Breaking the Ice

Chapter 7

7

I will not be scared. I will not be a wuss. I will be brave. I will get a tattoo.

Today my straight-girl transformation begins.

“So where and what?”

Nick’s voice broke into her galloping thoughts. It was strangely soothing and Samantha shot him another grateful smile. They were standing close, crowded together by the peak hour cram of passengers on the downtown bus.

“The small of my back. I don’t know what yet. Nothing too big.”

“You prefer dainty?”

“I prefer fewer needles.”

He laughed. “Okay… how about a dolphin?”

“Too big.”

“A rose?”

“Still too big.”

He raised an eyebrow. “An ant?”

Samantha shot him a withering look. “Funny.”

“A flea?”

He grinned and she ignored him as the bus pulled up at the Chinatown stop and they disembarked. They didn’t talk as they pushed their way through throngs of people, the city pulsing and throbbing in the peak hour rush. White collar workers hurried to the subway to catch their trains while others entered restaurants and pubs.

The earthy grime of exhaust fumes mingled with wonderful aromas – hot woks, soy sauce and green tea – spicing the evening air, tempting even the most rushed commuter. Windows adorned with hanging crispy ducks and ancient herbal remedies competed with the more modern cuisine of Gloria Jean’s and the golden arches.

A few minutes later they passed the central fountain and headed down an arcade to the parlor. Samantha peered in through the neon-lit glass.

“Does it look” – she screwed up her nose as she turned to him hopefully – “dirty to you?”

“This is the best place in the city, Samantha. Chickening out?”

She ignored the latter part of his comment, homing in on the first. “How do you know?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had some ink done.”

“Oh, really? Ink done, huh?” She folded her arms. “Show me.”

“Another time,” he dismissed and dragged her into the store.

Ten minutes later, after giving Reg – the seven-foot, leather-clad, bearded tattooist who looked like he’d be more at home on the midway at a carnival somewhere – the third degree about method and sterility, she lay face down on something akin to a massage table. From their varied selection, she’d chosen an ancient symbol that was swirly and very feminine and best of all meant metamorphosis.

Apparently. Hopefully.

It was perfect and the tattooist had assured her it could be scaled down.

Nick sat at the head of the table, his hands on her shoulders. She lay looking at him with her chin propped on her flattened hands. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.

“Petrified.” Her entire body throbbed with the batter of her heart against her rib cage.

“You think this is scary. You should try facing off with a two-hundred-and-eighty-pound defender.”

“Thanks, but the cabbage soup diet and a tattoo are about as extreme as I get.”

His answering grin and squeeze to her shoulder helped settle her nerves. For a second anyway, until Reg switched on his machine. Sam reached for Nick’s hands, bringing them down to rest on the table in front of her and clutched them for dear life.

She squeezed her eyes shut and almost jumped off the table as the first needle injected its indelible ink into her skin. “How long did he say this would take?” she whispered.

“Thirty minutes.”

“Crap.”

Samantha let go of his hands to grip the front of Nick’s shirt. He winced a little as her fingernails dug in but didn’t complain.

“So, tell me,” he said. “Why now with the tattoo. Midlife crisis?”

Samantha flinched as another needle pierced her lower back. “Because Gary made me feel like Sally and I realized I’m a Volvo and Bec’s all for it and I’m tired of being boring old me.”

There was silence while she kept her eyes shut and gritted her teeth and he obviously tried to sort through her word salad but failed.

“Okay. Who is Gary, who is Sally, who is Bec and what the hell has a Volvo got to do with any of it?”

Samantha filled him in, not even realizing that she’d relaxed the tight clench of her muscles as she unburdened the whole sorry tale.

“Gary’s an idiot.”

She opened her eyes, her gaze meeting his. “Unfortunately, Gary is the tip of the iceberg.”

“There’s a pattern?”

“Oh, yes.” Her back felt like it was on fire and she shut her eyes to try and block it out. “Bec says I have appalling taste in men.”

“You do, huh?”

He sounded close but the action of keeping her lids squeezed tight was giving her a focus she didn’t want to interrupt. “I’ve been a little too busy building my career to take too much notice of men. So I’ve made some bad choices. I tend to go for men my age or younger, arty types.”

“That sounds okay?” he murmured.

His deep voice was soothing and Samantha temporarily forgot her focus as she lifted half an eyelid to find a smile playing on his mouth. She couldn’t help but return it.

“No. They were commitment-phobes. Which was fine because until recently I hadn’t really wanted more.”

“You’ve been setting your sights too low.”

It came out as a rumbly growl which undulated down her spine. “That’s a sweet thing to say Nick but trust me, I don’t. I set my sights at what I can achieve. I mean look at me – ow !”

“Sorry,” muttered Reg.

Samantha gritted her teeth, closed her eyes and gripped Nick harder until the hot spike of pain dissipated. “Let’s face it. I’m average. And if average women know one thing, it’s not to get above themselves.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

She grunted but she liked that he was clearly askance at her statement. “Tell that to generations of average women who’ve ever dared to look outside their boundaries and had some Adonis squash their self-esteem to a pulp.”

“I can’t believe this crap goes on in your head,” he muttered.

“No. It’s okay.” She flicked her eyes open. “We still have a reasonable selection available to us but men who look like—” You . She almost said, you. But his eyes met hers and she chickened out. “Like Greek statues or male models or movie stars are just out of our league.”

“That is the screwiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Of course he would think that. He was a man. A hot pro-hockey player man. He’d been drooled over his entire adult life.

“Well, anyway.” There wasn’t enough time to explain decades of diet culture and beauty industry indoctrination. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands these last few weeks to really think about my situation and I’ve decided that my eggs aren’t going to be happy until a little multiplication is happening so I need to be looking at an entirely different demographic of men. And now that my stressy job isn’t an issue for a while, it’s the perfect time to do something about it.”

He blinked, clearly confused at this twist. “Your eggs?”

“Yes Nick, my eggs. My clock is ticking. My eggs are dying.”

“You’re thirty .”

“Oprah says eggs start dying at twenty-seven.” There was one advantage to being unemployed – daytime television reruns. “I have three years of dead eggs inside me, Nick. And the rest are getting old, past their use-by date.”

“What about your plans to get back to your high-powered job? How are you going to manage both?”

“I’m a woman. We multi-task. I can have the baby, take a few weeks off work and then it can go straight into childcare. I’ve worked it all out.”

“Just like that?”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Yes. Haven’t you heard? Women can have it all these days.”

“You haven’t had much to do with babies, have you?”

“Not really, but it’ll be just like any other goal I’ve set myself. I’m very goal orientated. I manage multimillion-dollar accounts, I can manage a baby.”

“So… let me get this straight.” He was looking at her like she was utterly bonkers. “In the months that you have from now till when Bob comes crawling back on his hands and knees, you’re going to find yourself a man and get pregnant.”

“Yep,” she confirmed as another needle stung like the blazes and she squeezed Nick’s shoulder. “I know it sounds half-baked, Nick. But I’ve looked at all the angles. I can do this.”

“I think unhinged is more like it.”

“It’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Okay, well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.” He shook his head in a way that left Samantha in no doubt that he thought it would be 100 per cent not fine. “So… you said something about changing your demographic?”

She leaped on the change in conversation – she had no room in her life for naysayers, she had a man to find. “Right.” Samantha nodded. “Now I have more time on my hands I can take a more active role in choosing men. I’ve just let it happen in the past, too busy to make an effort. But I have to be smarter. So I’ve made a list.”

“There’s a surprise.”

Her eyes shut, blocking out his sarcasm. “The type of men I usually go for obviously aren’t ready for commitment. Bec says I’m subconsciously looking for my father.”

“And are you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He wasn’t very grounded. We moved a lot. I like being grounded.”

“Yes, but do you like that in your men?”

Samantha thought hard. “You wouldn’t think so from my choices so far. They’ve all been scarily Dad-like.”

“Psyches are funny things.”

Samantha fluttered her eyes open briefly and his gorgeous face filled her vision. Her father would have loved Nick. He’d been a real man’s man. She’d always vaguely felt, despite her ability with figures, that her dad had been slightly disappointed he’d not sired a boy.

But now was not the time for that kind of psychoanalysis.

“Anyway.” She shut her eyes again. “I’m after someone who’s mature and knows what he wants out of life, not someone who’s still searching. Someone who’s ready to settle down. Someone like me.”

“Well that counts me out.”

Samantha’s eyes flew open. Nick Hawke was definitely not in her demographic. The old one or the new one. Hell, the man wasn’t even in the same planetary system as her demographic. The thought was slightly depressing.

“You don’t strike me as the baby type, anyway.”

He shrugged. “I like them just fine. I just don’t have the urge to make one of my own. I think the Hawke family have done more than enough to contribute to the world population. I’m happy to play favorite uncle.”

“Really? You really don’t crave one of your own?”

Samantha knew she should understand. She’d felt exactly the same way until recently. But now, like a reformed smoker, she found the attitude hard to fathom.

“ Really . And you know this whole demographic thing is going to backfire, right?”

“Why?”

“Because shouldn’t relationships just… happen? If they were meant to happen?”

Samantha laughed. This from a man who never has to wonder where his next date is coming from. “I’m running to a schedule here, Nick. I can’t just” – she performed a set of air quotes – “wait for it to happen.”

“Okay, you’re done,” Reg announced.

Samantha blinked at the interruption. Thanks to Nick, that had gone quicker than she’d thought. Rolling off the table, she admired Reg’s handiwork in his oval freestanding mirror and she loved it.

Let her metamorphosis begin.

She had taken her first step. It had been incredibly painful and if Nick hadn’t been with her she would have backed out at the very first needle but looking at her tattoo she was immensely proud of herself.

She’d just done ink. She could do anything. She could certainly have a baby.

“So… do you have a particular type of guy in mind for this plan of yours?” Nick asked her after she’d paid Reg and they were back on the street.

“Nope.”

“What? No list? No Post-it note somewhere with build, eye color, shoe size, etc?”

“No.” Samantha shot him a quelling look. “I’m not after a set of physical attributes. I guess I’d like to feel some kind of spark but mostly I want him to be nice. I mean he is going to be the father of my baby so I’m going to have to like him.”

“I guess that would help.”

She shrugged. “I figured I’d just get on an app and go from there. I’ll know him when I see him.”

“What?” Nick’s face screwed into a ball of distaste. “No way. Stay off the apps, Sam, no matter what you do.”

“Why?”

Samantha was probably the only woman she knew both at work and within her own small friendship circle that hadn’t ever dabbled in online dating. It had felt depressingly fake and not necessary when she seemed to manage meeting men just fine. But things had changed. She had limited time and very specific requirements.

And she admired the hell out of an algorithm.

“Because they’re a festering pool of gym bros who just want to hook up.”

She waved the objection aside. “I’ll make sure to curate my profile properly. This is the quickest and most efficient way to find what I’m looking for. Unless you have a pool of eligible men my age or older who might fit my demographic?”

In other words, not hockey gods.

“Yes!” He snapped his fingers, sounding… relieved ? “I have six older brothers. All professional men. I’m sure I could find someone among their friends and colleagues who’d be willing to go out with a slightly nutty Rubenesque female with dying eggs.”

Ooh , okay, yes. That could definitely work. And she did like the idea of a personal recommendation much better than a rando internet match. “Really? You’d consider doing that for me?”

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “Leave it with me.”