Page 20 of The Flight Risk

“That one is my favorite.”

I jump, dropping the helmet on my toe. My life flashes before my eyes. “Jesus, Oakley, you scared me. I thought I was the only one home.” Disgruntled, I balance like a flamingo so I can assess the damage.

I hear a rumbling coming from the man who is taking up the entire doorway, leaning against the frame with one forearm and the other covering his mouth. Is he laughing at me?

“Is this amusing to you? My pain? Are you a secret sadist?” I hold onto my foot. The throbbing has subsided already and I doubt a four-pound helmet will do much permanent damage. Even when he is laughing at my clumsiness, his current stance in that doorway is making me melt.

He relaxes, a smile still spread across his face, green eyes sparkling like gemstones. Yes, sparkling. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s rare to catch you off-guard and you looked…cute jumping on one foot.”

Did he just utter the word cute?

He falls to his knees to pick up the helmet, which seems unscathed. Thank god. That helmet is irreplaceable and it’s his favorite. He hands it to me and says, “Let me see your foot.”

“Excuse me?” I hold onto the helmet for dear life this time, hoping I don’t drop it again.

“Your foot? Can I see it and make sure nothing is broken or bruised?”

“Do you moonlight as a podiatrist or something?”

He ignores my question and looks up at me. A stray lock of his gorgeous light brown hair falls just right above his quizzical brow. His warm hand grabs my foot and I try my best to stifle a laugh since that is my most ticklish spot. I thank my lucky stars that I recently got a pedicure. I took Lottie shortly after she moved in to hopefully distract her from the chaos my sister threw her into. His touch is tender and firm all at once and it feels so damn good. I have to concentrate very hard on keeping my balance, but something tells me that Oakley won’t let me fall.

“I think you’re going to survive. Just a little red.” He lingers on his knees for what seems like minutes. Suddenly my fantasies of him on his knees for me are flashing before my eyes and it feels like the walls are closing in with how hot I’m getting. My cheeks are ablaze and not that I would ever admit this to Brooke, but those hot yoga classes are paying off at this moment. I’ve never felt so connected to my body. My core is on fire for various reasons–one is still holding onto my foot.

I clear my throat. “Good.” To my dismay, Oakley lets go of my foot. My need for him to touch me again is overpowering. I’m still clutching onto his helmet. Perfect way to change the subject and keep the butterflies at bay. “So, why is this one your favorite? Did you block a lot of goals while wearing it?”

Upon inspection of the helmet, I see a painting of what looks like a tree on one side and the Dallas skyline on the other. Oakley stands back up and is the closest he’s been to me–ever. He smells like cedar and a hint of citrus. Clean and fresh and masculine. My weaknesses all wrapped up into one tantalizing scent.

“It was the helmet I wore the year that I had the most consecutive starts. It was the first year that I was switched from a back-up goalie to the starting goalie by the end of the season. And it wasn’t because our starter got injured, but because I showed the head coach what it takes to be the starting goalie. It was the most validating year of my career. I felt like I finally made it and all the practices and training and games that led up to that moment of my life were all worth it.”

I avoid eye contact with him because even his voice is making me melt. It’s silky but rough. Like his hands. Like everything about him. I fear that if I look up into those bright green eyes, I will become a full-on puddle. “So I get the Dallas skyline. What’s with the tree?”

“Uh...it’s kind of silly.”

“Ooooh, well if it’s silly, now I really want to know.” I take a deep breath and finally look up at him. He has a boyish grin and his eyes are crinkling from his sheepish smile.

“Remember my username I told you about last night?”

“Oh, it’s an oak tree.”

“Yeah, well a red oak tree,” he clarifies. I raise my eyebrows and nod, trying hard not to let on that it is, in fact–his words not mine–silly. “It started out as a rhyming thing but then I researched characteristics of oak trees and what they symbolized, hoping it would have a deeper meaning that I could roll with.”

“And, what did your research tell you?”

“A red oak tree symbolizes endurance.” Check. “Strength.” Double check. “Wisdom.” That tracks. “And, um…” His voice trails off and that sheepish smile returns.

“And, um what? Come on, spit it out, Oak Tree.” I tap him on his broad chest with the helmet, which is literally the only thing keeping our bodies from touching.

“Love.” He locks his eyes with mine.

I swallow hard. Although I’m now standing on both feet, they feel so wobbly and unstable. My eyelids flutter and I look back down at the helmet.

“Hmmm, interesting. Now has this helmet been cleaned since that season?”

His magical laugh sends vibrations through my body. “Yes, of course it has been thoroughly disinfected and cleaned. Do you even know me?”

“I’m starting to.” I turn the helmet over and without permission, I put it on my head. “I’ve always been curious about what these things feel like. I mean, I’ve worn a helmet before when I would ride my bike or roller blade, but a goalie mask is completely different.” It feels a lot more snug and I wonder how in the world he can keep track of a small puck with his vision being obstructed with the face mask. “How do I look? Intimidating?” I mimic a superhero stance, knowing that I probably look absolutely ridiculous. But I can’t help being playful with him. It’s my default setting.

Oakley’s stance shifts as he takes a good look at me. His right thumb grazes his bottom lip and his other hand clutches the opposite side of his torso, his veiny arm stretched across his bulky chest. His eyes glimmer with something new. Something that my eyes have been laced with since the moment I laid eyes on him.