But this guy doesn’t know that. “Actually, I’m eating for four,” I say, patting my stomach.
His brow furrows as he closes the trunk. He can’t decide if I’m kidding. “Congratulations,” he says eventually.
“Thank you. If only I knew who the father was.”
The man climbs into the front seat in a big fat hurry, while I give myself a private high-five. Nice girls don’t make tasteless jokes. But I’m breaking all the rules these days.
In the back of the cab, I pull out my phone to see if I’ve forgotten anything. But no. Every single item on my to-do list is checked off. Tonight I can send out my invoices and collect my moonlighting cash.
There’s only one thing missing. My little business needs a name. I’m considering Mighty Heidi, because it almost rhymes. But it’s not quite right…
A text pops onto the screen. It’s from Eric, my ex. My finger hovers over the notification to dismiss it, but then I happen to glimpse a snippet of the message. I’m in town for an interview and I’d like to take you to dinner.
Well, crumbs. If he’s in town, can I really refuse to see him? That’s breaking about seventeen different rules of etiquette.
I tap on his name and call him. Half of me hopes he won’t pick up. But then he does. “Heidi Jo,” he says in a soft voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice? Please tell me you didn’t butt dial me.”
“No,” I say, already wishing I hadn’t called. “I saw your message.”
“Can I see you?”
“Well, it really depends on the day. My father has me working some strange jobs lately, and the hours are pretty unpredictable.”
He chuckles, as if that’s just so adorable, and my temper flares. The men in my life never take me seriously. “Well, I’m only in town for thirty-six hours, but I’d really love to see you. I miss you so much. I’d like to take you out and spoil you.”
“That’s really nice, Eric,” I say gently. “Maybe that could work.”
“I hope so.” He sighs. “Still don’t know why you had to leave school.” And me. I hear those extra words at the end of that sentence even if he won’t say it. “Pennsylvania isn’t the same without you.”
“I’m pretty sure Pennsylvania will survive.” Although I’m so tired right now that Eric’s nostalgic tone is wearing me down. Maybe I’ll have dinner with him, if my schedule permits. Is it awful that I miss having a guy who calls me every night before bed and whispers I love you?
“Look, I’m thinking of graduating early,” he says. “This interview is for a job that would start in February. In the analyst-training program.”
“Wait, what?” That wakes me from my reverie. “But that’s right in the middle of hockey season.”
His chuckle is low and warm. “Figures that would be your first concern. But the Villanova Ice Cats will just have to make do. It’s my last season to play anyway, Heidi Jo. It’s not like the Brooklyn Bruisers are going to come calling.”
He’s right, I guess. Most college hockey players are done with the sport on senior night. But who could ditch his team right before the playoffs! “It must be a great job opportunity. Is it at a bank?”
“Goldman Sachs. It’s top-shelf. If they offer me the spot, I’m taking it.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. “Well, I’m sure you’ll wow them with your smarts.”
“I’ll wow them, and we’ll celebrate with a nice dinner. I’ll send you my itinerary. If I’m in town for two nights instead of one, that doubles my chances of seeing you, right?”
“Yes, I guess it does.” I’m just not sure how I feel about it.
“You take care, honey. Can’t wait to see you.”
We sign off just as the cab pulls up in front of my boys’ Water Street condo building. I get out on tired feet and begin to pull grocery bags out of the trunk of the cab.
The condo’s doors open and Miguel emerges, rolling a brass bellman’s cart. That solves the problem of how a girl can deliver groceries to five different apartments. God bless millionaires. They’ve thought of everything.
“Where to, miss?” Miguel asks. I’ve confused the heck out of him this week, as I come and go from a half-dozen different apartments.
“It’s complicated,” I tell him. “Could I borrow your wheels for fifteen minutes while I make my deliveries? I need to get these perishables into the fridge.”
“Of course.” He steps back. “The drycleaner also dropped off shirts for…”
“…Trevi,” I say. His were the last to arrive, because he uses a different shop than the rest. “Load ’em on here. I’ll take care of everything at once.”
My feet are screaming by the time the freight elevator doors open to accommodate the cart.
If Becca was right, I will run the world someday. I only hope that world domination comes with foot rubs.
13
Jason
Every road trip is hard. But usually I’m not feeling quite so discouraged.
We won two and lost two, but my contribution was poor. I’m worried, and I know my teammates are, too. Because they’re being so fucking nice to me right now. Bayer is holding the door for me as we all trudge into the Million Dollar Dorm. And Silas let me pick the music in the cab on the way back from the airport.
That’s how you know it’s bad. If these dudes thought everything was okay, they’d be assholes like usual.
“Pizza and beer at our place later?” Silas offers to our teammates. “I need a dose of Grimaldi’s, but I’m too tired to go out.”
“Sounds good,” Bayer and Beringer both agree.
“Maybe,” Leo says. “Gotta see if Georgia made any plans.”
“Gotta check with the little wife,” Bayer prods him. Then he makes the sound of a whip. But Leo just smiles to himself, like he knows a secret. Leo has two goals from our first road trip. His season is well underway. He doesn’t need anyone’s approval, and he knows it.
Must be nice.
Silas and I ride the elevator in silence and then trudge toward our door. He unlocks it.
“Every traveler has a home of his own, and he learns to appreciate it the more from his wandering,” I say as we drop our luggage on the floor like always.
“Shakespeare?” Silas asks.
“Dickens,” I say. “Maybe I jinxed myself quoting Dickens during training camp. Like—now my whole season is going to be like Oliver Twist. ‘Please, sir. May I have a goal?’”
Silas snorts. Then he lifts his nose and sniffs the air. “Do you smell that? It’s like…”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah. Our place smells like lemons instead of feet.”
“Wow. Huh. I like it.” Silas walks toward the refuge of his bedroom with a happy sigh.
I linger a moment in our living room. I’d been trying not to think about Heidi staying in our apartment, because I have enough distractions right now. But there’s her suitcase, tucked against the wall.
There aren’t any other signs of her, though. The sofa bed has been put away, and every surface is tidier than it usually is. The stack of Sports Illustrated magazines is straight, and there aren’t any abandoned water bottles lurking on the coffee table.
Heidi has been here even though there’s no sign of her.
I grab my travel bag, hoist it onto my shoulder, and trudge toward my bedroom where a nice hot shower awaits. I’m mentally turning on the faucet when I happen to glance down at the bed.
Holy fuck. Heidi has face-planted onto my mattress. She’s lying the wrong way across the foot of the bed, on top of the quilt, asleep. She’s even snoring gently.
One glance is all it takes, and I’m already feeling an unwelcome flash of lust. A split second is all I need to admire the golden skin of her arms as they stretch overhead, and the round shape of her perfect ass in those jeans.
White jeans. And it’s way past Labor Day. Someone’s been naughty. I want to kneel on the bed and peel those off her body…
Fuck. I drop my bag on the floor again and remove my suit jacket, which I drop onto the bag. Then I make a beeline for my bathroom. I lock the door and shed the rest of my clothing and climb under the warm spray.
I will not jack off to the commissioner’s daughter.
Just kill me already.