“Can I just pay and not go to the concert?” Bayer asks, planting his crutches on the floor and rising carefully.
“No way, man,” I argue. “If I’m going, you’re going.”
“It’s like a suicide pact for our ears,” Bayer complains.
“Nah, I like Delilah Spark’s music,” Leo says. “So does Georgia.”
“Whipped,” someone mumbles.
My teammates file out of my place with the usual amount of bickering and smack talk. And when the door finally shuts on them, I have Heidi all to myself. At least I think I do. “Where’s Silas, anyway?”
“Getting a massage,” she says, snapping her computer shut. “He’s in goal tonight.”
“Awesome.” The moment she stands up, I cross the room and pull her into my arms. “That means we’re home alone.”
Her arms wrap around me, and it feels fantastic. I’ve gone years without regular affection, and I’d forgotten how this feels. “It’s nap time,” Heidi says, laying her head against my shoulder.
“Then let’s nap. Naked,” I suggest.
She gives me a squeeze. Then she lets go and steps back. “No can do. You need your rest.”
“We’ll rest,” I argue. “Between rounds.”
Heidi shakes her head. “There will be no sharpening of your pencil before this game. Talk to me after you beat Tampa.”
“Wait, really?” I step closer to her and kiss her smooth forehead. “So if we lose, I’m cut off? What if it isn’t my fault?”
She takes my face in her hands and smiles. “How about this—if you score, then you score. I hate Tampa. Always have. They’re the smuggest expansion team.”
I tip my head back and laugh. “Okay, sure. But if I obliterate Tampa, what do I win?”
“You’ll just have to find out.” She yawns.
“Hey.” I can’t seem to keep my hands to myself, so I hug her again. “You need an actual nap.”
“Don’t you? We didn’t sleep much last night.”
It’s true. “If I keep my hands to myself, would you lie down with me?”
“Can you be good?” She tips her face toward mine.
We’re nose to nose. Heidi feels just right in my arms. “I think so,” I confess. “It won’t be easy. Let’s try.”
She takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom. Heidi takes off her jeans, but replaces them with a pair of my Bruisers shorts. We lie down together in the bed, and I’m aware of the unique silence as she settles into my arms.
This is new. It’s been a while since I held someone without removing all her clothes. I still like it, though. I like it a lot.
And then it’s almost like Heidi reads my mind. “How come you never told me that your high school girlfriend died?”
Oh, fuck. “It’s not the kind of thing you just bring up. It was a car accident. I wasn’t there.” That last thing is my confession, but Heidi probably won’t catch on to that. But it’s true. I wasn’t there when she needed me. And now she’s gone.
“That’s so sad,” she says. “How old was she?”
“Eighteen. We’d known each other forever. You know how I have all of Romeo & Juliet memorized?”
“Yeah. You’re kind of famous for that.”
“She was Juliet. I was Romeo. Ninth-grade play.”
“Oh God!”
“See? I don’t talk about it because there’s no making sense of that.”
Heidi doesn’t try to. She just tucks her body a little more tightly to mine and holds my hand.
While I drift off to sleep, she’s breathing slowly beside me. I feel more peaceful than I have in a long time.
24
Heidi
I wake up two hours later beside a sleeping Jason. His hand is heavy on my hip. Remaining very still, I spy on him for a moment. His inky eyelashes fan out toward handsome cheekbones. His strong chest rises and falls with each breath.
When I told him I couldn’t wrap my head around us as a couple, I wasn’t kidding. He could have anyone. Not only is he an amazing athlete, he’s handsome. He’s witty. And kind, too.
The mark of a good man isn’t the way he speaks to me when he’s trying to impress. It’s in the way he speaks to all the little people in his life—the doorman, the taxi driver, the bartender.
Jason Castro is a rare combination of gentle and fierce. He’s exactly my type. If he wants to actually date me, that’s a dream come true. Yet I worry.
He never used to date. Why now? And why me?
Here’s the weird thing—I used to think of myself as a catch. I was a queen bee in high school. I’m smart and funny, too. And it’s not bragging to say that the Pepper family gene pool was kind to me and that I take good care of myself.
But my self-esteem is on pretty shaky ground these days. I didn’t fit in at Bryn Mawr, and it threw me for a loop. I let a couple of confusing years get me down.
My lack of self-confidence is a new problem for me, and I know I’m not supposed to let it get me down. If this beautiful (though slightly bossy) man thinks we should be together, then I’m going to give it a spin. On my terms, of course.
But first, I have a night of work to get through. I slip out of bed, letting my man get his rest, and head for the shower.
An hour later Jason stumbles into the kitchen, his hair crazy and his eyes half-mast. “Hey,” he grunts. “Naps always—” He yawns.
“—turn you into a zombie?” I finish. “Sit.” When he plunks himself into a chair, I set a mug of coffee in front of him.
He cups the mug as if it were a treasure, then raises his sleepy brown eyes to me. “I knew I picked the right girl.”
“Is that all it takes?” Moving to stand behind him, I run a hand through his messy hair. Then I put my hands on his shoulders and squeeze.
Jason lets out a happy moan.
I work his shoulder muscles for a few seconds. “Now drink that coffee. We need you sharp for Tampa.”
He lifts a hand to catch mine. “Heidi, can I ask you a weird favor?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Would you make my sandwich again?”
“Oh.” I take two steps toward the counter and pick up the paper bag I’ve set there. “It’s already done.”
His eyes widen when I set it on the table. “You’re amazing.”
“Thank you. Beat Tampa, and then I’ll allow you to show your complete appreciation.” I don’t point out that it took me three minutes to make that sandwich. If he thinks a little PBJ makes me Supergirl, so be it.
“I have a good feeling about this game,” he says, gulping the coffee. “You’re going to be there, right?”
“Unfortunately, I am.” My job tonight is a pain in the backside. But the smile he gives me might even be worth it.
Jason reports to the arena at four, while I have to show up at five. I’m working on the ice-maintenance crew again, but the job looks a whole lot different on game night. And not in a good way.
“This won’t fit me,” I tell Mr. Randy Cavanaugh, the head of the ice crew. My friend the walrus isn’t in charge on game night, and I already miss him.
Randy is a surlier boss. He wears a goatee and a permanent scowl. And he just handed me a ridiculous uniform.
“This is extra-small,” I explain. “I’m a small or a medium, depending on the fit.”
“Shoulda got here at the beginning of the season,” he says. “Put it on. You got seven minutes until doors.”
“But…”
“No buts.” He sneers. “This is bullshit anyway. Tryouts were three months ago. You’re not even trained. Can’t believe I gotta have you on my crew just ’cause some boss thinks you’re a hot piece.”
My mouth flies open, but no words come out. His crudeness has stunned me into silence. But even if it hadn’t, I don’t ever tell my short-term bosses who I am, or why I’m suddenly assigned to them for the week. Nothing good will come of letting this asshole know that my daddy is in charge of hockey, or that I’m taking notes on everything I see.
So I force my mouth closed, turn around, and retreat into the tiny dressing room, where five other women are all trying to touch up their makeup in an undersized mirror. “Is he always such a charmer?” I ask the room full of strangers.
“Sometimes he’s worse,” says one of them. “You’re the new girl? Did he fire Amber?”