“Sure,” he grunts.
Oh dear. I don’t know what to do. Nice girls don’t impose. On the other hand, being a nice girl isn’t working so well for me. And I really, really don’t want to run home to Daddy.
Still, though. Jason doesn’t want me on his sofa.
“Guys, it might be three weeks until I can earn back what I lost. I earn almost nothing, and they hold onto my pay forever.”
Jason closes his eyes. It’s a long beat before he opens them again. “Don’t worry, okay? Just eat the chicken and take a breath and then you can stay on the couch.”
He doesn’t look thrilled about it. But I feel a rush of gratitude, anyway. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” I lean in and hug him. I’d hug Silas, too, but he’s on the other side of Jason and I don’t have gorilla arms.
The hug doesn’t last long, though, because Jason makes a growly sound. I guess he’s not in the mood for a hug from a freeloader like me.
“Good deal,” Silas says. “Let’s get the check, shall we? It’s getting late.”
“I might need another one of these rum drinks first,” Jason grumbles. “Heidi, eat that food.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
He gives me a dark, unsettling look.
But that’s okay. I have excellent food and a couch to sleep on. I won’t have to admit defeat just yet.
11
Jason
“You are a pain in my ass,” I hiss at Silas. “You know that?”
We’re in his room, and Heidi is currently singing to herself in my shower. Silas is propped up in bed, cackling to himself while I glower at him from the doorway.
“I should be forgetting my troubles, hooking up with a hockey fan right now,” I complain. “Not hosting a sleepover!”
“Were you going to throw the girl out on the street? I bet you couldn’t do it.”
He’s right, of course. I’d never leave Heidi in danger. “Her daddy has a penthouse on the Upper East Side,” I point out. “Let’s not pretend she was going to end up sleeping in a cardboard box under the bridge.”
“My bad,” he says with an arrogant grin.
“What is your goal here?” I demand.
“Entertainment.” He tucks his hands behind his head. “When she’s around, you’re not a broody cat. You’re more like a slobbering dog.”
“I’m not here to entertain you!” Jesus. I used to think of him as a good roommate.
“Someone should,” he says with a sigh. “And entertain you, too. We were such grinds last season. And look where it got us.”
“It got me twenty-seven goals and you a one-way contract.” Last season was epic.
Maddeningly, Silas just shrugs. “Success is nice. But we don’t have anyone to share it with except each other. And you’re not into dudes, so…” He shrugs again.
“You think you can set me up with…” I jerk a thumb toward the other room.
In the silence, we hear the commissioner’s daughter singing about hills that are alive with the sound of music.
“She likes show tunes. You’re a showboat. I think it’s a sign,” Silas says with another irritating grin that makes me want to choke him.
Getting nowhere, I stomp off to find the sheets and blankets for the fold-out couch. It takes me fifteen minutes to get that sucker set up. I’m just fluffing the pillow when Heidi emerges from my room wearing a tiny sleeveless T-shirt and shorts that could get a girl jailed in several countries.
I need to stop noticing her. But the outline of her nipples against the soft fabric taunts me. And the smooth skin of her legs goes on for miles…
“Everything okay there?” she asks. “You look a little woozy.”
“Fine,” I grunt and force myself to look away. “You’re all set up here.”
Her expression softens. “Thank you. I would have done that.”
“S’okay.” She turns me into a caveman. One word at a time is all I can manage. As she slips past me, I get a whiff of citrus and honey.
She sits on the edge of the sofa bed and tests the mattress with her hand. “Wow, nice. I appreciate you letting me stay here.”
“No problem.” I shut off the lamp. Then I sit down beside her. I tell myself it’s because I’m trying to be less grumpy and more friendly. But it’s really because I’m drawn to things that are bad for me. “My parents are the only ones who ever use this sofa bed.”
“Do they visit often?”
“Couple times a year.”
She puts one silky hand on my arm. “I promise to be out of your hair soon.”
And that’s my cue to leave. Because I like her touch way too much. “Goodnight, you pain in the butt.”
She smiles at me in the dim light. “You don’t have to go, you know.”
“Yeah, I really do.”
“Do I get a good night kiss?”
Oh hell. We both know how good that could be. “That’s a bad idea.” I stand up before I give in. “You sleep well. Tomorrow you can call the police, okay? File a complaint against the asshole who took your money.”
“I will,” she says with a sigh. “But they won’t get it back.”
I put a hand on her head, and then I lean down and kiss her hair. I meant it as a friendly gesture, but even the sweet scent of her as my lips brush over silk is too much. “Night,” I say in a husky voice.
Then I retreat to my own room and shut the door.
It isn’t a great night’s sleep. My dreams are charged with coaches yelling at me. And then, towards dawn, I have a sexy dream about a certain girl with blue eyes and soft hands.
When the alarm goes off, I open my eyes warily. I’m turned on and overtired. It’s not a nice combination. I want to roll over and close my eyes again, but morning skate starts in an hour, and later I need to pack for our first road trip.
So I get out of bed and do some stretches to wake myself up. When I’m dressed and ready, I open my bedroom door to a curious smell.
Is that…bacon?
I pad into the kitchen to find Silas seated at our table, looking like a king at a banquet. He’s eating a waffle with a fried egg on top. There’s also bacon and a wedge of cantaloupe on his plate.
“Whoa,” I say as Heidi turns to face me from the counter. “What happened here?”
“Breakfast,” she says with a forehead wrinkle. She looks at me like I’m an imbecile. “Don’t you eat breakfast?”
“Um, yes?” It’s just that it doesn’t look like this. “You don’t have to cook for us.”
Silas makes a noise of dismay and then a slashing motion with his hand. “Will you please shut up? Do you not see all this good food?”
“It’s the least I can do,” Heidi says. “Here’s yours.” She offers a plate, and it’s just like Silas’s. The scent of waffles and bacon fills my nostrils, and I begin to come around to Silas’s way of seeing things.
“Thank you,” I say, sitting down hastily and grabbing the silverware that she’s already put out for me. “We have a waffle iron?”
“You sure do,” she says. “But I peeled a sticker off it. I don’t think you ever used it before.”
“Oh.” I wonder what else is in my kitchen? “Where did you get these groceries?”
“I ran out this morning.”
“Save the receipt,” I say.
“It’s already on the fridge.” She points at a slip of paper trapped with a magnet. “I’m happy to run errands, but cash is tight.”
I put a piece of waffle and fried egg in my mouth and then moan a little. “Is that cinnamon?”
“Yes,” she says, stacking more waffles onto a piece of waxed paper. “The little store didn’t have real maple syrup, and fake maple syrup is garbage. These waffles are going in your freezer. If you microwave them for twenty seconds and then toast them in the toaster, they will be very good for leftovers.”
“Can I have another one right now?” Silas asks.
“No,” she says shortly. “Too carby. But you can have another egg if you need more calories.”
Silas and I exchange a curious glance. “Got it,” he says as we both try not to laugh.
“While you’re away—assuming the police don’t magically find my money, and that I don’t also find an instantly available apartment I can afford—I can take in your mail and do errands and water your plants.”