After the game, the locker room is a happy place. We blast our win song and argue about how we’re going to celebrate.
“Ribs,” Drake demands.
“Chicago-style pizza,” Trevi argues.
“Nah, it’s overrated,” I complain as I towel off from the shower. “I’m with Drake. Let’s eat barbecue.”
“Gotta let the night’s scorers decide,” Beacon says, pulling a shirt on. “Give these boys what they need. Plus, the ribs joint is closer to the hotel, so…”
“Ladies,” says a snarky female voice. “Congratulations.”
I look over my shoulder and spot Miranda Wager—my least favorite reporter. Funny how I don’t hate the sight of her quite so much after a win. “Be right with you,” I say, because my ass is bare, and I don’t want to be that rude athlete who waves his dick in her face like it’s a dare.
“Take your time,” she says. “I was just hoping you’d comment on your comeback.”
I pull on a pair of underwear and then my trousers. Only then do I turn around and dignify the question. “My comeback?”
“It’s been weeks since you had any points.”
I consider my response carefully. A particular awesome, sexy woman made my sandwich this morning… I smile, just picturing Heidi. But I still need to answer the question. “Obviously I just needed some ice time to figure out how to play right wing. You know the ten-thousand-hour rule? Mastering new skills is a lengthy process.”
“I’m aware,” Miranda says. “But ten thousand hours? That would take four hundred and seventeen days, if you didn’t sleep.”
My irritation flares at this handy demonstration of mental math. But I remind myself of what Heidi said—how everyone is hard on Miranda. And even though I don’t trust this reporter, I dial down my attitude. “I don’t know how many hours it’s been. But just think how unstoppable I’m gonna be after my ten-thousandth hour?”
She actually rolls her eyes as she scribbles on her notebook. “Thank you for that humble quote.”
“It’s entirely my pleasure.” I give her a big, friendly smile. We stare each other down for a second.
She blinks first. “There’s a young woman in the hallway looking for you,” she says. “Have a nice night.” Then, thankfully, she turns away to sink her reporter’s talons into Beacon.
Good riddance.
I finish dressing quickly. A young woman waiting for me? I don’t know who that could be. As I tuck in my shirt, my traitorous subconscious leaps right to the place it shouldn’t. What if somehow it’s Heidi in the hallway? Yay!
Thanks, brain. Or—let’s be honest—my brain isn’t the only body part that’s kept Heidi in mind all day. I can’t stop hearing her voice in my head. Specifically, her voice moaning, yes, yes, harder.
Oh, the irony. I’d told Heidi we couldn’t sleep together because she’d only want more. And I’m the one who’s still hot and bothered, playing last night on replay. She’s gotten under my skin. The sex was spectacular.
But also? I like her. The idea of her waiting for me outside is strangely appealing. A horrible idea, but appealing nonetheless.
Either way, I owe her a phone call. In the first place, we’re friends. And friends don’t bang friends without a check-in afterwards. And I need to thank her for the sandwich. When the puck went into the net twenty minutes ago, my teammates all screamed my name. It had been a while since I’d heard them do that.
I tie my shoes, grab my bag, and then head for the door to see who’s outside. Maybe there’s nobody there, and Miranda Wager was just fucking with me.
Or maybe it’s somebody I hooked up with some other time in Chicago? That would be awkward. The reason I only have sex with randoms is that it avoids entanglement. That’s worked just fine for me for years.
Yanking the locker room door open, I look right and left. “Jason!” somebody screeches. And I smile immediately, because I’d know that screech anywhere. I’ve been hearing it for most of my life.
“Silli!” I yell, grabbing my little sister into a hug and lifting her off her feet. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I didn’t know! Put me down, and I’ll explain.”
When I set Silvia onto her feet, she punches me in the arm. “Ow! What’s that for?”
“Making me look bad. Our nephew loves that bear you sent for his birthday. I bought him books.”
“Serves you right. Come out for dinner—we’re all getting ribs. I’ll buy.”
“In that case, I’m in,” Silvia says. “I spent sixty bucks on a ticket in the nosebleed section, and all because I can’t plan my life.”
“You know I woulda got you a seat…”
“I know,” she says, looping her arm in mine. “But I asked for the night off and I thought they turned me down, but I didn’t read the schedule closely enough.” Silvia works as a nurse in a Wisconsin hospital. She’s also getting a graduate degree in public health, because we’re a family of overachievers. “This afternoon when I realized I had the night off, I just got in my car and drove.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Parked at your hotel.”
I laugh. “So that’s how it is, huh? Your plan is to get drunk and crash in my hotel room?”
“There a problem with that?” she asks.
“No. It’s great to see you,” I say, because it is. The shittiest thing about professional sports is that it keeps me on the road so many days a year. Dinners with my family are scarce.
“You looked fantastic tonight,” she says. “I’ve been worried.”
I groan. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” If you can’t count on your family to point out your failures, who can you count on?
“Look, I don’t care if you ever score another goal. But I know you care. And you’re a very grumpy bear when things aren’t going well.”
“Things are fine,” I grumble.
“I noticed. We all worry about you more in the fall, anyway.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I insist.
She gives me the side-eye, implying that it’s not. “Mom and Dad are planning a surprise visit to Brooklyn, too. To check up on you.”
“They’re visiting me? When?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t listen to the details. But you’ve been warned.”
My family is great, but I don’t like them to worry about me. Although it’s true that autumn is not my favorite time of year. Ever since Lissa died on a clear November day, I’ve never been a fan of the season.
And then it hits me like a six-foot-six defenseman. “Oh, shit.” I forgot all about the call from Jolene last night. “I’m such an asshole.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Ignoring her, I pull out my phone. I’m sure it’s possible to send the money via a website or an app. Except I can’t remember that number Jolene gave me identifying the right drugstore. It’s still on my coffee table, scrawled on a magazine…
Oh. And now I know how I’m going to solve the problem. “Silli, I need a minute.” I push open the stadium door, finding the team bus ready with its door open.
“Hi Silvia,” Jimbo says with a smile. “You guys need a car?” Jimbo asks me. Sisters aren’t allowed on the team bus.
“We sure do. I’m heading to that ribs joint where we went last year. You in?”
He checks me off on his tablet with a stylus. “Sure. I’ll be late, though.” The transport guys aren’t done for the night yet.
“Come whenever. I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll grab you a car. Prolly take three minutes.”
“Awesome. I’ll be right over there.” I cross the asphalt to the stadium wall and then look up Heidi’s phone number. As it’s ringing, my sister sidles up beside me.
“I need a minute.”
“Yeah, but I like to eavesdrop.”
“You’re a pain in the—”
That’s when Heidi’s phone picks up. “Belle Pepper’s Delivery Service. How may I direct your call?”
“Can I, uh, speak to Heidi?” I ask.
“It’s me, genius!” She laughs. “Just playing with you. What do you need?”
“In the first place, I just wanted to say hi.” My sister is staring at me, and it’s throwing me off my game. “How are you doing? I should have, uh, called you earlier but…”