Kiss and Don’t Tell

I can’t seem to keep my hands off her. No matter what I try, I’m drawn to her. My hands need to stroke her. I need that connection.

And while we were in the gym, there was a hell of a lot more I wanted to do with her, and it didn’t involve lifting weights. I wanted to lie down across the bench and pin her there while I found out what her lips tasted like. Push her up against the mirror and watch her face as I slowly peeled down her bike shorts to expose that beautiful ass of hers. I wanted to make her know what it feels like to be with a real man. A man who would take care of her.

My will is slipping with her. I can feel it, especially the frustration I felt when she suggested asking one of the other guys to take her into town.

Fuck that.

I would’ve been pissed.

She thinks she’s taking up too much of my time, when really, I want more of hers. And I want to be the one who shows her the town of Banff. I want to see her face light up when she takes in the picturesque views. Not Eli . . . because I know that’s who would probably take her if she asked.

Dressed in a pair of navy-blue chino shorts and a simple white T-shirt, I head down the hallway, slipping past her door and into the main living space. The boys are gathered at the table, plates of eggs in front of them, Stephan at the helm in the kitchen.

The chatter at the table slowly dies out as I walk by them, and I know I’m about to get shit because normally I wouldn’t be dressed like this. If Winnie weren’t here, we’d all be in a pair of athletic shorts and no shirt, but that’s not the case.

“Going somewhere?” Taters is the first to ask.

Stephan hands me a plate and I thank him.

“I offered Winnie something a little earlier, but she told me she has a protein bar,” he says in reply. I smile. He knew I’d want to know that. Good man.

“Thanks, man.”

I take a seat at the head of the dining table, knowing it’ll be easier to address all the prying eyes. Even Holmes seems interested.

“Winnie needs to go into town,” I answer while spearing a bunch of eggs and some roasted veggies with my fork.

“And you decided to dress up for that?”

“Figured I’d walk around town. I was considering bringing back some fudge for you guys.”

“Oh fuck, get the Neapolitan,” Posey says.

“Is there any other kind?” I ask with a smile.

Taters waves his fork at me. “You’re in a really good mood. What’s happening?”

“I’ll tell you what’s happening,” Hornsby says. He sips his water and then continues, “Our boy likes a girl. I think this is the first time since we’ve known him that he actually likes a girl, is truly interested in her.”

I’m not going to deny it. What’s the point? They’re going to notice the way I act around her, and what if I end up holding her hand in front of them at some point? I don’t need them making a scene about it.

What I don’t want them to know is who Winnie used to date. I don’t need the lecture about Bro Code, because even though Josh is my brother, he really isn’t. We don’t talk. We don’t see each other. He’s just another human in this world with whom I happen to share some DNA.

Nor do I want them to know that when I saw pictures of Winnie on my dad’s Facebook, how hot I thought she was. How jealous I was that Josh could land a girl like her. Yeah, fucking jealous, and before you start thinking this is some play to one-up my brother, that’s not the case at all.

I truly like Winnie. I think . . . hell, I think she’s cool as shit, and the more time I spend with her, the more I want to spend time with her. Her laugh, her teasing, her smile, her easygoing attitude. It works for me. And I could not give two shits what the guys think.

So, I keep it casual and say, “Yeah, I like her.”

“Oh damn.” Hornsby brings his fist to his mouth. “I didn’t think you’d admit it.”

“Yeah, I didn’t see that coming,” Posey says, but then winks at me. Jesus Christ, I knew he was the wrong one to confide in. The dude is a giant ditz.

“You like her?” Taters asks with skepticism. “You barely know her.”

“So?” I take a bite of my food. “If you take a girl on one date, you get to know her on that singular date, and you can make a general assessment if you like her or not. It can take one night to decide if you like someone. How is this any different?”

“I don’t know—maybe because she came out of nowhere,” Taters says, and I truly believe he’s still reeling from his own feelings, so this is not going to be easy for him. If he’s suffering, he wants all of us to suffer.

“Doesn’t matter where she came from, all that matters is she’s here now and I’m going to take advantage of the time I have with her.”

“Look at our boy,” Posey says with pride. “Taking what you want. Good for you, man.”

“She seems nice,” Holmes says, adding his two cents. I’ll take it.

“I like her,” Hornsby says. “If she weren’t digging you so much, I would’ve taken a crack at her, but I knew the first night she was here, there was no chance.”

I smile inwardly at that, because normally girls gravitate toward Hornsby. It’s easy for him, he doesn’t have to work for it. But not with Winnie. She found me. She picked me. Yes, I know I’m good-looking, but like I told her, I’ve never found it easy to know what to talk to women about. Small talk. Girl shit. I’m not smooth like Hornsby.

“Glad we’re having a guys’ trip,” Taters says with animosity.

“Dude, you need to calm down about that. It’s not as if we party every night with strippers knocking on the door. We relax here.”

“Yeah, and look at me, wearing a goddamn shirt at breakfast out of respect.” He plucks at his black Agitators shirt. “This is my own goddamn house; I should do what I want.”

“Then take your shirt off. Who gives a fuck, Taters?” I ask.

“I feel as though I’m walking on eggshells around here, and now I’m going to have to listen to you two giggle and flounce around in my own house while you get to know each other?”

Growing irritated, I ask, “Do you want me to leave? Want me to find another house to rent? Because I will. If you’re going to be a dick about this, I’ll leave.”

“I think we’d all appreciate that,” Taters says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hornsby yells. “Jesus, Taters, you’re not kicking Lawes out of the house.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I can look for a place.” I shovel some more eggs into my mouth.

“Don’t, Lawes,” Posey says. “Because that would leave us with Taters, and you’re the best at calming him down.”

“Clearly not.” I finish my eggs, eating faster than I ever have before, and stand from the table. Looking Taters, who has guilt written all over him, in the eyes, I say, “I’ll be out of here by tomorrow.”

I take my plate to Stephan, and just as I turn to walk away, Taters calls out, “Fuck, I didn’t mean it. Don’t leave.”

That’s what I thought, but I’ll make him sweat it out. Instead of acknowledging him, I walk down the hallway and knock on Winnie’s door.

“One second,” she calls out. The door opens and I hear someone ask, “Is that him?”

I peek through the door to see Winnie is on FaceTime with someone.

“Ah, shit, sorry. I’m out here when you’re done.”

“No, come back,” the male voice on the phone says. “I want to meet him.”

In an annoyed voice, Winnie says, “Pacey, come here.”

Must be a prying friend or sibling . . . or father, maybe?

Either way, I step into her room. But instead of focusing on the phone, I take in the sight of Winnie.

She’s wearing a cute red sundress that clings to her chest but flows out around her waist. Her hair is pulled back into two thick French braids, and she’s wearing some makeup. She looks so fucking good.

I walk up to her and say, “This dress looks really good on you.”

“Oh God, did he compliment you? Does he always do that? Turn the phone, I want to see him.”

Instead of complying, Winnie puts the phone against her chest and says, “Thank you, but I need to apologize in advance for whatever comes out of Max’s mouth.”

I chuckle. “Bring it.”

With a sigh, she lifts the phone up and points it in my direction. A man, probably in his mid-twenties, stares at me from the screen with wide eyes. He runs a hand over his perfectly coifed pompadour before resting his hand against his clean-shaven cheek. He clears his throat. “Jesus, you’re hot.”

I pull on the back of my neck. “Thank you.” I wave. “I’m Pacey.”

“I know who you are. I’m Max, one of Winnie’s best friends. Katherine is currently in the bathroom, therefore, unable to be hear us at the moment. She’s suffering from high anxiety and stress-belly from Winnie’s choices.”

“She’s dramatic,” Winnie adds.

Getting close to the screen, Max says, “I need you to know you’re currently my second favorite Agitator.”

“Second?” I ask. “Who’s your first? If you say Eli Hornsby, we’re going to have problems.”

“Pretty face, but not for me. Ian Rivers.” Max nods. “Ian is a goddamn snack.”

I move my hand over my jaw. “Ian is a fucking hell of a guy. That’s a good choice. If I’m going to fall second, I’m good with falling second to him.”

“Is he as cool in person like I think he is?”

“Probably cooler. He’s legit.”

Max grins. “Can I have his number?”

“Max,” Winnie chastises, pulling the phone away. “Don’t give Max his number.”

“Don’t tell him what to do,” Max shouts. “If he thinks I need Ian’s number, let him give it to me.”

Chuckling, I stick my hands in my pockets and say, “How about this, Max. Get your girl to open up more to me and I’ll see what I can do about Ian.”

“Jesus fuck, Winnie, open up to the man, if not for me, then for yourself. You need this.” Shouting to me, Max says, “She’s been through a lot, Pacey. This girl needs a man like you.”

She’s been through a lot?

Fuck, it bothers me that I didn’t know that.

“And I think that’s enough, Max. Say goodbye.” Winnie holds the phone up to me and I wave. He goes to say something, but she hangs up before he can get it out. “God, I’m so sorry about that.”

“Why? Max seems fun.”

“He can be really obnoxious and overstep boundaries.” She tucks her phone away in her purse, which she loops over her body so the strap nestles between her breasts. “I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Not in the slightest. He made me curious, though.”

“I’m sure.” She sighs and then looks me over. “Did you dress up for me?”

“Nope,” I say while I walk over to the door. “Dressed for myself. I think it’s good to flirt with yourself on occasion.”

She pauses and gives me a twisted look. “Are you serious about that?”

“Does it look as though I’m a guy who would flirt with myself?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, at this point.”

“Come on.” I laugh. “I’m not that kind of guy.” I lead her down the hallway, away from the main living space.

“Where are you taking me?”

“This is the back way to the garage. You know, where the cars are.”

“Just making sure.” We walk past my bedroom and she stops to poke her head in the door. “This is where you slumber?”

“That’s a way to put it. But, yes, this is my bedroom.”

“Not as tidy as I expected it to be,” she huffs.

“Uh, it’s tidier than your room. My bed is even made.”

“Ooh, look at you, you little Monica Geller.”

I roll my eyes and take her by the hand, pulling her toward the garage. There’s a key hook next to the door and I grab the key fob to my Tesla Model X. When I open the garage door, Winnie lets out a low “whoa” as she takes in the fleet.

“Um, do you all drive the same model car?”

I chuckle. “I want it to be known, I was the first one to get the Model X. Taters followed after me, then Posey. Hornsby plans on trading in shortly, and Holmes—well, I think he still drives his car from college. He carpooled with Posey.”

“Which one is yours?”

“The black in the middle,” I answer. We make our way to my car and my driver’s side door pops open, but I walk over to her side and press the handle to open her door.

“Fancy,” she says as she climbs in.

“Comfortable?” I ask.

“Very. Thanks.”

I shut her door and round the car to get in. I enter my key code into the touchscreen and buckle up.

“This is some sort of futuristic vehicle. There are no buttons. How do you drive it?”

“Like a normal car.” I open the garage door and pull out. “Everything is just on the touchscreen.”

“Fascinating. Still doesn’t give Minnie a run for her money.”

“This car would not have gotten stuck in the mud.”

“Oh, is that right?” she asks. “Does it have rocket engines I’m unaware of?”

“No, because that would defeat the purpose of an all-electric vehicle.”

“I guess you’re right about that.” She chuckles. “Okay, so if you drop me off, I think I’ll only be an hour or so. Hmm, I don’t have your phone number to contact you when I’m done. Not sure you want to hand that out. Maybe if—”

“First of all, you can have my phone number. Secondly, do you plan on ditching me when we get into town?”

I pull out of the driveway and then start heading down the hill.

“Are you planning on staying?”

“You think I’m going to just let you walk around town by yourself?”

“I thought that’s what was happening.”

I shake my head. “No fucking way. Not because you’re not capable—although, you do seem to have problems with directions—but because I want to show you around.”

“Show me around, as in, my own personal tour guide? Don’t you have anything to do today?”

“Other than fuck around? No, not really. Got my workout in, and I’m free for the rest of the day. If you planned on ditching me, you’re going to have a hard time doing that. I have plans for us.”

“Plans?” she asks, surprised.

“Yeah, plans.”

“Do these plans involve window shopping? Because even though I’m not much of a buyer, I really like looking, and I was hoping to find something for the guys. You know, a peace offering.”

I smile to myself. “I have just the thing you can get them.”

“WOW, JUST . . . WOW.” Winnie stands at the edge of town, looking past the strips of shops and straight to the magnificence of Cascade Mountain, the backdrop for downtown. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this. Sure, Mount Rainier is beautiful, but in Seattle, it’s off in the distance. This is . . . this feels as if you’re at the base of something spectacular.”

“It’s a sight I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of. I always feel awe when I come down here. When we’re staying here, Posey and I like to venture into town often.”

“I can see why. It’s so gorgeous.”

Standing at 9,836 feet, Cascade Mountain is a jagged but spectacular snow-covered peak that’s set against a backdrop of the Rocky Mountains. It’s hard not to fall in love with the picturesque views when in town. And it’s hard not to just take a moment to stare in awe.

Winnie smiles up at me. “Thank you for bringing me into town. I really appreciate it.”

“No thanks needed.” I look at my watch. “What do you want to do first?”

“Well, what are your plans?”

“I was thinking we could ride the Banff Gondola. It takes you up to a summit house where you can take in a 360-degree view of the Rockies. There are some shops around here I know you’re going to want to look at, and for lunch, I was thinking we could go to the cidery that’s here in town.”

“Sounds amazing. Where is the gondola?”

“We can take a bus to it, or we could save that for last and drive. Up to you.”

“Save that for last. I’m going to be hungry in an hour, I can feel it, so why don’t we look around at some shops, you help me pick some things out for the boys, and then we head to lunch.”

“That works.”

Together, we walk down Banff Avenue.

“Do you think you’re going to get recognized?” Winnie asks, her shoulder brushing against mine.

“Strong possibility,” I answer. “It’s common knowledge that we hang out here during the summer. For the most part, everyone is pretty cool, but we’ll get a person here or there asking us to take a picture with them.”

“Do you?”

“Always,” I say. “My parents always said, it might be my tenth picture I take that day, but it’s the first for that person, and you always need to make sure to remember that.”

“That sounds . . . tiring. I couldn’t imagine.”

“Comes with the territory,” I answer and then point to a store. “Posey is obsessed with the fudge in this store. Not that you need to win over any of the guys, but Posey would love you forever if you got him some of the Neapolitan fudge.”

“Oh, I would love to be loved forever.” She opens the door for me and the aroma of sugary confections assaults me. So good.

“Oh no,” she says.

“What?” I ask, concerned.

“This is not good.” She shakes her head. “Not good at all. It smells too good in here, Pacey. I don’t have a strong willpower to resist buying everything, and my wallet can’t handle that kind of binge.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth, Winnie?”

She nods. “Oh, big time.”

“Then get what you want. It’s on me.”

She glances up at me. “You’re sweet, but that’s not happening. You’ve done enough for me already.” She moves over to the fudge counter and I hear her order some Neapolitan fudge. “How much would he like? I ordered a quarter of a pound. Should I get more?”

“Nah, I’m going to get some for the house as well. But if Posey has his own stash, he’ll be grateful.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yeah, positive.” While the fudge is being wrapped up, I watch her carefully to see if she gives anything away as to what she’d want, but she doesn’t stray far. I hate that I don’t know what she’d like. I hate that I can’t just get her something for the hell of it.

So, instead, I decide on something for the both of us.

“Ever had a caramel apple?”

She pensively taps her chin. “I don’t believe I have.”

“Want to share one with me? We can save it for after lunch, maybe when we’re riding in the gondola.”

“That sounds like fun. Sure.”

“Do you have a flavor choice?” I ask, bringing her over to the display case where all the apples are. “They have tons of flavors.”

“Oh, wow, they do.” She studies them. “Although I’m obsessed with anything that has chocolate and peanut butter, I would say, let’s go with the original.”

Peanut butter and chocolate, good to know. That was easier than I thought. And apparently, she likes caramel, too, if she’s up for a caramel apple.

I order us an original apple, and while she pays for the fudge, I work with a lady behind the counter, who helps me fill up a small box with candies that I think Winnie might like. Once I pay for everything and thank the workers, I place my hand on Winnie’s lower back and guide her out of the store.

“The boys must love their chocolate,” she says as I take her bag from her. She doesn’t need to carry that.

“They do, but I picked some stuff out for you, too.”

“Pacey, you didn’t.”

“I did.” I drape my arm over her shoulders and bring her in close. “I have to win you over somehow so you start talking to me.”

“You can just ask; you don’t have to bribe me with chocolate.”

“Will you give me the real-deal answers, though?”

She moves her arm around my waist and says, “I think I’m comfortable enough at this point to give you the truth.”

I gather two things from that: She doesn’t trust easily, and when she does trust, she’s willing to open up. That’s really good to know.

I point to a shop up ahead. “That has a bunch of souvenirs in it. Shirts and whatnot. Hornsby collects souvenir hats. He gets at least one every time we come here, and I can help you pick one out if you like.”

“That’s perfect. Eli has been so kind to me. A hat would be perfect.”

I let go of her and reach for the door, holding it open for her. She walks in past me, her hand grazing my arm in the process, and I can fucking feel it—the electricity bouncing between us. She’s growing increasingly more comfortable with me.

We head back to the hats and I ask her, “So what do you do?”

She picks up a pink trucker hat and plops it on her head. She makes a cute face at me and asks, “Think Eli would like this one?”

“I think you need to keep looking.”

She chuckles and says, “Maybe so. And as to what I do for a living . . . well, currently, I guess I still hold the title of student.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting.

“Oh, shit, how old are you?”

She pats my chest. “Don’t worry, Pacey. I’m an old student. Twenty-five.”

Hmm, okay, two years younger than me.

She glances up at me. “Seems as though I lean toward older men.”

My brow shoots up. “Memorize that Internet search on me?”

“Just a few details.” She leans in. “For the record, twenty-seven looks really good on you.”

I like those kinds of compliments. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Since you’re still a student, does that mean you’re earning your masters?”

She picks up another hat and tests it out. This one is brown with a Banff label stitched across the front. “Bachelor’s, actually, in business. What about this one for Eli?”

“He has it,” I answer. “I never would’ve guessed that. You don’t seem like the type of person who would be interested in business.”

“I’m not,” she answers. “Not in the slightest. Josh convinced me to pick that major. I was undecided for a decent amount of time and he came in with his pragmatism and said it would benefit my mom if I did.”

That pisses me off. Who the fuck is Josh to convince her to go that route, when after spending only a few days with her I can tell that’s not the major for her? “My mom owned a small used bookstore in Seattle. She adored literature and the pathways reading brought to every individual, but business wasn’t really her strong suit. Josh thought it would help the store grow. I guess I did, too.”

Holding back my angry tongue, I ask, “It didn’t?”

She picks up a red hat. “We never got a chance to see. Mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. I took a long break from college to help her run the store, and then, when she passed, I had a hard time keeping the store alive alone. Josh and I had split at that point. He couldn’t quite handle the attention I was giving the store, I guess. And then I lost the store anyway. Honestly, it was a nightmare. Now I’m not sure I want to go back to school.” She shrugs. “I’m not sure what I want to do at all.”

Josh broke up with her . . . while she was struggling? What a fucking piece of shit. And from the tone of her voice, I can tell it wasn’t easy on her. None of this has been easy on her—losing her mom, losing her mom’s store. No wonder she doesn’t know what she wants to do, a dark cloud has settled over her. I never would’ve known, though, because she puts on a happy, grateful front. And maybe she is happy and grateful, maybe it’s not a front at all. But underneath her positive façade, there’s a deep cut of insecurity, of pain.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your mom.”

“Not fun.” She holds up the hat, moving forward with the conversation. “What about this one?”

My stomach twists, wanting to comfort her but not sure how to do that. I didn’t think my first question would dig up something so dark for her, something I’m sure she’s still trying to work through. Maybe it’s the reason she’s here.

I grip the back of my neck and say, “He’d like that one.”

“Wonderful.” She moves past me with confidence and heads to the cash register, where she begins to check out, leaving me in the back with the hats while I figure out what to say to her.

I don’t know anyone who has lost a parent before; I’m not quite sure what she’s feeling or how to make that feeling go away, if only just temporarily. I don’t like hearing the sadness in her voice, or knowing that despite trying her best, she failed. That can’t sit easy on her heart, either.

I need to be there for her. That’s the only thing I can do. Listen, be there, be supportive—the kind of support she didn’t get from Josh. I move toward the cashier, but just then, someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to see a mom with a teenage boy whose eyes are lit up, star-struck.

“Mr. Lawes, would we be able to get a picture with you?” the mom asks, her hands trembling.

Turning on a smile, I say, “Of course.” I drape my arms over both of their shoulders and bend down to get in the picture. The mom takes a selfie and then thanks me.

“We’re huge fans.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Sorry we couldn’t bring home the Stanley Cup for you this year.”

“It was quite a run in the playoffs,” the boy says.

From the corner of my eye, I spot Winnie moving closer with a bag in her hand.

“How is your head? Doing okay?” the mom asks.

“Fully recovered,” I say with a wink. “If you’ll excuse me, got some more shopping to do.”

“Sure. Thank you so much,” they say, and I turn toward Winnie and move through the store until we’re outside.

I go to ask her more about her mom, but someone else comes up to us. “Mr. Lawes, could we get a picture?” I glance apologetically at Winnie, who seems to find it humorous as a crowd gathers just outside the souvenir shop.

Word has spread—there’s an Agitator in town.

I spend the next ten minutes taking pictures and signing autographs. At one point, I lose Winnie and start to panic that she wandered off somewhere, but then I see her exit one of the alleys. She has more bags in hand and doesn’t look upset, more entertained than anything.

I take my last picture, thank the fans, and then walk toward her.

“Hey, Mr. Popular.” She grins up at me.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Winnie. That was . . . not great timing.”

“I thought it was rather lovely to see. All those adoring fans trying to get a small piece of Pacey Lawes. Reminds me just how lucky I am.”

How could I not like this girl? Especially when she answers like that. I’ve seen some of my teammates deal with angry, jealous girlfriends, and although it’s far too early for me to make a comparison, I wonder if Winnie would always . . . get it. Appreciate the responsibility I have toward the people who support me. She seemed to agree with my parents’ sentiment earlier. Who knows?

I take her hand and entwine our fingers. “I really want to talk; think we can grab lunch?”

“That sounds nice.” Completely unfazed, she bumps my shoulder with hers and says, “You’re really great with your fans. Your parents should be proud.”

“Thank you.” Feeling awkward, I take her bags off her hands and say, “Get something else?”

“I found a book in an old bookstore I thought Halsey might like. The store was quite quaint. The smell of the old pages reminded me of my mom’s store. So, I spent a few minutes just . . . letting it soak in. And then I ran into this woodcarving shop. They make wooden pint glasses. I found one that says ‘Hostess with the Mostest’.” She shrugs. “I thought it was stupid, funny, and right on par with something Silas might enjoy.”

“Because it boosts his ego. You were right. Well, I’m sorry you had to shop alone.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s fine.” She glances up and down the street. “Now, where is this cidery? I need something in my stomach other than a protein bar.”