Cutting the Ice

WINTER

“Did you take off your panties like I asked?”

Strange large hands come to rest on my hips from behind as I sit on the barstool. The words, rasped out in a deep lustful timbre, tickle across my cheek.

Turning whip quick to face this lecherous pervert ready to give him what for, I sit bolt upright in shock. I’m met with the most vibrant, shocked as I am, ice blue eyes. It would be comical if I wasn’t pissed off that this idiot - this attractive idiot - thought it was ok to accost a stranger this way.

Though I planned to rip him a new one, I find myself floundering, mouth gaping. Trying to find those strong words that need to be said to arseholes like this but I somehow couldn’t think of one word.

Nada.

What’s wrong with me? I’m an educated woman!

It’s no good I’m caught in a whirlpool, being sucked in and drowning, distracted by the glacial pools of his blue eyes. Eyes set in a face made for modelling. High cheek bones, broad, strong I’ve-forgotten-to-shave-for-a-couple-of-days jaw. Those lips, those lips could be the only life line that save me from drowning. Feeding me oxygen with the kiss of life. Lips that look soft but firm, slightly parted, bottom slightly plumper than the top. I bet they know what to do. And that tongue. That tongue that’s just darted out to wet his lip in readiness for … a kiss?

Our surroundings fade, tunnelling, so all I can see is him. My mind begins wondering how good his tongue would be. He looks like he knows exactly how to use it, like a weapon. To please a woman.

Jeez! I know it’s been a while but now I’m fantasising about a complete stranger. Get a hold of yourself Winter!

I’m broken from my musings or more like dirty thoughts when I hear a nasally “What the hell is going on here?” I turn so quick, to find the owner of that god awful sound, that I elbow Mr Centrefold here in the gut.

“Oof!” He bends forward clutching himself, didn’t think I caught him that hard. I don’t apologise.

He looks to this other woman then as if he remembers where he is, flicks wide eyes back to me. “I’m so sorry ... um … I … uh …” he stutters.

“What?” I manage to drawl out in confusion. I have no idea what’s going on.

“What do you think you’re doing with my husband?” Husband? What the hell kind of jerk is he? A married jerk by the sounds of it.

“Oh, shit!” He mutters to himself, before adding to me “I’m so, so … I’m sorry, I, ah—” he rubs the back of his neck “—thought you were my wife.”

It’s then that I look at her, study her, I guess—

“Cole baby, who is that … woman?” She says woman with such disdain I nearly forget who I am, if I was just anyone I’d wilt under the weight of her glare. But I’m not just anybody I’m Winter Adams, although hopefully not an Adams for much longer, and I am made of sterner stuff.

“Excuse me?” I finally find my voice, while bozo over here is still a blithering idiot “What am I doing? Why don’t you ask your husband? He’s the one that groped me” I look towards the man, Cole, I think she said. He seems to have found some of his back bone as he stands taller, I shift my position on the barstool to tilt my head way up, studying his reaction as he now towers above me.

I feel the urge to stand and when I do he backs off and audibly gulps, not knowing who to look at.

He looks genuinely anxious at how I might react.

The wife and I are wearing exactly the same jumper, a plain red hoodie, with black distressed skinny jeans and black knee high boots. Although the branding and styles differ slightly you wouldn’t notice at first glance. We even have the same colour hair at about the same length.

Although I’m larger than her, not overweight but not a stick either, it’s not so much of a difference with the loose fitting jumper that we could be mistaken for each other.

As much as what he said shocked me, thinking he is a complete nut job, if I’m honest, I burst out laughing. The wife looks a bit confused, at least I think she does as her forehead barely moves, until I manage to say “We do look alike, don’t we?” Knowing that will probably wind her up “Wearing the same clothes, what are the odds of that?”

The wife purses her slightly over filled lips “Ugh! How could you mistake me for this fat old trout!” She flicks her hair over her shoulder spins and leaves, calling over her shoulder “let’s go Cole, I need a massage at Club Aspire before our flight.”

My mouth actually hangs open to her vile words. I shake myself out of my stupor ready to go after her, when I remember where I am. I do not need to get in an altercation, barring me from getting on the plane. I have to get on this flight. I have to.

“Um” the guy still here says “I’m really sorry for touching you and being inappropriate. I’m truly sorry about my wife’s mean words, she’s … ah … a grumpy flyer and … no, that’s no excuse, I’m sorry. For what it’s worth you don’t look like a fat old trout—”

“Cole!” I can no longer see her but can hear her above the crowd.

He rolls his eyes “I better go, have a safe flight,” with a sheepish smile and a shrug he’s off.

I slump back down on my bar stool. I’m gonna need more alcohol after that. I would relax in the Club Aspire Lounge myself but now I know that’s where she will be that’s a definite no.

“You ok?” I look to my left, a petite woman, that reminds me of Tinkerbelle, studies my face with concern.

“Yeah, I’m good thanks. Just didn’t need anything else rattling my nerves.” I signal to the barman for another drink.

“Nervous flyer, eh?”

“You could say that.”

“Well I’m Piper,” she holds out her hand “and this here” chucking her other thumb over her shoulder, “is Harry.” I peer round her and Harry gives me a wave and a half smile. “I think we’ll avoid Club Aspire too if that … woman” she uses the same tone as the wife did “is going to be there.” We both chuckle at that.

Before I know it, we’ve whiled away forty minutes, exchanged numbers, realised we’re both on the next flight to Minneapolis, Minnesota, although I then have a connecting flight to Falls International Airport another hour and twenty minute flight, and we have promised to find a way to meet up.

Our flight is called and we board our plane. First class. And would you believe who’s sitting to my right?

Yup, Cole!

And the other side of him?

That grating voice screeches over the buzz of activity “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

Yup, her. Great!

I close my eyes tilt my face to the sky, this cannot be happening.

“Cole get someone to get her out of here, she doesn’t belong in first class, she needs to move.”

I’ve had enough of this woman “I have every right to be here, probably more than you” I don’t often use this attitude I like to keep in the background “and if you don’t like it, you move.”

“Alright, CJ. I made a mistake, it was my fault, now leave her alone.”

“But she’s hounding us—” she pouts and looks around for I can only assume the stewardess.

“No, she’s not and you approached her. I’ve said I’m sorry now let’s move on.”

To Cole’s credit he calms his wife down and apologises yet again to me on her behalf. She has yet to do so herself. I give him my best unimpressed-you’re-wasting-my-time look.

How can he put up with her. God some men, blinded by good looks and a good piece of arse. Yes I know that’s not very girl power of me. But that’s how most men think, I should know.

The wife finally settles, buckled in she pops in her earbuds and places a pink eye mask snuggly over her eyes. Good, hopefully she’ll be quiet now.

The plane roars to life as it picks up speed pressing me into my seat as I white knuckle the armrests with a death grip. Fuck I hate flying.

A soothing voice gains my attention “Where you heading? Obviously Minneapolis but what’s there? Why are you making this journey?”

I know what he’s doing. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Like it’s that easy. To distract someone by conversation so they stop feeling like they’re trapped in a tin can being fired into the air by a catapult and hurtling to the ground after that moment of peaceful drifting at the apex of the arc. What goes up must come down!

But I humour him. I answer his questions and to my surprise I’m enjoying the conversation, my shoulders are far enough away from my ears that I could even say I’m feeling much more relaxed or less anxious at least.

My nerves begin to settle, my knuckles regain some colour and I have enough clarity of mind to realise that I might recognise Cole but for the life of me I can’t put my finger on how or why.

Well, nearly nine hours later with a rather welcome smooth landing I feel like I can breathe again. As good old CJ stirs Cole mouths to me “You ok?” I give a subtle nod not wanting to garner a certain person’s attention.

I’m not in a hurry as I disembark, I have a five hour lay over till my connecting flight, what joy! I don’t know about CJ being a grumpy traveller but I’m starting to turn into Oscar the Grouch, I probably smell like him too.

I find the showers and freshen up, it’s not the best shower I’ve had, not by a long shot, but I do feel clean. I miss not being able to spritz myself with my favourite perfume. I was in such a hurry to leave I didn’t have time to find my travel sized bottle. No matter, it’s not like I’m going on a date.

Just a short hour and twenty minutes flight and about a twenty minute drive and I can eat decent food, have a comfortable bed and not have constant vibrations and ears feeling like they have permanent swimmers ear. I mean first class is good but nothing beats a proper bed.

My five hours of waiting is up and I’m getting ready to board my flight. Not only do I make the mistake of looking out the window to the plane which is considerably smaller, anxiety kicks in but the recognisable sound of heels clicking along the floor distracts me and my patience decreases the closer the clicks get.

There’s no use trying to hold in my annoyance, forcing out a heavy breath I turn in her direction. I’m surprised to see that she’s changed her outfit, no longer in casual trousers and hoodie but paparazzi ready glam designer clothes. I don’t give a shit who she’s wearing, she’s wearing on my last nerve. I’m all for girl power and building women up, but this woman? I can’t seem to see her in a positive light, no matter how hard I try.

It’s then that I realise I know exactly who Cole is as he and his wife board the same flight to Falls International.

Damn.

I can’t believe I practically fan-girled over Cole Parker, ice hockey player, number 22, right winger of the Fallon Falls Falcons.

And how do I know that? Well, that would be telling!