Ten minutes later I emerge, freshly shaved and wearing a towel. Because it’s my damn house, and I don’t own a bathrobe. Not only have I made tons of noise, but I can hear the chick music blaring from Silas’s room already. We’re not quiet people.
But wouldn’t you know? There’s still a sleeping, off-limits princess sprawled on my bed.
This time she hears me, though. Heidi’s eyes fly open when I open my underwear drawer. “Oh my goodness!” She sits up fast. The stitching pattern of the quilt my mother made for me is carved into her pink cheek. “Sorry! I just meant to sit down for a minute.” She scrambles to her feet and takes a deep breath. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks. Glad to be back.” I wait for her to leave.
She still has that half-conscious look of the recently awakened. As I watch, her big blue eyes travel slowly as she looks me up and down. I can feel her gaze like a caress as she takes in my bare chest and abs. “Wow,” she says, her voice full of appreciation.
“Unless you want to see even more, you might want to step out,” I grumble.
She doesn’t move. Instead, her eyes go a little soft, and she sighs dreamily.
Holy shit. That’s probably how she looks right after she’s been well-fu—
Argh! “Out you go,” I snap, turning to face my dresser.
“Sorry,” she whispers and then sprints on out of my room, closing the door behind her.
But the damage is already done. My body feels tight and ready for sex. And the room smells lightly of citrus and honey. Hell, my bed probably smells like her.
I stomp around the room, getting dressed, hanging up my suit and unpacking. I’m tired, my hockey game is in the shitter, and I need pizza, beer, and sexual release.
But only the pizza and beer are forthcoming, damn it.
When I finally venture into the kitchen, Silas is there with Heidi. He’s happily munching his favorite snack—avocado slices topped with fresh salsa. “Heidi shopped for everybody who lives in the Million Dollar Dorm!” he says. “It’s really nice to come home to groceries.”
“Oh, cool.” I’d given her a list, too. “That’s great. Thanks for that.”
“My pleasure,” she says with a smile.
I step up to the cabinet and open it, looking for some chips. Hmm. “Where are you hiding the Doritos?”
“Oh,” she says. “You got those instead.” She points.
I grab the bag off the shelf. But these chips are green. “These are made of…kale?”
“Yes,” she says. “They’re delicious. And for dip you got this.” She opens the fridge and pulls out a tub of organic hummus instead of the onion dip I like.
This is a freaking disaster. “But that’s not the same! Are you telling me you changed the orders of six players to whatever you think is best?”
“No way.” She tosses that silky hair and purses those kissable lips. “Just yours. Nobody else asked me to buy anything with yellow dye number five in it.”
Silas laughs, that fucker. I tear open the bag with a scowl. And then I have a truly horrible thought. “But what about my sandwich? Did you get—”
“Whole-wheat sandwich bread, creamy peanut butter, and strawberry jam?” she asks.
“It has to be strawberry,” I thunder, sounding like a lunatic. Some things cannot be fucked with. Like fate.
Heidi walks over to another cabinet and opens the door, revealing a loaf of bread, and jar of peanut butter. And a jar of Bonne Maman strawberry jam. “I’m not crazy enough to take on your superstitions,” she says.
“Thank you.” I exhale in a mighty gust. “Did you save the receipt?” I’ll need to pay her back.
“What do you take me for?” she yelps. “Tonight you’ll get a fully itemized invoice. And—by the way—I’m only billing you for the groceries. You two don’t pay for labor. Don’t tell anyone, though. I need to keep my market price on an upward trajectory.”
“Got it,” Silas says with a smirk. “Thanks.”
“No—you can charge me,” I argue. I get why she did that—we’re letting her stay here for free. But I don’t want to owe her anything. And the faster she earns the money, the faster she can stop torturing me with her tiny pajamas and that tight little body that I want to—
Yeah. No.
I’m so frustrated right now. So frustrated that I grab the kale chips and rip open the bag. Then I shove one in my mouth.
It’s not awful.
Hmm.
“Let me know when it’s time to order pizza,” she says. “I’ll text your friends for their orders and then put everything in my spreadsheet.”
“Don’t forget the beer!” Silas says cheerfully.
“I won’t!” Heidi walks out of the kitchen, her ass swaying just enough to torture me.
I shove a handful of kale chips in my mouth so I won’t say or do anything I’ll regret.
14
Jason
The following week is a shit show. Practice is awful. My stats suck. Every coach in the organization has spent serious time trying to help me. I know that’s supposed to be a good thing. But there’s only so much advice a guy can absorb in a day.
It’s only October, and this is already the longest hockey season of my life.
To make matters worse, Heidi is still prancing around my apartment and prancing through my dreams. It’s torture. I’m full of pent-up frustration, and I can’t exorcise it the way I want to—by pushing her down into the sofa cushions and having my filthy way with her.
Friday night it’s the same damn thing. We lose our home game to Buffalo, of all teams. And then when the team retreats to the Tavern afterward to lick our wounds, Heidi is there, too, looking luscious in a tight-fitting sweater.
“Hi Pete!” she greets the gray-haired bartender.
“Hello, miss.” He gives her a big smile.
“I’d like a shot of tequila with a whiskey chaser,” she says.
Pete rolls his eyes. “You’re underage. We’ve been over this. Besides—nobody orders that. We have to work on your smack talk.”
“What do I order if I want to make a statement?” she asks, pulling out a barstool and plunking her cute butt onto it.
“A buttery nipple,” Pete suggests.
“What if I’m avoiding dairy?”
The bartender laughs so hard he practically has an aneurism. That’s the thing about Heidi. Once you’ve noticed her, it’s hard to stop noticing her.
Or maybe that’s just me.
“You could try a dirty martini,” Pete says after he regains control of his executive function. “Always a classic. Or a glass of bubbly, if you want something lighter.”
“Good tip,” she says. “Oh, hey, Castro! Come here a sec. I have something to discuss with you.”
That’s what I get for staring at her so subtly, I guess. I do as I’m told, and take a seat next to Heidi.
“What non-alcoholic drink am I pouring you?” Pete asks.
“Club soda with lime. Thanks. Now, Mr. Castro.” She turns to me. “Before I left the apartment tonight, someone left a message on the landline answering machine, and—”
“Oh, that’s my—”
Heidi holds up a hand, silencing me. “Do not interrupt a lady’s story. I did some excellent sleuthing, okay? She greeted you with a name I didn’t catch. But then she said something about how Mom isn’t coming to your game next week after all. The caller apologized for the change in plans, but she’s convinced your mom to come visit her instead of you and help out with your nephew’s birthday party.”
“Oh, okay.” I can’t say I’m too upset that Mom isn’t coming next week. I’m in too much of a rut. If things go on like this, I won’t be in much of a mood to entertain her.
Fuck. I feel glum just thinking about it. Last year when my parents visited, I had two goals in one game, and we all went out for dim sum the next day.
“Which leads me to my next deduction.” Heidi snaps her fingers. “Stay with me, Jason.”
“Lay it on me,” I say, although it’s unclear whether I’m referring to her message or Heidi’s body. She’s like a beam of sunshine. And my cloudy ass could really use some of that.
Theoretically, anyway.