HALLE
THE FUN PART ABOUT SPENDING so much time with someone who always says what they’re thinking is that when they’re trying not to say what they’re thinking, it’s painfully obvious.
There’s been a nervous energy in the air all week, and I put it down to Henry desperately wanting to make me feel better. I feel bad about making him worry, and if I’d known it was so serious that he was willing to introduce me to his mother, I’d have maybe listened to him a little sooner.
It’s hard being the person who needs to slow down when you’re the one who is always picking up the pieces for everyone else. Henry was right, though, and my pieces were Rying all over the place.
Now that I’m 1nally feeling more like myself, it’s my turn to convince Henry to prioritize his health. He’s been going all out in the gym and doing extra hockey sessions with his teammates for weeks. He claims it’s because the best leader is one strong enough to lead his team—which I’m pretty sure is a quote he found online—and that it isn’t anything to do with the fact he’s playing against Will on Friday.
I guess it feels like a long time coming for him and probably like he’s got something to prove. He’s dancing around the truth, and I’m letting him, because I know all he’s heard from the guys is about how they won’t be able to face me if they get beat. I’ve tried to say I don’t care, but nobody seems to be listening to me.
The only plus side to Henry’s overthinking is his bid to distract himself, which so far has involved: bending me over, climbing on top of me, pulling me
on top of him on every surface of his house, my house, and—as much as I’m horri1ed to admit it—my car.
My legs wobble when I try to use them, and instead of giving me the sympathy I so clearly deserve, he gave me a detailed breakdown of how lifting weights could help stop it. Then he makes my legs shake all over again.
I’ve read enough romance books to wonder how the leads get anything done when they’re constantly pawing at each other, but I honestly get it now. I have little to no interest in ever getting dressed and leaving the house. Which means every time I think I should really just ask him outright what’s bothering him, so I can reassure him again that I don’t care about Will, I instead immediately allow him to distract me.
The movie we put on has only been on for 1ve minutes, but already he’s trying to get access to kiss my neck and his hand is traveling across my stomach. “Are you not tired?” I say, my eyes shutting tight when he begins to kiss down the column of my neck.
“Of you? Impossible,” he murmurs.
My body reacts to him like it hasn’t been touched in years, not hours, but I need to exercise some self-control like the adult woman I am. I think? A voice somewhere is telling me that’s right, but a much louder, much more turned-on voice is telling me to take oI my clothes. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?” I ask, silently congratulating myself for verbalizing my thoughts and not just giving in.
His breath is hot on my throat when he speaks. “I didn’t win you an elephant, but we can go to Santa Monica right now if that’s what you want.”
“You’re ridiculous. I mean the reason you’re taking all your nervous energy out on my body instead of talking about it.”
He nudges one of my knees with his and climbs between my legs, pressing himself into me so I can feel how hard he is. “I’m not nervous about the game. I doubt I’ll even see your parents.”
“So you do know what I’m talking about! Henry, get oI me! Let’s talk about
it.”
He groans as he dramatically climbs from between my legs and throws himself onto the mattress. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not nervous.”
It’s no accident that my parents booked their annual January trip on the weekend when Will is playing at Maple Hills. I blame me not realizing the dates overlapped on the fact I was so sick when they called to remind me a few weeks ago. I’ve already made my peace with this weekend being hell, but I hate that it’s been weighing on Henry’s mind all week.
“You know it doesn’t matter to me if you win or lose, right? And if you don’t want to see my mom and stepdad that’s totally 1ne with me. I hadn’t even considered you would want to since you’ll be so busy with the team, and you also call them annoying every time I speak to them on the phone.”
“I want to beat him for you,” he says. “I want to embarrass him the same way he made you feel embarrassed and belittled. I want him to be miserable every second he’s on the ice.”
“That’s all very admirable of you, but I need you to know that I don’t care. I’m going to be there for you and you only—well, the guys, too, but mainly you. If you win, you win. If you don’t, no big deal.”
“Is this the bit where you copy what they say in the movies like, You’ll always
be a winner in my eyes, or something cheesy?”
“Is that what you want me to say to you, my little winner?” Henry rolls his eyes at me but slides closer, cupping my cheek with his hand. “You’ll always get reassurance from me. We’re a team, remember?”
“Do you think your parents will always dislike me because I’m not Will?” Henry isn’t someone I’m used to sounding uncertain, so the sliver of vulnerability in his voice as he moves his hand from my face to twirl a strand of my hair between his 1ngers crushes me.
“They won’t dislike you, Henry. They don’t even know you. If they knew you, they’d love you. You are a person who makes their daughter in1nitely happy, and in the grand scheme of things, that matters more than someone in my past.”
“You sound like you think you’re right, but I also don’t believe you.”
“I think you need to do something productive to keep your brain busy.” I push oI the hand that immediately grips my thigh, adding, “That doesn’t involve pawing at me. Why don’t you paint? Or draw? Or, I don’t know, get
your tablet and give me a structural breakdown of every single piece you’ve ever created including pictures?”
I expect an argument, but I don’t get one. “Okay,” he says. “Wait here.”
Henry disappears from his room, and I’m left on his bed, confused and very skeptical. When he comes back into the room, he holds out his hand, gesturing toward his door with his head.
“No,” I say, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I feel like you’re up to no good.”
He gives me the mischievous smile that makes me melt. “I’m doing what you said. I’m keeping my brain busy and no one else is home, so come on.”
Taking his hand, I maintain my skepticism as he leads me out of the room and into the one next door. I don’t think I’ve ever been in this room. There’s a bed pushed up against the wall with no bedding on it, and unused canvases leaning against the closet. “Is this your secret lair?”
I sit on the bed as he walks around the empty Roor. “It’s JJ’s old room. We were supposed to have another guy move in, but it didn’t happen, so it only gets used if the guys stay too late. There’s more Roor space after I pushed the bed against the wall. I work in here sometimes.”
“Very convenient…” I’m still suspicious.
“Do you want to paint something with me?” he asks, spreading a protective sheet across the hardwood Roor. “I have a very speci1c idea.”
It takes me ten times longer than normal to blink because of the shock. “You’re joking. You’re going to let me be involved?”
“I’m not joking.” Pushing the canvases out of the way, he opens the closet door and reaches in, pulling out what looks like a rolled-up cotton canvas and a sealed pack of diIerent-colored paints. “But it’ll be messy. This is body paint.”
Putting the paints on the Roor beside his feet, he gets on his knees and unrolls the canvas in the center of the protective sheet. One hand reaches behind his head, tugging his T-shirt over his head and throwing it behind him.
“What do you want to do?” I ask, taking oI his sweatshirt that I stole. Henry stands from the Roor, pushing his sweatpants down until he’s only in his boxers. “I want to take oI all your clothes, cover you in paint, and fuck you right here on the Roor,” he says, pointing to the center of the canvas. “Respectfully, of
course.”
I have been saying I wish I knew more about Henry’s creative process… “I love art.”
He walks over to me as I stand, his hands tug at the bow keeping my sweatpants tight, and his mouth captures mine delicately. “I love art, too.”
He’s careful as he walks me backward, pulling my T-shirt over my head and letting my pants drop. His hands link at the back of my neck and I realize he’s taking oI my necklace. “No,” I say, my hand clamping over the H protectively. “It’s bad luck if I take it oI.”
“Do you want it to get ruined by body paint?” I shake my head. “Nothing bad is going to happen because you took it oI.”
Weirdly, it’s taking oI the necklace that makes me feel the most exposed, and not the fact he’s stripped me down to my underwear. He disappears into the bathroom and reappears with a foil packet and throws it beside the canvas. Picking up the paint bottles from the Roor, he breaks the plastic seal binding them and asks me to pick a color. “Purple.”
Henry puts the others on the Roor and has me take a few steps backward so we’re both standing on the protective sheet. “I’m going to take my underwear oI and then yours. Are you good with that?”
I nod, my body feeling extra jittery. I feel like I’m watching his every move with the most intense interest. He’s already getting hard when he drops his boxers, then my panties, and when he undoes the clasp of my bra and slides the straps over my shoulders, my nipples stiIen.
“It might be a little cold,” he says, opening the lid of the paint bottle. He gives me one last Reeting kiss before squeezing the bottle onto my chest. I Rinch a little and goose bumps spread across my skin. The paint begins to run; he catches one droplet with his thumb and presses it between my collarbones. “No bad luck,” he says as he signs my skin with the same H.
I pick up a bottle from the Roor, not even looking at the color as I open the cap and squirt it against his chest. Henry takes it from my hand and squirts it across my legs.
The pattern continues. Laughing, grabbing, painting, kissing. He maneuvers us down to the Roor, the paint he squirted against my ass sliding against the
fabric. His hands cup my breasts, leaving large blue handprints. The blue swirls into the pink as his thumb grazes my nipple.
We compare who has the cleanest hands, and when I win, I rip the foil and roll the condom onto him. Even with all the practice, there’s still a split second where I think I’m not going to be able to remember how to do it.
He lines himself up, and my body melts when he pushes in gently. “You feel so good,” he whispers, his hands planted 1rmly beside my head as his hips move against mine.
Everything about him feels perfect.
I whimper in protest when he pulls out, sitting on his heels as he reaches for more paint. Holding my leg up by my foot, he takes oI the lid entirely and pours the blue paint from my ankle to my knee. He repeats on the other side with red. “What are you doing?” I ask, sitting up on my elbows to watch him hard at work.
“Blue and red make purple. Get onto your knees.”
“Yes, Captain.” The way he glares at me is worth it when I move onto my hands and knees and he pours more paint across my ass and slaps it. I follow his lead when his hands push my shoulders down until my chest is touching the canvas.
Henry takes hold of my hips, moaning loudly when he sinks into me again.
The sound of paint splashing as his skin slaps against mine is pushing me toward the edge. Putting my cheek Rat on the ground, I reach back for his hand. He’s holding it tightly when we both come, collapsing onto the material.
There’s a period of silence, as there always is with us while we try to return to earth from the stars. I didn’t realize I could feel like this.
“Halle,” he says gently.
“Yeah?” I respond, my heart hammering in my chest. “You have paint on your cheek.”
The hammering slows down. “Thanks for letting me know.”
THE SHOWER TAKES TWICE AS long as the art because we’re so dedicated to making sure no paint is missed.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to be 1nding specks of purple for a long time. “I need to go home and clean up for my parents arriving tomorrow,” I yell from his bathroom as I pull on one of the Titan T-shirts with his name on it.
Henry appears in the doorway, his pants low on his hips while he rubs body butter across his chest and biceps. “You can’t go outside with wet hair. You’ll get sick again. I only just made you better.”
“That’s a myth. I’ll be 1ne. And if I’m not, I’m kind of a big fan of you looking after me.”
He frowns. “At least put it in a nest or something.”
“It’s a real good job you’re so pretty because you sure can be bossy.” Reaching beneath the bathroom counter, I 1nd his box of stuI. There’s a tiny label on the front of it that didn’t used to be there: Halle’s. “I missed a chapter.”
“What? Of your book? It’s probably because you get distracted so easily.” “No, not my book, and don’t even get me started on who gets distracted
easily. I missed a chapter where you put my name on this stuI.”
“Oh,” he says like this isn’t a huge deal. “I got Anastasia a label maker for Christmas, and I was teaching her how to use it. It’s your stuI so it needed a label.”
My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat. It’s the smallest gesture, and yet it’s so huge to me. But he will actually throw me out if I start crying over a label, so I need to pull myself together. “You make me feel so special, Henry.”
“Good,” he says. “You are special.”
“I should go. I really do have a lot to do.” Like cry in privacy. “Do you need help?” he asks.
“Thank you, but you’re more of a distraction than you are help.”
“I wasn’t oIering—I was going to tell you to speak to Russ. He’s great at cleaning.”
I roll my eyes as hard as I can as I shu e past him. He blocks me with his arm, kissing my neck and poking me in the side. “Goodbye, Henry.”
“Bye, Cap.” He catches me before I can fully turn, kissing me in a way that has my already unreliable legs on the brink of collapse. “Halle, wait!”
He jogs out of the room, leaving me very confused. When he returns, he holds up my necklace. “No bad luck.”
I know I have a goofy grin on my face the entire ride home. I catch it in my mirrors every so often, but I couldn’t get rid of it if I tried.
Well, until I pull into my driveway and 1nd a car I don’t recognize and my lights on. A normal person would think they’re being burgled. A normal person would panic and call 911; they wouldn’t let themselves into the house with their potential robbers. But I’m not a normal person, and I know this is so much worse than being robbed, because when I walk into my living room, my mom and stepdad are drinking a bottle of wine with Will and his parents.
“Surprise, Hallebear!” Mom shouts, jumping up from her seat to hug me tight. “Why do you have paint in your hair?”
