.  James complained that nothing on the menu was fried but he appreciated Meghan saving him, yet again, from his own vices.  And he bet Steven and John couldn’t wait to eat like birds.

John pulled in right next to Meghan’s driver side door.  Climbing out she saw the span of his back and shoulders through the window, doing the same.  After an hour of watching him workout, Meghan appreciated the shape of his body and thin material of his t-shirt.  She was still watching when he turned her way.

Wink.

She thought John might frown, or shake his head no to warn her off being too obvious.  Instead he winked right back.  Meghan caught her hip on James’ side view mirror and smacked clumsily into the side of the car.

“Oof!”

John just laughed.

Inside, Steven was already heading for a booth.  John quickened his step and slid in across from Stamkos.  Meghan was right behind him.  She slid all the way over, pressing her side to his before moving slightly away.  Underneath the table, John’s knee settled against hers.  Without so much as a smirk, Meghan wrapped her foot inside his and twisted their lower legs together.

Over a turkey sandwich with sprouts, Meghan watched the three guys in her life interact.  John was as much a part of the group as anyone.  James had the dominant personality and Steven so much natural charisma, but John’s straightforward niceness and surprising sense of humor kept right up.  She was proud to see him fitting in.  In reward, Meghan dropped her flip flop and slowly ran the arch of her bare foot over the bulge of John’s calf as much as she could without appearing to move above the table.

John nearly choked on a grilled chicken sandwich.  He coughed, covering the gaffe.  Sneaking a glance at Meghan, she looked enthralled with her plate of food.

He leaned back casually, reaching down toward his pocket where instead he pinched her lightly on the outer thigh.  God her shorts were short when sitting down - the perfect length for his hand to rest against the bare skin that came after.  His fingers released but stayed put, her smooth skin denting beneath their gentle pressure.  One small circle, then another, and suddenly John was rubbing his hand along Meghan’s thigh.

It was like a stone dropping into a pond - first the pinch, then his touch tracing slightly wider arcs.  John’s fingertips were raised; hands that knew work, knew equipment.  The edges burred faintly, sending a shower of sparks through Meghan’s veins.  Warmth followed each ripple, spreading toward her core.

She snapped back to reality.  John was feeling her up under the table while James sat mere feet away.  Meghan moved her leg back into her own dance space and sat up straight.

“Good sandwich,” she said with too much enthusiasm.

John didn’t touch her again.  That didn’t bother him much - sure he wanted to touch her, but PDAs weren’t really his thing.  It wasn’t until they were heading to cars and Meghan was leaving with James that John frowned.  Even if she wanted to hang out, her destination was an hour away.  An hour wasted.  He walked behind her, going slow until James was busy getting into the passenger seat once again.  As they passed the hood of the car, John whispered, “Come over later.”

Meghan wanted to.  She wanted to catch his thick bicep and swing him around the kiss him the way she’d been dying to all morning.  Still the instinct to go slow welled up in her gut.  Already she and John had been on more dates than James ever took any girl on - even their hour of making out showed amazing restraint.  But she’d grown up around guys getting it easily and Meghan had never been that kind of girl.  Even if John wasn’t that kind of guy.

“Call you,” she said back.

She dedicated her mind to getting James’ Mercedes home in one piece.  It wasn’t the best car to drive when she was already a little frisky.  The engine went from a low hum to a sexy growl when she merged into the passing lane.  Beneath her, the steady vibration roared in response.  That’s what it felt like when John touched her leg - a current of electricity, measured and careful, coursing into her body.  Sooner or later, something would catch fire.

Down girl, Meghan told herself.  It was easier to do when John was driving in the opposite direction.  Next to her, James stirred in his seat.

He was being so good.  Meghan glanced over: his head was turned toward her, those full lips parted as he dozed.  The dark fringe of his lashes stood out against his cheeks.  Even if he was a jerk sometimes, Meghan knew she’d never be able to give up this version of James.  Not even for John.