A snack!
Absolutely sinful to my way of living.
Yup…a snack sounds good. A bowl of cereal or maybe some popcorn. No, ice cream! Definitely ice cream.
Rolling out of my bed, I glance at the clock. Almost ten P.M. I take my glasses off, fold them, and hook one of the arms into the neckline of my top so it hangs over the front of my chest. When I’m alone, I remove my glasses when I’m not reading, but I always try to remember to carry them with me in case I need them.
Zack had texted me about an hour ago to check in. I assured him the dynamite was all packed up and Ben was sleeping soundly. I hoped that produced a smile on his face. It’s my goal every day to try to get one. I fail miserably most times, but sometimes he just can’t help himself.
He merely texted back that it would probably be really late before he got home and that he’d see us in the morning.
Glancing down at my outfit, I hesitate before leaving my room. I had already changed into my pajamas, which are basically a tank top and matching boy shorts that Anthony gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I would never step foot out of this room if there was a chance I’d run into Ben or Zack, but the chances of that seem small. I’ve realized that Ben is a sound sleeper and he won’t stir until close to seven in the morning, and Zack shouldn’t be home for a few hours yet.
My mission to get food should have me in and out of the kitchen and back in the safety of my room in less than two minutes.
Decision made, I make a quick break for it. As I trot down the back staircase that leads into the kitchen, I take both hands and lightly scratch at my head, sifting through my thick wavy hair. It’s such a relief to take it out of the tight bun I wear every day, but it’s just easier to do that than try to worry about what to do with the massive length that comes down to my mid-back. I need to break down and get it cut, but haircuts cost money and that seems like a frivolous expense to me right now. Besides, I’m able to cut my own bangs myself, and that’s at least some effort I put toward my hair. I still keep my bangs really long—just down to my eyebrow line—but I keep them pulled back with a headband because I’m not quite sure what to do with them, yet I can’t seem to successfully grow them out either.
I wonder if all women have these problems. I really wouldn’t know since I don’t have any close female friends. I’ve always sort of been more interested in books and my studies than I have been in developing relationships. Most of the friends I do have are ones I developed through study groups—like Mark—or who are going into the same field as me.
The lighting in the kitchen is dim. Zack keeps on only the lighting underneath the cupboards at night, which perfectly illuminates the counter to the right of the freezer that holds the ice cream. I don’t need much to be able to scoop out some Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie, a treat I first indulged in when I saw some in the freezer a few days ago. I thought I had literally died and gone to heaven.
Just the thought of some of that ice cream causes joy to course through me, and I do a little happy jig right in the middle of the kitchen.
When my pre-celebration dance is over, I get a bowl out of the cupboard, the ice cream scoop out of one drawer, and a spoon out of another. With my implements laid out with the precision of surgical instruments, I open the freezer and swear the interior light shines down on the pint of ice cream in an almost ethereal glow…like it’s the long-lost Holy Grail or something.
I actually bow my head and offer up a prayer. “Dear Lord, thank you for introducing me to my two favorite men in the world…Ben and Jerry. I hope you aren’t offended by this threesome.”
Chuckling to myself, I take the ice cream out, bump the edge of the door with my hip so it closes, and turn toward the kitchen counter.
And that’s when I see Zack…standing across the kitchen by the door to the laundry room.
I let out a terror-filled gasp, because I’ve never been much of a screamer, and the ice cream goes crashing to the ground as my hands come up to clutch at my chest. I start running in place and then realize I need to be moving backward to escape the intruder, only to come up hard against the countertop, which slams into my lower back. That doesn’t hurt as much as the sharp, stabbing pain in the center of my chest, which I’m sure is a heart attack in progress.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says in a low voice. “I decided to come home early.”
He’s casually leaning one shoulder against the doorframe and holding what looks like a stack of mail in his hand.
“Holy hairy nuts on a groundhog,” I wheeze as the adrenaline starts to subside. I clutch at my glasses and pull them free of my tank top, opening them up and shoving them on my face. They’re almost like a shield to me. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Pushing off the doorframe, Zack throws the mail down on a built-in desk to the right of his double oven and walks over to me. He bends down to pick up the ice cream.
I take just a moment to admire his thick and shiny hair cut in a fashionable style that’s short on the sides but a little longer on top. That’s when I also notice my bare legs right in front of him and realize that I’m half-naked.
His face tilts up to look at me and the shadows cast from the cupboard lighting make his face look harsh and wild. Yeah…I’ve provided some thought since I’ve moved in here to the fact that Zack Grantham is just a supremely gorgeous man. So beautiful, in fact, that I often don’t know how to act around him or know what to say. There’s a little part of me that’s still starstruck to be working for and living in a hockey god’s house. So when I’m feeling immensely insecure next to his star power and phenomenal looks, I tend to end up acting even goofier than normal. It’s my natural reaction mechanism to cope with awkward situations. My geek power rises and shines.
Absolutely sinful to my way of living.
Yup…a snack sounds good. A bowl of cereal or maybe some popcorn. No, ice cream! Definitely ice cream.
Rolling out of my bed, I glance at the clock. Almost ten P.M. I take my glasses off, fold them, and hook one of the arms into the neckline of my top so it hangs over the front of my chest. When I’m alone, I remove my glasses when I’m not reading, but I always try to remember to carry them with me in case I need them.
Zack had texted me about an hour ago to check in. I assured him the dynamite was all packed up and Ben was sleeping soundly. I hoped that produced a smile on his face. It’s my goal every day to try to get one. I fail miserably most times, but sometimes he just can’t help himself.
He merely texted back that it would probably be really late before he got home and that he’d see us in the morning.
Glancing down at my outfit, I hesitate before leaving my room. I had already changed into my pajamas, which are basically a tank top and matching boy shorts that Anthony gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I would never step foot out of this room if there was a chance I’d run into Ben or Zack, but the chances of that seem small. I’ve realized that Ben is a sound sleeper and he won’t stir until close to seven in the morning, and Zack shouldn’t be home for a few hours yet.
My mission to get food should have me in and out of the kitchen and back in the safety of my room in less than two minutes.
Decision made, I make a quick break for it. As I trot down the back staircase that leads into the kitchen, I take both hands and lightly scratch at my head, sifting through my thick wavy hair. It’s such a relief to take it out of the tight bun I wear every day, but it’s just easier to do that than try to worry about what to do with the massive length that comes down to my mid-back. I need to break down and get it cut, but haircuts cost money and that seems like a frivolous expense to me right now. Besides, I’m able to cut my own bangs myself, and that’s at least some effort I put toward my hair. I still keep my bangs really long—just down to my eyebrow line—but I keep them pulled back with a headband because I’m not quite sure what to do with them, yet I can’t seem to successfully grow them out either.
I wonder if all women have these problems. I really wouldn’t know since I don’t have any close female friends. I’ve always sort of been more interested in books and my studies than I have been in developing relationships. Most of the friends I do have are ones I developed through study groups—like Mark—or who are going into the same field as me.
The lighting in the kitchen is dim. Zack keeps on only the lighting underneath the cupboards at night, which perfectly illuminates the counter to the right of the freezer that holds the ice cream. I don’t need much to be able to scoop out some Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie, a treat I first indulged in when I saw some in the freezer a few days ago. I thought I had literally died and gone to heaven.
Just the thought of some of that ice cream causes joy to course through me, and I do a little happy jig right in the middle of the kitchen.
When my pre-celebration dance is over, I get a bowl out of the cupboard, the ice cream scoop out of one drawer, and a spoon out of another. With my implements laid out with the precision of surgical instruments, I open the freezer and swear the interior light shines down on the pint of ice cream in an almost ethereal glow…like it’s the long-lost Holy Grail or something.
I actually bow my head and offer up a prayer. “Dear Lord, thank you for introducing me to my two favorite men in the world…Ben and Jerry. I hope you aren’t offended by this threesome.”
Chuckling to myself, I take the ice cream out, bump the edge of the door with my hip so it closes, and turn toward the kitchen counter.
And that’s when I see Zack…standing across the kitchen by the door to the laundry room.
I let out a terror-filled gasp, because I’ve never been much of a screamer, and the ice cream goes crashing to the ground as my hands come up to clutch at my chest. I start running in place and then realize I need to be moving backward to escape the intruder, only to come up hard against the countertop, which slams into my lower back. That doesn’t hurt as much as the sharp, stabbing pain in the center of my chest, which I’m sure is a heart attack in progress.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says in a low voice. “I decided to come home early.”
He’s casually leaning one shoulder against the doorframe and holding what looks like a stack of mail in his hand.
“Holy hairy nuts on a groundhog,” I wheeze as the adrenaline starts to subside. I clutch at my glasses and pull them free of my tank top, opening them up and shoving them on my face. They’re almost like a shield to me. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Pushing off the doorframe, Zack throws the mail down on a built-in desk to the right of his double oven and walks over to me. He bends down to pick up the ice cream.
I take just a moment to admire his thick and shiny hair cut in a fashionable style that’s short on the sides but a little longer on top. That’s when I also notice my bare legs right in front of him and realize that I’m half-naked.
His face tilts up to look at me and the shadows cast from the cupboard lighting make his face look harsh and wild. Yeah…I’ve provided some thought since I’ve moved in here to the fact that Zack Grantham is just a supremely gorgeous man. So beautiful, in fact, that I often don’t know how to act around him or know what to say. There’s a little part of me that’s still starstruck to be working for and living in a hockey god’s house. So when I’m feeling immensely insecure next to his star power and phenomenal looks, I tend to end up acting even goofier than normal. It’s my natural reaction mechanism to cope with awkward situations. My geek power rises and shines.
