Roommates (Roommates #1) - Erin Leigh

Roommates An unlikely love story A Novel by Erin Leigh The Romantic Side of Tara Brown

Copyright 2015 Tara Brown http://TaraBrown22.blogspot.com This e-book is a work of fiction and is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration or copying of content is permitted. This book is a work of the author’s crazy mind—any similarities are coincidental. Any similarities are by chance and not intentional.

Cover Art by KC Designs Edited by Andrea Burns

Other romance books by Tara Brown writing as AE Watson and Erin Leigh: Crimson Cove Mysteries If At First Second Nature White Girl Problems My Side The Long Way Home For Love or Money

Chapter One Flying the coop Natalie Looking the apartment over one more time from the images loaded on the website, I finalize the list of things I’m going to need to ensure I don't forget anything. Fortunately, it’s furnished with the essentials like beds and couches so we just have to bring the rest of what we need to live. I didn't think I’d be able to take the job offer until I discovered that rent in Hartford is reasonable, very. A large furnished two-bedroom apartment, downtown, with a fabulous kitchen and a view of the park, is under two thousand dollars. Between Sami finding me a roommate the day after I got the job offer and the cheap rent, leaving home is actually a reality. Split amongst Sami’s cousin’s friend BJ and me, we won’t even be a thousand a month each in bills. Hopefully she’s cool. She seems cool. Except her name. BJ? It’s such an unfortunate name. Girl or boy, it’s a cruel fate. I can only imagine the terrible things kids said to her when she was around twelve and everyone was discovering what BJs were from the kids with older siblings. I can think of things, but I never would have said them. I would have thought them for sure. What horror must lie in that first name for her to choose BJ over it? Beulah. Bernice. Betty. Biscuit? I heard of a Biscuit once. She was in the South on one of those Gypsy, dumpster-diving, I-married-my-second-cousin reality TV shows. Reality TV is the first sign that the apocalypse is nigh, if you ask my mother. She would take us all back to the renaissance if it were up to her. Glancing at the apartment once more, I imagine what my roommate will be like and how our life is going to look. My first real dose of freedom. I close the laptop and sigh. A small part of me, actually a very large part of me, wishes I’d ignored my parents’ (mother’s) demands and just gone to Manhattan to live with Sami. When she invited me I thought about it seriously until my mother tore the idea apart. I would have regretted it my entire life if this opportunity hadn’t come along. Not sewing my wild oats in college was one thing, but not living on my own before I ended up in a serious relationship was another. And my relationship might be headed toward serious. Maybe. We’re still negotiating that one. “Are you almost ready, Natalie?” my mother calls from the hall using her teacher voice. She has a schedule to keep and by the gods we are keeping it. “Just getting the last couple of things,” I call back, not raising my voice too high. I don't

want to start something. She’s already amped up in her disapproval of me going at all. Grabbing my photo of William and me from my nightstand, I add it to the final box I have to pack. It’s of us standing under one of the many beautiful trees on his parents’ estate. It’s sunset and we both look fabulous. I sigh, staring at him, wondering if things between us will really work out. Is this the end of one part of my life and the beginning of another? Is it really what I want? Part of me thinks I won’t know until I live on my own and figure my life out for myself. He’s that fairytale ending I don't see in my future at all, and yet here I am, dating him— again. He’s more than I ever would have imagined for myself. I always saw myself as more of a “girl meets guy at coffee shop” sort. Not girl meets guy at yacht racing when she’s twelve and then spends the next seven years watching him and imagining. It was never that he happened to be the son of the people who own the nicest house in Greenwich. It wasn't that he was gorgeous and charming. It was the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke and the way he smiled like no one in the room saw us. I spent over half a decade imagining it from the silent sidelines before he finally asked me out. But even now I don't know why he’s dating me. I’m not humble about how I look; we just don't match. I’m pretty, but pretty in Greenwich is the bare minimum a girl can be. Beautiful is expected. I never cared about that, not as much as my peers. “Darling, we have to go—” Mom comes in, giving me a look. It softens as she sees what I’m staring at, the only thing in my life she approves of. “It’s only one more year and then he’s done law school, and you can be together full time. Plus, he’s planning something for this fall, some sort of getaway one weekend.” “He always is.” I say it as nicely as I can. I hate it when she reads into my words. Sometimes I just mean what I say. “It just feels like this last year is going to take the longest.” “He’s two and a half hours away. I’m sure if you have to see one another you can figure it out. Hartford isn’t so far from Princeton.” She lifts a permanently arched eyebrow. “Though I will say, I don't understand why you have to take this job in Hartford in the first place. You could live here and work somewhere close by. There have to be computer jobs that are commutable.” I take a breath and fire every bit of ammo I have, “Mom, we’ve talked about this. It’s best for me to pay my own way for the year and not cost you and Dad any more than I already have. Valuable life experience comes from paying your own way. Dad agrees. And I need the time to get to know myself.” I glance about the room that has started to seem more like a prison than a haven in the last four years. “It’s time I lived on my own, even if it’s just for a year, so I can get a feel for being independent. This isn’t about William and me.” “Yes. I know.” She licks her lips as her eyes do a tour of the room with mine. “I did read somewhere that couples who spend some time living on their own do better than couples who move right in with one another from their parents’ houses.” Of course she goes to the marrying of William with this. She has a plan. “See!” I let her have that one and ignore my want to point out that I’m also twenty-two, far

too old to live at home. But I refrain from bringing up age. She feels that twenty-two, about to turn twenty-three, is still a very small kid. Being their only child, I’ve never had that sibling to run interference for me. I’m their sole focus. And while it’s been lovely, it’s also annoying as hell. I close the box and do one last look at the room that I have spent my version of a lifetime in. “I guess that’s it.” When I look back, her bright-blue eyes are watering, making them look like sapphires. She blinks and wipes, shaking her head, blocking out the sadness. She’s a master of it. “Luckily, I wore waterproof mascara.” She sniffles and forces that winning Banks family smile across her face. “Your father will grab this last box. Do a quick turn about the room and ensure you have everything.” She turns and vacates the premises before she has to endure the feelings any longer. I don't do a turn about the room. I’m only moving an hour and a half from home. I suspect if I’m missing anything, I can come back and get it. The hour and a half makes me laugh. According to her, I might as well be moving to Seattle or China. Hartford is the other side of her world. It’s lucky she’s never asked me how I feel because then I’d have to admit I think it’s not quite far enough. But I know it’s the only way I’m ever leaving this house unless I get married. New York is expensive for a single girl. My parents forbid me to live with Sami. And my job offer is in Hartford. This is my best chance at some growing up. It started out that she made me stay at home to keep costs down when I went to college but when a cost-free alternative came about, I saw the writing on the wall. She never wanted me to leave. She’s controlling and needy. When she forbade me to live in Manhattan with Sami, I knew I was never getting out of here. Not without causing shit I didn't want to cause. I love my mom, but I need some space. I fear the dark places I might go to get it. Middle children go to the dark places for attention. Only children go there for some peace. But she always has an argument for everything. When Sami offered me free living in Manhattan, she used her ability to sway my dad and told me that she was afraid of the influence my best friend would have over me. Like the last seventeen years haven’t been enough time for Sami to seduce me with the debauchery she enjoys. Not that Sami knew she was a completely immoral mess when we were five. She was closer to twelve when the wickedness crept through her. But even then I didn't succumb to her terrible habits. She smoked. I spritzed her with perfume to hide the smell. She drank. I helped her get into bed at the sleepovers. She kissed boys. I cringed and offered mouthwash. She lost her virginity at fifteen. I shuddered and pretended the pills from Planned Parenthood were for me. No, being best friends with a rich, spoiled, entitled little princess never rubbed off on me. Because no matter how much time I spent with her in her castle, I always came back to my cottage. Deciding this is it, I’m not packing anything else, I stroll into the living room where my dad is watching ESPN. A handsome jock is on the screen—dark eyes and hair and a chiseled face. Typical meathead material. The newscaster is talking about his possible trade and blah, blah, blah. I tear my gaze away from the beautiful guy being talked about by the ex-football player

turned sportscaster with the seriously tanned Botox face and give my dad a look. “You ready, Dad?” He glances up over the sofa and smiles. “Be right there.” I go back to my room, taking that last look I didn't think I would need. It’s a small room, not even the size of Sami’s closet. But it’s cozy. It’s where we watched every horror movie because her room had too many shadows. It’s where we sat when we were sad or heartbroken, eating cake from the pan we’d bought it in. Her mom refused to buy cake that was premade and in a pan, already cooked and iced. It was our safe place, mine and hers. I think she liked my cottage better than her castle. She liked how real it was. I turn, hearing his footsteps and smile at my dad as he walks into the room. He’s the sane one in the house, and as I’m too much like my mother to be trusted with that description, he’s alone with his sanity. He’s sort of akin to a hostage. “All ready then?” “I guess so.” I nod and shrug, confused as to how I feel about it, so pretending I’m indifferent feels right. “You are.” He wraps himself around me, making the world stop in those warm arms. He whispers as he kisses the side of my head, “You are ready for this. Don't listen to your mother. She’s just worried. She likes having the control. But you need to go and be a little messy before the whole world lands in your lap. Trust me. Everyone has oats to sew, Nat, and they will be sewed now or later. Better to do it young than to wake up one day amid a midlife crisis.” He kisses again and squeezes once. “Now get out to the truck before she has an aneurysm. Her pills can only help so much.” He chuckles and starts lifting the last boxes. I would help but my nails were just done a few days ago.

Chapter Two Blow Job Brady Brady Andy tosses me my old practice stick as I finish loading the last box. “You got it all, there big shot?” “Maybe.” I scowl, contemplating for a second before reaching into my pocket. “I think I have one last thing, I almost forgot.” I pull my middle finger out. “This is for you, big shot.” “Nice.” He chuckles and nods. “Typical Big Shot Brady.” The name makes me want to kick the shit outta him even if it’s better than Blow Job Brady. Unfortunately, he’s built like I am and has just as much rage, maybe more. The fight is always the kind where we both go to the hospital, and I don't have that kind of time today. Instead, I turn my head toward Mom, as she comes out of the house with a box of baking she’s made, and shout, “He’s making fun of me.” I add the little brother whine to it. It’s a low and dirty shot, but he deserves it. She gives Andy a look. “You cut that out. BJ’s nervous about playing in the big leagues.” I wince at the name and the comment as Andy starts laughing. “Awwww, little brother. It’ll be okay. All that free beer and tail will keep your spirits up.” He rolls his eyes and closes the tailgate for me. “Suck it, Andy,” I mutter before she gets close enough to hear me. “Not a chance. You let too many PFs ride that pole, buddy. You definitely got a little hepseedy at college.” “Don't hate ‘cause you got the same piece of dry toast to look forward to every night.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Dude, your idea of marriage is ridiculous. Married people don't have sex every day, not after the first year anyway.” “That's why I’m never getting married.” The thought makes me shudder. The same boring girl for the rest of my life. Kill me! “I used to have same-girl-itis and then my balls dropped. Yours will too. One day you’ll be a man and you’ll meet a girl, and you’ll just know.” He gives Mom a look as she gets close enough to hear us. “Can I have a cookie?” “No, Andrew. I didn't bake them. I just made the dough so BJ can bake them at his new house. You always bake cookies at your new house. It makes it homey.” She smiles at us both and places the box of dough and other baking on the passenger side of my truck. “Now, honey, I want you to stay outta trouble and make sure you work very hard. Like your dad always said, you find the hardest worker on the team and you beat him every day. You show them what a player from Providence looks like.” “I will, Ma.” I lean in, giving her a kiss. I want to sigh, tell her I work hard, and roll my eyes —but I don't. She’s the sweetest lady in the world and there’s just no belittling her. I’d probably cut my own arm off before I was ever cruel to my mother. The woman’s a saint. When my dad dropped dead at forty, I was ten years old. Andy was only twelve. This last twelve years she’s been a single mom to a hockey kid who has managed to go all the way. She worked two jobs to pay for that shit, and I will never disrespect her. I got good grades, worked hard, and earned scholarships.

Even if she calls me BJ which gave Andy the idea to start the name Blow Job Brady. Nicknames and hockey are like fire and gas. Blow Job stuck, and on every team I managed to get a Blow Job Brady jersey. I even have one from when I was fourteen which means one of the parents had to have ordered it. When I pull back her eyes water, making dark pools that I can see my reflection in. “If only your father were here to see this day. All that hard work has been for something.” My chest aches as I bend down and wrap myself around her. “Thanks for everything, Mom.” I can’t cry, not in front of Andy. He’ll beat the shit outta me for years if I do. Andy’s hand shakes as he grips tight to me. I know he’s fighting the tears too. It's the end of a long journey for us as a family. But neither of us will let the other get away with crying. We haven’t cried since the day they put Pops in the ground. Neither of us. It’s like a silent challenge now. Whoever cries first is the family pussy. He has a pregnant wife so I suspect I’ll be winning that one. He’s so going to be the douche crying in the delivery room. “You’re going to the big leagues, little bro.” He pats me on the back the way Pops always did. “We’re going to the big leagues. This is a family dream, not just mine. We all sacrificed for this.” My mom sniffles. “Your father would have been so proud.” She pulls back, reaching up and cupping my chin. “So don't blow it, BJ.” She winks, making me and Andy laugh. I swear she doesn't understand the stupid thing she’s just said. She’s naïve about stuff like that. “I won’t, Ma.” I lean down and kiss her cheek. “I better get going though. I’m meeting Nate in Hartford in an hour and a half. And I’m already late.” “Don't speed and don't do anything I wouldn't do. You sure about this Nate guy? You sure he’s not going to steal your stuff?” “What stuff?” Andy scoffs. “Ma, he’s six foot four and over two hundred pounds. If Nate’s a bigger dude, BJ won’t have much say in the matter.” “Andrew!” She slaps him in the chest, not that he feels it. In his sheriff’s uniform he wears body armor underneath. But he recoils like it hurts. “He’s some cousin of Matt’s girlfriend or something. Some computer nerd or tech dude. I’m not too worried.” I wink and offer my token grin, the one that always gets the ladies to drop their drawers. But Mom scowls. “Don't give me that slimy grin, young man. You be nice to that poor kid if he is a science nerd. And stay outta trouble. I didn't work so hard for so many years to have you blow this, BJ.” A miniscule piece of me wonders if she knows what she’s saying and she does it anyway. “Yes, ma’am.” “Yeah, don't blow it.” Andy chuckles again, making a dick-sucking motion. “I won’t. Trust me. You’re the pro in that arena.” I glare at Andy, but he just nods knowingly. “See you guys at the first game?” “You know it, Blow Job!” Andy laughs, getting another slap from Mom as I climb in the truck and start the brute up. I give a wave and a honk and get on my way. I gotta beat Nate so I can have the bigger room, and he has a half-hour head start on me. What does a nerd need space for? I have to be able to do push-ups and other workouts.



Chapter Three Miss-communication Natalie My dad gets the last of the boxes in the apartment. My mom checks the job the cleaners did, criticizing their work and leaves me a list of everything they missed. She wants her money back. I think the place looks great and smells amazing, but her standards are somewhere up with God’s. Too high for us mere mortals to see or comprehend. She unpacks everything and starts filling cupboards and drawers she’s wiped out, even though they’re completely clean. Dad gives me a sympathetic look. “We have to get going, Darlene. And I suspect Nat would like to set up her own kitchen.” He says it in the most loving way. So loving I suspect he’s mocking me. He knows the kitchen and I don't always see eye to eye. “I think the furniture is all new, even the mattresses. So that’s good.” She blinks and pauses. “What, dear?” “We should let Natalie set her own house up.” She swallows a lump in her throat, nodding slowly. “Right.” She forces that smile across her lips. “Of course, darling.” She walks to me, taking a huge inhale before she pulls me into her arms and hugs, sighing all over my cheek. “We’re not far. If you need us, let us know. We’ll be here in no time. If you need money, don't hesitate. If you get scared and want to come home—” “Or if you just want to meet for dinner and tell us how fabulously you’re doing.” My dad becomes part of the embrace, but he doesn't exhale on me, he inhales—me. He smells my head as he plants a kiss there. “Your mother is right though, we’re very close and anything you need, we’ll do.” That's been my entire life. Anything I ever needed was handed to me. It’s like being a princess without the royalty. I know how hard they’ve worked to give me everything. I just want to work hard now too. I don't want anything else from them. I want to give myself a life. And I’m excited to have to tread water on my own a little. The security of them being so near is great, but the threat of sinking, even just a bit on my own, is even more thrilling. “Thanks so much for bringing me and all my stuff.” I step back, dismissing them. Dad beams, proud of me. I can see it so clearly. Mom looks worried, but she lets Dad pull her away. “We’ll call when we get home.” She waves as she lifts her purse and Dad literally drags her from my new house. “Lock the door. This is still a city. Love you, Natalie.” I almost roll my eyes. I’ve been going to Manhattan with Sami for a decade. This is not a city. Dad closes the door, winking at me with my mom looking stricken from behind him. I can’t imagine how hard this is going to be on him when he is all she has to focus on. He’s really taking one for the team for me. But I think they need some empty nest. They were married for ten years before they had me. Surely they had things they liked

doing before I came along. It’s been almost twenty-three years of making me happy. It’s time they make each other happy while I learn how to make me happy. Excitement fills me as I spin, taking in the sight of my very first apartment. I don't even care that I’ll have a roommate. She seemed super friendly and cool in the emails. And Sami declared an odd amount of love for her, said she was awesome and easygoing and exactly what I needed. That level of endorsement is almost impossible to get out of Sami who can be a bitch. But she likes BJ who she described as a typical Providence jock but awesome. She’s got some sports thing here in Hartford for the next two years. I didn't care to ask. I’m sure BJ will tell me when she gets here. Walking to the window as the lights of the city start to brighten and the sun sets, my insides tingle with possibility. The world, well this small city, is my oyster. The capitol building across from Bushnell Park is stunning. The dome roof was shiny and glittery in the sunset but now the whole thing is lit like Christmas with white lights. The park is fabulous too. It all makes up for the fact our street name is Asylum. I don't even want to know why anyone would name a street Asylum. But the apartment building is perfect. Secure access, a great view, renovated heritage building, and close to where I work. It’s a quick jaunt across the park to Capitol Avenue. I’ve mapped it out twice. Turning and facing the sea of boxes, I head back into the kitchen to start setting up but pause, wondering if I should wait for BJ. I glance at my phone, hoping she’s okay. She’s half an hour late. The thought doesn't even linger in my mind for a moment before the lock on the door clicks. My stomach aches with anticipation, but what I see come through the door can’t be right. He’s tall, like big—but not fat. He’s cute with brown hair hanging under his baseball cap and tanned skin. No, he's super hot. He has dark eyes and a sexy smile. He’s like the right kind of delivery guy only I didn't order pizza. Wait! He unlocked the door with the key in his hand. I take a step back, worried about the giant man coming through the door. Cute or not, this is not cool. Except I know his face. He’s the guy they were talking about with the possible trade blah, blah, blah. He was on ESPN. “You were just on TV.” “Yeah.” He offers a grin, one that makes my already tight insides clench. “Hi. Where are my manners? You must be Nate’s girl. Is he here? I’m Brady, his new roommate.” I close my eyes for the moment I need to decipher what he’s said. Nate and Brady? What? “I think you have the wrong apartment. I’m William’s girlfriend.” Does he know Will? Is he here to see him? Is he confused? I’m confused. What the hell? “What?” He tilts his head, looks at the door again, and then at the key. “Who’s William? Where’s Nate? Did he bail on the plan? Sami said Nate. Is that wrong? Is it William?” “Sami? Oh shit. You mean Nat?” I start to see the pieces of this puzzle fall into place. “Natalie?” I’ve been called Nate before by mistake. Not by Sami though. Did Sami know he was

a boy? No, a man. He’s huge. He’s a giant. A super-hot giant. “No.” He makes duck lips, making me smile until he speaks again, “No. She said Nate. She and Matt both said Nate. Computer tech.” The words are sort of falling from his lips. “Nerdy guy needed a roommate and there wasn't much available close to the XL.” He’s holding a hockey stick, and a nightmare—the nightmare of all nightmares—hits me. “BJ?” I say it like I’m saying Ebola or cancer or AIDS. “And you are—must be Nate. Nat.” He winces. His dark eyes do a lap of my body, maybe looking for the nerdy computer guy. He shakes his head. “You’re not a dude.” “And you are.” What the ever-loving hell? His lip wriggles in his teeth as he processes. “Yeah, and you’re not. I’m lost.” “Nat. Natalie Banks.” I forget all my manners and upbringing for a heartbeat before stepping forward and offering my hand. “Nat. Not Nate.” “Oh shit. We’re each other’s roommates?" His lips curl into a different sort of smile. One that makes me instantly aware of his being a boy and my being a girl. “That was crazy for a second.” He steps forward, letting the door close on his huge hockey bag. “Brady Coldwell. Nice to meet you, not Nate.” The way his lips say his name as his eyes roam my mouth makes me blush. His hand wraps all the way around mine, enclosing it. He’s huge. I’m short but next to him I look like a little person. He suddenly seems completely casual again. “Nice to meet you too.” I exhale nervously, shaking my head and his hand. “So, this is a mistake.” “What? What is?” He glances down at our hands, still touching and smiles wider. “We can’t live together. You’re a guy. I’m a girl. We don't know each other. It’s wrong. Morally.” Why can’t I shut up? “Doesn't have to be. I’m cool with whatever. I just came here to play. I need a bed and a spot to chill out.” I pull my hand back, noting how warm it still is. “What?” “Are you friends with Sami and Matt or not?” “She’s my best friend. I don't really know Matt that well. I’ve met him once at an event in Manhattan.” His eyes squint a bit when I say event. “Sami vouched for you. Did she vouch for me?” “Yes.” I squint back, not sure where he’s going with this. We clearly can’t stay roommates. Sami is dead to me. She will be. She better have an explanation for this shit. “Then it’s settled. You stay on your side of the bathroom sink, and I’ll try not to hog the covers. You’re easier to look at than some science geek any day.” He winks and heads into the house to take a look. “This is nicer than I was expecting. Look at that view. I’ve never lived in a house with a view before.” “We-we can’t live together,” I sputter. “We-we don't-don't even know each other. You could be—a—” “I’m not going to be offended by that. This is all super simple, not Nate. You’re friends with my friend’s girl, and I’m friends with your best friend’s guy. They know us pretty well. I can’t imagine they would let me live with some psycho chick. You aren’t going to start wearing my clothes and trying to play hockey and sleep with my PFs, right?” “What?” “Single White Female?” “I—I know the movie. I don't understand the reference and how it relates to us. We can’t

live together! Surely, you see that?” My tone firms up and I sound like my mom for a minute. “What’s a PF?” “Puck fuck.” He says it like you might say bless you. It’s nothing to him, certainly not a demeaning word for ladies. I gasp. He ignores it. “Natalie, we can be roommates easily. We’re both adults. A roommate is a roommate. I’ve paid my damage deposit and my entire year of rent. This place is nice, it’s two blocks to the XL Center. I don't have time to find another place; training camp starts tomorrow. I’m sorry you’re not happy. If you want to find another apartment, have at it. I won’t take it personally if you find it hard to live with a guy like me. I’m sure there’s no shortage of roommates looking for a place in this city.” His dark eyes sparkle when he says the last part, clearly mocking me. “Why don't we try it out for a week like adults and see if it works?” “Fine.” My eyes narrow as I grip my cell phone and storm into my room filled with boxes. I slam the door and lie back on the bed my mom’s made, hating Sami for screwing this up. I dial her number, getting the answering service. “You ass! You said BJ was a girl. You said BJ was into sports and was coming here for HER sports! What the hell, Sami? You call me back! Or I will hunt you down. If my mother finds out I’m living with some greasy jock, I’m dead. Do you understand me? Dead!” I hang up and close my eyes, contemplating how this is going to go down. What the hell is my mom going to do when she finds out my roommate is a guy? She’s going to make me move home. She’s going to say that I’m not old enough to live on my own and handle things responsibly. This is proof of my obvious immaturity. Shit! I’m going to die an old cat lady, still living with my mom and playing video games in her basement.

Chapter Four The crazy librarian Brady Head case. It’s not a pretty word for such a pretty girl. But at least it’ll keep my eyes on the prize and stop me from being tempted by her perfect ass. She’s hot in the best ways. Perfect, shiny, pale blonde hair that’s thick and soft looking. It comes all the way down to her perky ass, the kind you want to grab onto as you dive inside. Maybe as you give her hair a bit of a tug, like reins. And those eyes. I had no idea such bright-blue eyes could have fire in them, but hers are cold and filled with flames. Icy flames. Damn. Matt might have told me she was sexy. He might have also told me she was a chick. Of course he wouldn't have done that though. He’s probably laughing his face off right now, him and Sami. I know they’re enjoying this. He’s got the wild version of this girl, and I get the cardigan sweaters and gosh-diddly-dang version. She’s got church choir written all over her. Morally wrong? Yikes. I’ve banged enough church chicks to know what freaks they are. And once you open that flower up, there’s no closing it. They’re always head cases and freaks, and they go from virginal to clingy faster than Bobby Hull’s slap shot. Unless she’s a tranny . . . Naw. Those boobs were completely real the way they bounced when she crossed the room. She’s just a sexy head case. I can cope with that. I close my eyes and say a quiet thanks to God for making sure that girl was just crazy enough to not turn me on, not all the way. Yes, I want to bang her, but I want to bang every pretty face I see. The moment she opened her mouth she saved us both some awkward action. I wasn’t lying when I said we could be roommates. The fact she’s pouting in her bedroom because her first white girl problem is upon her is reason number one I won’t be sleeping with her. If she’s friends with Sami, she’s a spoiled little rich brat who’s never had a challenge yet. Maybe she is the perfect roommate, the way Matt said she was. I’m here to focus on hockey not girls. I head into the hallway to rescue my hockey bag and then go grab the boxes of stuff from my truck. I have tonight to get organized before the training camp starts at Champions Skating Center. It’s going to be a couple of weeks of hell and being put through the paces before we find ourselves as a team. Most of us are new to the farm team for the New York Rangers, and the Hartford Wolf Pack has a reputation for having tough training. We need to find positions and lines and see who works well together and who shouldn't actually have made the cut. I do not want to be that guy. It can be hard after you’ve gotten comfortable in collegiate hockey so you look like a shining star. Then you get to the big leagues and your stats drop, and

the team has no idea why they brought you up. Until you score that first goal and prove you’re going to pull your weight, you’re nothing. I don't want to be nothing for very long. I get the last box up to the apartment to discover she’s in the kitchen putting away her mess that's all over the counters. She must be staying. She looks sour as balls, but she’ll get over it. We don't have to love one another, but we do have to get along. Unlike her, I can pull my big girl panties up and act like I don't mind her. She’s hot. That makes it easier. I’ll just stare at her tits while she lectures me on the toilet seat. She offers a slightly less pissed off look. “You hungry?” “Yeah.” I nod and put the box in my room with the others. Is the meal a peace offering or is she trying to kill me off so she can have the place to herself since I already paid for the year? I sneak a glance back at her in the kitchen as she reads something off her phone. She looks lost as she adds something to the pot. She’s trying to kill me. Luckily, I have the Coldwell cast-iron stomach. She wrinkles her forehead and lifts her gaze to mine, maybe sensing I’m watching her. “Do you know what it means when it says zest?” A smile creeps across my lips. “You don't know how to cook?” Oh shit. Poison and food poisoning. Even the Coldwell stomach can’t take a double whammy. “Not really.” “Give me two seconds.” I step back into the room and send Matt a text: How did Nate turn out to be a hot and slightly crazy librarian? It’s like living at home with my mom, only this girl can’t cook. You’re a piece of shit and I want an explanation for this. I know there is one. There’s got to be a reason for this. When I get to the kitchen I get as close as I dare to peek at her phone. “Pasta primavera? Brave. Cream sauce is actual work. Let’s go with the Rao’s pasta sauce. I have some in one of my boxes.” I hurry to get it before she gets any further, and we both die from whatever she’s attempting. I jog into the kitchen, ready to hand her the jar of sauce, but she’s about to add a handful of salt to the water she’s going to boil. Desperate to not die of a stroke, I nod my head at the table. “You look stressed. Let me make you dinner.” I suspect stressed is just her look. “Sorry, what?” She lifts her face, tilting her head in confusion. “You can cook?” “Yeah, I can cook. This isn’t even cooking. It’s—” I pause, seeing the hurt look in her sapphire eyes. “Never mind. Just take a seat and watch. This’ll be College Survival 101, making pasta that won’t give you cancer.” She dumps the salt in the sink and washes her hands. “Okay. But I’m finished college. I’m actually a digital artist.” She pulls up a seat at the counter, on one of the barstools. “What’s that?” “Graphic designer.” “Cool.” I still don't completely understand what that is, but I have to assume Nat the computer nerd is similar to Nate the tech dude. Of course she is. “This is a great kitchen. I never imagined there would be a nice island and everything.” I try to distract from the fact I’m totally dumping everything she’s done and washing the pots out to start from scratch. It’s become less of a poison situation and more of an artery clogging one.

“It’s super nice. My parents don't even have an island in their kitchen.” That doesn't seem like it would be true, but she’s got the most earnest face I’ve ever seen. She’s like angelic or some shit. I think she could have told me anything and I would have nodded. That's about the most dangerous sort of female there is. Wholesome. That's the word I’m looking for. She’s wholesome. Wholesome head case, that's a new one for me. “So you don't come from money?” I can’t help but ask. “No, God no. My parents are—normal.” She blushes and lowers her gaze to the counter in front of her, tracing her perfect manicure over the design. “How the hell do you know Sami?” Because that doesn't even make sense. She’s the richest girl I’ve ever met. “My mom is a teacher at the Greenwich Academy for girls. I went to school there with Sami.” “Private school? Doesn't that cost a fortune?” Her lips curl up, but she doesn't meet my eyes when she says, “Not for kids of faculty.” She lifts her head after saying it, forcing herself to be proud. I know this face. “My mom worked there so I could go to school there.” “Smart lady. I went to college on a scholarship. If it wasn't for hockey I never would have gone.” That's as far as I want to go into that. I don't even know why I told her that. But she’s normal so she doesn't hover there. She adds something to make me feel better like I did for her. “My parents had enough for me to go to normal college, not Ivy League, so I went to Sacred Heart. But I had to live at home the whole time.” Sacred Heart. Church girl. Her words catch up in my head. “You just left home now?” Holy shit. She’s a hot virgin? Yikes. Her cheeks flush with color. “Yeah.” She rolls those bright eyes like it’s silly. “I’m an only child so they sort of stalk me. Overprotective is like a major understatement.” “Yikes. I’ve lived away from home off and on since I was fourteen.” “Oh my God, that's terrible. Were you in the circus?” she asks with a laugh. I laugh with her. “No, I was billeted so I could play hockey in the towns with the better teams. I needed to ensure I was where the action was.” I have the sauce boiling and the water ready to boil by the time we have gotten to know each other a little better. “So, how close are you to Sami?” “She’s my best friend in the whole world.” She gets this look in her eyes like she’s talking about someone she loves more than anything. “So why would she set us up and tell you I’m a girl and get Matt to tell me you’re a guy?” It’s the question of the hour. Her shoulders come up. “I can’t even guess. I mean, she clearly knows you so there was no mistake. Why lie?” “It’s weird.” I don't know what to say so I leave it at that. There’s got to be something of a story behind this; I just can’t imagine what. I plate the food and hand her the Asiago cheese to sprinkle over top. She eats at the bar so I sit next to her. “This looks amazing. Rao’s? That sounds familiar.” She leans forward and takes a bite, closing her eyes and moaning a little bit. “It’s an awesome place to eat in East Harlem. Hard to get a table, but you can buy the sauces now. I only ate there twice and both times it was with Matt.”

She sucks in the noodles, nodding. “This is so good. I’ve never had jarred sauce this good before.” She wipes her face, completely missing the red dots on her cheeks. A smile cracks my face and the tension in me disappears from listening to her moan. “What? Did I miss the sauce?” I lift my napkin, wiping her cheeks as softly as I can. She winces so I assume I wasn't so soft. Her eyes sparkle when she smiles. “Lucky you can cook, BJ. Or it would have been takeout every night.” I’m sure my eyes don't sparkle at all when she calls me that. “Brady.” Her blue eyes widen. “Right. Sorry. You sign all your emails B. I assumed it was like Gossip Girl or something.” I have no idea what she’s talking about but she stares longer than she should. It makes me want to kiss her, but my brain overrules my dick with the soft whisper of churchy head-case virgin and a roommate. Sleeping with one’s roommate makes insta-wife. And no one wants that. “I was really expecting you to be a butchy chick from Rhode Island named BJ who played lacrosse or something. Maybe basketball.” That makes me laugh again as I turn back to my food. “Hope you aren’t disappointed.” “No.” She shrugs and goes back to eating. “Not yet. I never imagined girls and guys could live together but—yeah. I’m not disappointed. I guess as long as we both do our thing it shouldn't matter, right?” I don't think she’s telling the truth but at least she’s trying. “We’ll be fine.” It’s the truth.

Chapter Five Naughty by nature Brady The physical is the most invasive but least painful part of my day. I offer the nurse a look as she checks my pulse after the speed skate. “I recover fast, very fast.” I wink as she bites her lip, blushing and swallowing hard. All three are the signs that I need to continue, “If you want, after you’re done checking us all out, I can give you a demonstration.” I slide my thumb lazily up her arm. She tightens, her breath hitching. She pulls back, shaking her head and flashing an engagement ring. “I’m not single.” “I don't care. No one has to know.” I take advantage of the curtain around us and swoop my arms around her. She’s into me. I’m into those scrubs and the fact she wore lipstick to check out a hockey team. PFs come in all shapes and sizes, all professions and lifestyles. A hot nurse doesn’t wear lipstick to a health check of a hockey team unless she wants some action. She doesn't fight me on it. She rests her hands on my chest, like she might push off, but she doesn't. She digs into my pecs. She’s going to rip the shit outta my skin if I let her. I slide a hand down the front of her, creeping my fingers into the waistline of her scrubs and underwear. She gasps when I reach her completely shaven pussy. Circling my fingers slowly on the outside, brushing against the heat coming off her gets me hard. Her fingers grip in, digging the nails into my chest as her breath leaves her glossy lips in bursts. Slipping one finger between her lips, I run it down her slit, grinning when I find her completely soaked. “I’m going to fuck you so hard.” I lean forward and whisper, “Right after I finish this.” I pull my finger from her scrubs and brush past her, headed for the ice again. We do lines, power skating, drills, passing games, and bleacher runs. It’s a hard day. They always hit it the hardest the first day, separating the weak from the strong and showing us the bare mins for expectations. The funny thing is every guy here has worked his bag off for the last fifteen years to get here. There isn’t a slacker in the crowd. Coach shouts at us as we leave the ice. “Tomorrow we scrimmage. You earned it. Good hustle today, boys. Hit the showers.” Our skates thump along the rubber floor to the lockers. Sweat is attempting to blind me as I drag my helmet off and wipe with the hand I’ve freed from the glove. Mike Smolensky, one of the forwards walking next to me, gives me a grin. “You find somewhere to live easily?” “Yeah, a friend told me about a girl needing a roommate.” “Girl?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Dude, guys and girls can’t live together. It always leads to something. Tell me she’s a troll.” “Not a troll. She’s a bit crazy. You know the hotness crazy scale? She’s in the danger zone. I’m not worried about banging her. I have my guard up.” He chuckles and nods. “Okay.” He and I are second to last in line entering the locker room. We wait to talk through the

door just as I catch a glimpse of something. It’s the nurse waving at me from down the long dark hallway under the bleachers. I pause, wondering if she wants to meet somewhere. Seeing her gets me hard again. “Oh dude, come on.” Smolensky hits me in the arm. “Seriously?” I fake a cough. “I have a tickle in my throat. I need to get it looked at.” He chuckles and heads into the locker room as I look behind us. Coach hasn't followed so I head for the alcove she’s in. Her wide smile has taken a turn. She doesn't have the blushing nurse act going on. “Don't shower. I want you the way you are.” She bites her lip and this time I think I’m the one blushing. She backs into the alcove, vanishing from the hallway. She’s a pro, ticking all the right boxes. A little chase, a slutty enticement, glossy lips, and now she wants me dirty. I’m starting to think the ring is a ploy. When I get around the corner I stop, taking a breath. “Fuck me.” I almost look up and thank the man above because what’s in front of me is like winning the whore lottery. But I don't thank God because this doesn't feel like it's his area of expertise. He clearly didn’t make the temptation in front of me. She’s in a nurse's uniform, short and white like sluts wear on Halloween. She has one bare foot up on the side of a stair, revealing her perfect pink pussy. Her scrubs are on the floor. She was wearing this under her scrubs in hopes of fucking one of us? I might need two condoms. I shuffle forward, dropping gloves, helmet, stick, and everything I can get off by the time I get to her. She starts unlacing my pants, dragging them, my cup, and underwear to my knees. Her hand slides around my shaft, gripping too hard but at this point there is no too hard. This is the best day ever. I want her glossy lips around my cock, but I understand when she doesn't offer anything but a slight rub and tug. I’m sweaty as balls. Tearing open her nurse uniform, her perfect tits pop out. I’m starting to doubt her job as an actual nurse. She has porno tits, perfect domes, and they’re real. Thank you, Jesus. I massage a little roughly because I think she can take it. Rolling both her nipples I lower my face to them, but she doesn’t want to play, she wants to fuck. She opens the condom and slides it over my shaft, earning a moan from me. She steps onto the stair as I lift her into the air. It takes some wrestling but after a couple of awkward seconds, she manages to get my head between her soaking wet lips. She winces as she lowers. “You’re a big boy, Brady.” The way she says it makes me think of my billet mom when I was seventeen. This nurse is older. It takes a minute to really see it, but she is. She’s got to be in her late thirties but super good with makeup. I thrust, pushing into her, making us both moan. She’s tight for a slutty hockey mom. I have no doubt that's what she is. They aren’t your typical PFs. They’re freaks. Her ass cheeks are a bit too firm. There’s not much grabbing them, but I manage to get a good enough handle that I can slide her up and down. She grabs onto the railing behind her, helping me lift her. I spin so her feet can push on the wall and she can grab the railing better. My legs are ready to give out from hell day. She pushes in, making a low groan as she positions on the wall and sides of the stairs. Her face buries in my neck, biting and sucking as she bounces on my balls, finding a pace that

suits us both. Her grunts become louder as she completely works me over, bobbing up and down on my throbbing cock. My thighs are screaming, her tits are bouncing against my jersey, and my balls feel like they might explode. It’s premature but this chick has worked everything exactly the way any guy would like it. I grip her ass as she screams and lowers her head, muffling her orgasm in me. I take the quivering to be my sign and fuck her as hard as I can, ignoring the pain searing through my failed muscles. I come like a titan, pulling out of her, putting her down, ripping off the condom and jerking myself all over her nurses uniform. I like to call it the Clinton. It’s a signature move. Like signing her tits, with my dick. My breath comes out in gasps as I jerk the last of it all over her. She smiles wide and nods. “You are a bad boy, Brady. I might have to fuck you the right way.” She winks, grabs her scrubs, and walks around the corner, tits out and all. The right way? It takes me a minute to recover and five to get back to the locker room. My ass is actually cramping. Mitch Daniels, another new guy, gives me a look as I drop my shit in a disheveled pile. “Dude, did you just bang the nurse?” “Got a more thorough physical than you guys did.” I laugh and strip and head for the showers. “Nice. She was a total MILF. I think her son plays high school hockey in Vermont. She said something like that.” I shrug and start to clean myself up. “She didn't talk much.” The guys laugh. It’s my best first day on any team, ever.

Chapter Six Go Clinton yourself Natalie I fell asleep last night after I texted Sami with the whisperings of betrayal and et tu, Brute? When I wake the room is bright and silent. William has shot me a quick message this morning in response to my good night that he didn't respond to last night. Hope the first night with the new girl was relaxing. Have a great week. I can’t help but smile at it and feel marginally better as I lie back in bed. The new girl is a guy but he seems nice. I didn't get a single rapey vibe off him. His eyes never ventured below mine. In fact, he seemed like he was indifferent to me, which is how I want it. Right? Yes. I need to focus on the long-distance relationship I’m in, again. I had worried when Will hadn’t texted me to see how the move went and had fallen asleep convincing myself he was probably studying. The last year of law school is apparently the hardest, according to him. According to Google it’s the first year. So to wake to his text is a pleasant surprise. I can’t nag him or pester him. It’s what we discussed when we got back together. I haven’t ever really been that girl anyway, but apparently texting and checking in every day is needy, and he hates needy. So I have to let him text when he wants to. We agreed that if we were going to be together it would have to be low-key for the final year of his schooling. Then we could revisit and discuss bigger things like moving in together. The bed isn’t super comfortable but the room is quiet, even though a complete stranger slept in the other room. The doors came with locks and I used mine, but only because it’s the common sense thing to do. Even if I honestly don't fear Brady. I don't know why. Something about him screams trustworthy, which is completely insane. I don't know him at all. And if he’s a friend of Matt’s, he’s a slut. Not that I think rapists and sluts are in the same family, because I don't. But slutty guys make every girl uncomfortable. You know they’re thinking about sex all the time. I expected Brady to offer me some sex, which he didn't. Thankfully. It would be weird and make everything awkward. And then I would have to find a new place and with starting my first job ever tomorrow, I don't have time. I check to see if Sami has messaged me back, but my messages haven’t even delivered to her phone. She’s probably flying or something random. Telling myself that Sami is irresponsible enough to not realize Brady is a dude isn’t hard because she could have easily gotten confused with the BJ Brady thing. Maybe Matt said BJ, and she knows him as Brady and didn't realize. Telling myself she did this on purpose isn’t hard either. I just don't know why she would do it. She likes my parents so it can’t be to mess with them. She loves me so it wouldn't be a cruel prank. The only explanation is she honestly didn't realize they were the same person and got

confused because she’s a bit of a narcissist and didn't care to double check the details. Not like I would have done for her. It does hurt my feelings in the smallest way. The very smallest. But I don't have time to be a baby about the whole roommate thing. I have to start work tomorrow, and I need today to get this place completely organized. Throwing on some yoga pants and a tank top, I leave the room, listening for him, but he’s gone—just like he said he would be. I drag my long hair into a ponytail and saunter into the kitchen, ready to tackle the unpacking. There’s a note on the counter. There’s a smoothie in the fridge for you. Just use the Magic Bullet. You got this! B. B? Again with the B. He made me breakfast? There’s also coffee in the coffeemaker I unpacked last night. Screw BJ the butchy lacrosse player—I have Brady the friggin’ awesome hockey player as a perfect roommate. We can totally do this. I pour myself some hot coffee and stir in a little honey as I look in the fridge for the smoothie. Sure enough it’s filled with fresh fruits and kale? Barf. Since he didn't steer me wrong on the whole jarred sauce, I pull it from the fridge and look for the Magic Bullet. My parents have one and it’s the only reason I didn't die of starvation after school. I place the jar on there and turn it, sighing at the satisfying sound of emulsifying foods. It looks weird, sort of reddish green, but when I take off the lid it smells awesome. Being brave, I take a sip and smile, impressed by the taste. “He’s not the worst roommate.” The thought leaves my lips aloud as I start to finish the kitchen. It takes me all day to get my things put away and my room completely set up. Afterward, I do the walk to work to time it and make sure I have everything planned and figured out. Bushnell Park is beautiful and the capitol building makes the park seem as old as I imagine it is. Along the way home I spot a small grocery store and head that way, determined not to be a complete slacker in the kitchen. I know I can’t cook, but I can at least supply food so he can cook if he’s there. If he’s not, I can definitely make something in the microwave or another smoothie. But do I use his things without him there to agree to it? I don't know where we stand on sharing or costs or any of those other matters. It’s something we should talk about tonight when he gets back. When I get back to the apartment he’s already there. “Hey!” He nods at me from the couch where he’s watching some sports show. “Hi.” It’s awkward, a little bit. Seeing him there on the couch, my reservations come back fast. But for all the stupid reasons. Ridiculous things like he’s outrageously hot. I can’t live with someone that hot. He’s wearing a baseball hat with his shaggy brown hair hanging out the bottom. A

Superman shirt that’s not formfitted but tight enough for me to see the bulging muscles. I love Superman. I think I love him more in my living room in washed jeans that look casual and yet tight on his thick strong thighs. To top off the perfect body and great hair thing, his face is like a Michelangelo. He’s a god. Yup, he’s too hot to be a roommate. I panic a little because I’ve been silent and staring for too long. Focusing my brain on the fact William is crazy hot too, I shake off the desire to see what is under that tee shirt. I’m way stronger than to swoon over a guy who is going to call me dude while he farts every day for the next year. He is the jock, maybe not BJ the girl jock but a jock nonetheless. A meathead. That's not my type. “What do you want to do for dinner?” he asks from the TV that has him in its tractor beam. “I bought groceries and sort of thought you could just look at it all and choose?” His head swings around, his dark eyes are like deep pools of—cut the shit, Banks. He’s not that hot. He’s not a gentleman. He made you one smoothie. Calm you tits! It’s a satisfying pep talk that I will need to make until I find something filthy about him to focus on. I’m the girl that needs one thing, just one little thing, to remove all attraction. We had a teacher’s aid at school, mamma mia! Oh God, he was beautiful. He was so hot and so smart. He loved literature and read us poetry. It was smart-girl porn. Just as I was about to become Aria and Ezra and get him fired, he picked his ear, stared at it, rolled it into a ball and put it in his pocket. He didn't flick. No. He kept that shit. The attraction died an ugly death that day. “You bought food?” Brady asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “What?” “Food. You bought it willy-nilly?” He cocks an eyebrow and gets up off the couch, sauntering with serious swagger into the kitchen. “With no plans, just random food?” The Superman shirt and the biceps do me in. I’m weak! Oh God. But the kitchen light shines down on him, making a smile cross my lips as I see the thing that might help me see him for the gross player he is. “What’s that?” I point at the bruise on his neck that's clearly not a bruise. He lifts a large hand and covers the exact spot, obviously aware that it’s there. “What? I took a dirty hit in practice.” “Gross.” I let my head fall back as I laugh. “You don't have to lie to me. I don't care if you manwhore your way across America under the guise of sports.” “There’s no guise.” He makes duck lips, not improving the situation. “Okay. I might have Clintoned the team nurse. But she asked for it.” “Clintoned?” I only have to say it aloud to realize he means ejaculated on the nurse’s dress. “What the actual fuck?” The f-word slips out in an unladylike way. “You know—” He does the jerking motion for me in case I am that naïve, which I’m not. “I KNOW! I GET IT!” I wave a hand and shake my head, blocking it out. I need to make the montage of why I can never be swayed by Brady’s sexy self but this is more than enough ammo. It’s repulsive. “What kind of disgusting slut lets a guy do that?” I don't mean to call Monica Lewinsky a slut, but if the dress fits . . .

“The team nurse, that's who. She even wore this little nurse’s costume—” “Whoa!” I jump, lifting a hand and cutting him off. I don't even realize my hand is covering his lips until I notice I’m way too close. Close enough to maybe catch whatever diseases he might have. My chest is pressed against his and I’m touching him. His Superman shirt is against my boobs. I don't know how to undo this. He pauses, cocking an eyebrow and staring at my hand over his lips and then continues talking anyway, “She was a PF, it’s no biggie. It’s a mutual thing.” His words are muffled by my tightening hand, but I get the gist of it. “No. We need ground rules. I’m not a guy. I don't need to know.” My blood pressure is rising. He laughs against my hand, getting spit on it and making me moan even more in disgust. “Nooooooo!” I pull back and wash my hands. “We definitely need ground rules.” Rules like I shouldn’t put my hands on you or rub against your Superman shirt. “I think I need a drink if you’re going to talk about rules.” He sighs. Seeing his hickey and hearing the dirty nurse story I nod. “Yeah, let’s make a drink. You like mojitos?” “Yup.” “Okay. I’ll make those if you want to make dinner.” I nod my head at the bags on the counter that I haven’t put away, mostly because I was marveling at his sexiness. That moment has since faded away to herpes and other things I don’t want to think about. I wash my hands again. “I don't have anything. You don't have to keep washing your hands. I use protection and I don't return the favor, if you get my point.” I close my eyes and lean against the sink, nodding. “Being selfish in bed isn’t something to be proud of.” I say it before I can stop myself. WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THIS? “I’m not selfish, I’m just not stupid. I don't go down on girls I don't know.” He says it so matter-of-factly. “But you put your penis in them?” And I sound exactly like my mother. “Not without a condom.” He recoils like I’ve said something heinous that's offended his delicate little self. “Jesus, Nate, I don't have a death wish.” “Nat or Natalie.” “You called me BJ. I get to choose. I like Nate. I might even add a dog to the end of that. Nate-Dog. I like it.” He burps and comes to the sink. He’s close again so I sidestep, showing my obvious discomfort. He rolls his dark eyes. “I just need to wash my hands.” “You're like the little brother I never had. I used to want one. You’ve fixed that. Thank you.” I say it like it’s heartfelt and not savage sarcasm. He mocks me under his breath, just like a little brother might. We poke fun at each other and laugh while he makes dinner. I get comfortable some time between drink one and drink two. Too comfortable. His smile makes me stare, not just at the beauty of him; it’s a great smile. But at the lips. He has perfect lips. And his shirt seems tighter or I’m using my Superwoman skills and imagining it tighter. Even the dirty nurse story starts to wane in effectiveness. Maybe because dinner is amazing. It consists of roasted potatoes, grilled chicken, and asparagus done in the oven while he sautés broccoli to the point it looks a little burnt almost. I

wrinkle my nose at the burnt broccoli until he feeds me a piece from the spoon. “Oh my God, that's good.” There’s something about a sexy guy in a Superman shirt feeding you food he cooks that is akin to an aphrodisiac. “I know, right?” He uses one of the limes to season the chicken with salt and garlic and butter. The whole thing looks fabulous. “You should be a chef,” I say as I sip the perfect mojito I made. “You should be a bartender. This mojito is the best I’ve ever had.” “Thanks. Bartenders don't make any money.” He winks. “The reason I’ll never be a chef. I like cooking but I love hockey. And my mom didn't sacrifice everything in hers and my brother’s life for me to be a chef.” He laughs but the thought of that makes me sad. We have more in common than he will ever know.

Chapter Seven Rules of engagement Brady We finish eating and she looks weird. Tense again maybe? After a minute she blurts out, “We need a list of rules—things like pet peeves or expectations. Things that make ground rules for us so this is easy.” I think it’s already easy. She’s a virginal head case, and I’m against girls acting like they’re my mom. Her bringing up the rule sheet is perfect. It’s a major boner killer. Thus far she seems like the perfect roommate. She’s got the apartment all settled in. Her stuff is nice and clean. She smells good and looks good, but not good enough to even out the churchy head-case thing. She’s brought up the ground rules three times in the last two hours. It’s what’s going to save me from breaking the cardinal rule of never sleeping with your roommate. Ever. Never. She gets a pen and paper and writes my name at the top as BJ, likely to annoy me. But then writes her name as Nate-Dog. It’s unexpected, like the smile on my face. She can laugh at herself. I didn't see that coming. I sip more of the mojito and sit back, still completely sated sexually from the nurse who just bounced on my balls. That has taken away all the awkwardness between Nat being fucking hot and me being me. I should find that nurse and thank her, but I honestly didn't even catch her name. “Things I think are important: The bathroom. If you could not leave it a complete mess— toothpaste and shaving cream and little hairs everywhere—that would be awesome.” She gives me an expectant look. I take that as a sign that I have to add something to the list. The only thing I hate is someone peeing in the shower. It goes back a long way, back to shit I don't like thinking about. But it’s a bit early in the friendship to talk about pee. It takes a minute for me to remember the things I hated from the houses with girls where I was billeted. “No shoes at the front door for me to trip on. I hate that. Nothing worse than coming home drunk and nearly dying because of a high heel.” She nods. “That’s fair.” The way she bites her lip as she writes has me wishing her lip was in my teeth. I glance at the third mojito and wonder if the small amount of booze in it is getting to me. “No sex in the apartment while the other person is home. No one wants that.” I part my lips to argue that one, but then I realize listening to her lose her virginity isn’t going to be amazing for me. I don't know why that is—I’ve heard plenty of dudes bang their ladies or PFs in my time, but she’s different. Maybe because we have to live together. Maybe because she looks like an angel. Maybe I should stop drinking. Clearing my throat I add, “No people over late unless it’s mutually agreed upon. I have a lot of early shit in my life. I like my sleep. I need sleep.” She nods. “Agreed.” She writes it down and contemplates the next one. “No disgusting

stories unless I ask.” That one makes me laugh. “You know you wanna hear my nasty stories.” She doesn't blink, smile, or change from the constipated look on her face. It’s there a lot. I lift my hands defensively. “Deal.” She smiles. “Another drink?” “Okay.” I shrug, enjoying the loose feeling. “Sure.” She takes both our glasses and gets up, hurrying to the kitchen to make the drinks. I grab the pen and write. “We share the food bill so you aren’t buying all the time. That's not cool, and I am getting paid to be here. I don't need to slack off on bills.” “You get paid to be here? To play hockey? In Hartford?” She looks confused. “Yeah. We’re the farm team for the Rangers. We are considered professional hockey in the AHL.” I can’t believe she knows nothing about hockey. “Have you ever watched a game?” “I’m not from here.” “I mean any game of hockey?” She pauses and thinks. “No. My dad likes hockey and watches it if no one’s looking. But he goes to horse races and yacht racing and tennis and golf and football with my mom and their friends.” “Is your dad gay?” “No. He’s clearly still married to my mom.” She gives me a look. “My father is a saint. He does what he has to do to fit into the life my mom has made for them.” It’s a weird thing to say and an even weirder way to say it. “So he’s super whipped?” “No. He’s loyal to a fault.” She laughs, shaking her head and carrying in the drinks. She staggers a little bit and sits down hard, passing me the drink. “I have to stop making these doubles.” “I was wondering why I was feeling them. I spent an hour in the hot tub after practice. I’m weak like a kitten.” She blushes and laughs. “Was that where the nurse was assaulted?” “No. It’s not assault. If anything she assaulted me.” I point to my neck. “Her dress probably doesn’t see it that way.” “It was a costume.” I counter and take another drink. “So she’s a stripper?” I open my mouth to defend my fair nurse but pause. “That I’m not sure of. She was a freak.” The way she rode my dick and rubbed her round tits on my jersey still makes me smile. Natalie wrinkles her nose. “Ewwwww. Stop thinking about it while we’re in the same room.” She giggles and leans a little too far. I catch her and hold her up. “Oops!” “Why’d you make them doubles if you can’t hold your liquor?” “Oh, uhm.” She stops giggling and stares at me, her perfect porcelain face freezes in the most innocent look I have ever seen. She swallows hard and bites her lip, holding back whatever she wants to say. She doesn’t have the courage to say it so she shrugs and I can see the lie in her sapphire blue eyes. “I usually can handle my booze, but I’m pretty nervous about starting my new job tomorrow. I didn't eat enough today I guess. I never even really thought about it much. Food that is.” Do I make her nervous? Or is she getting drunk so she can tolerate me? Her dislike isn’t obvious, but I can sense it in the air when she’s sober. Maybe it’s more

like disapproval. She grabs the pen and laughs again. “No leaving the toilet seat up. I fell in once. It was bad.” That makes me cringe. “Into the bowl?” “Yes. It was so gross.” She nods and shudders. “No hair in the shower.” I point, getting excited I remember something I hate about chicks. “What?” She giggles again. “No shower spiders?” “No one wants to see gobs of long girl hair in the shower. It’s sick.” She giggles and laughs until she finally gets serious again. “Okay, uhm. Can we use each other’s things? Like your Magic Bullet and my blender and your butter and that sort of thing?” She takes a breath and fights a smile. Her cheeks are flushed and I realize something about her. She’s fun. She’s easy to be around. She’s not a stress case; she’s just uptight around new people. A couple of drinks in and she’s normal. “Do you go to church?” I might be in some trouble here. “No. Is that something else to add?” She looks confused. “Sacred Heart isn’t churchy?” “I’m not churchy.” She laughs, looking lost. A terrible dilemma greets me in that thought. There’s a very good chance that as we get to know one another she’ll relax and I’ll see more of this face from her. This face I find so alarmingly easy to stare at and imagine. Shit! “Brady.” “What?” I don't even remember what we were talking about. “The question was can we use each other’s things. I mean I don't care if you use anything of mine.” I can think of things of hers I would like to use. Scared of what I might say, I blurt out the first innocent thing I can think of. “You can have anything of mine that you need.” It comes out in a way I don't mean it. She pulls back, tensing again. “I mean, use any of my stuff. If you need it, it’s yours.” I try to recover but the mood is gone, and I’m possibly hitting on her. I panic. “You don't have to worry, Nate-Dog. I’m not into you. Not at all. You aren’t my type even a little bit.” I try to recover and reassure her, but she presses her lips together and writes down the answer on the paper. “Okay.” She glances at the drink that's full. “I should probably get some water and a shower. I have an early start tomorrow.” She didn't appreciate my answer. Should I have said I’d fuck her in a heartbeat? Would that have made her more comfortable? I feel like it wouldn't have. What do women want? Whatever it is, I’ve given the wrong thing. She dumps the drink, completely abusing the alcohol in her glass and heads for her room, offering me a wave. “Post those rules on the fridge. Add any you can think of.” She closes the door and I feel like a dick. I thought I recovered well with the whole you’re not my type. Would that insult her, even after she called the naughty nurse a disgusting slut? I thought it was more of a compliment that I wouldn't fuck her. Like she’s not the type of girl I generally like to use. I wouldn’t use her, not just once. I know that. She’s going to get to know me and lose that tense shit. And she’s small and soft and pretty and fun. She’d be a whole weekend, maybe a couple of weeks. But we live together so it’s not an option. Looking at her door I think maybe I should apologize. Should I tell her I’d fuck her?

No. Better to let this cool off and go away. I post the note on the fridge, chug the drink, and head back for the couch, plugging in my Xbox One to her surprisingly huge TV first. I lift the new NHL 16 but pause, looking at the massive TV again and knowing what I have to do. I grab The Last of Us and put it in. I’m so close to the end of this game and my mom’s TV was so tiny I nearly went blind. Sitting back on the couch I meld in, getting comfy. It’s only eight at night. I don't have to be asleep for three hours. I don't intend to move until then. She walks out of her room with a towel and strolls into the bathroom next to the kitchen. Snickering, I wait for the tap to start. I would bet my left nut she does the typical girl thing where they turn on the tap and then pee. Like we can’t hear them peeing over the sound of the tap? Like we don't notice the water just got way fiercer but only for half a minute? But she doesn't do it. She just starts the shower. Who doesn't take a piss before a show—holy shit! She’s a shower pisser. That dainty little flower in there with the perfect face and God-help-me body, pees in the shower. Nooooooo! I glance at the list, contemplating writing it down but then she might think I was listening at the door or something. Plus, I guarantee she hasn't ever talked about pee with a guy before. She’s got prude written all over that doll face. Shit! She’s going to pee in our shower. It’s a thing for me. The memory of my brother laughing and peeing on my feet when my mom made us shower together and at hockey when we were on the same team, rolls through my mind. It makes me gag and shudder, looking back at the game and forcing my mind from the feel of his hot piss between my toes. The more zombies I kill the more worked up I get. I’m downright pissed off, from being pissed on. My nose is stuck in a complete wrinkle, even when she comes sauntering out in nothing but her towel. I waste my chance to see her nearly naked. She casts a glare my way but I don't care. I glare back. “Did you piss in the shower?” I can’t even stop myself from asking. She stops. “What?” Hate fills her eyes. “Did you listen at the door when I was showering? You’re a freak.” “No. I didn't listen!” I jump up, pointing at the bathroom as the way she said it hits me. “Oh my God, you peed in the shower? That's a thing for me! You don't like falling in the toilet—well, I don't like piss in the shower!” I walk to the list and write under her name, NO PISSING IN THE SHOWER in big angry letters. “I didn't-didn't pee in the shower!” she shouts at me. “I peed first with the shower going so you wouldn't hear! What’s wrong with you? You’re a pervert!” She turns and storms to the room. She peed how? Oh no!

I know I’m a psycho when it comes to this. My brother made me a psycho. Shit! She peed first with the shower and not the tap, which means she’s extra sensitive about peeing and me hearing. I’m an asshole. Again. I lose all the annoyance in me and make the walk of shame to her door, knocking and praying she doesn't fling it open and toss something in my face. Or worse, spray me with mace. “Natalie! I’m sorry!” I mutter into the crease between the door and the frame. “Go away!” She sounds like she might be crying. I hate myself. “Nat, seriously. I’m super sorry. I have a thing with showers and pee, and my brother peed on me all the time when we were little or when we were in hockey. He knew it was a quirk for me. I hate being spit on and pissed on. He was a sick bastard and it makes me crazy. I’m sorry.” I lean against the door, hovering there like a creep, but I don't want this to be a thing—me yelling and her yelling and us fighting. I don't have a girlfriend because I don't like drama. And this one is entirely all my fault. Shit! I have only one thing I can do to make this better.

Chapter Eight The hot crazy scale Natalie He’s an asshole. Firstly, he tells me I’m not his type. He clearly screws everything that moves, but I’m not his type? How hideous am I that I’m not his type? His type is girl. And maybe even that's flexible. And I don't know what I hate more, the fact I care that he won’t have sex with me or that he won’t. Never mind, the fact I care is akin to ripping my own stomach out. I know I’m not hideous. I know there’s nothing wrong with me, not that he can see. The weird shit is on the inside. Outside I’m pretty typical. And then he accuses me of shower peeing? Me? Of the two of us, how is it that I’m more likely to be a shower pisser? He screws nurses and puck fucks and jerks off on their clothes, but I pee in the shower? And somehow some piss in the shower is worse than that? I don't think so! I went to a private school. We had showers at school every day. It’s a golden rule you don't pee in the shower. I’m not an animal. God, what he must think of me to assume that. My self-esteem takes a menial hit as I imagine how disgusting and nasty I come off that he assumes I shower pee and he won’t have sex with me. Is it the fact he thinks I shower pee? WHY DO I CARE? The whole thing has me pacing my room for a moment until I hear him at my door. I pause, about to tell him to go Clinton himself but when he speaks I’m stunned, “Natalie, I’m sorry.” He’s leaning and breathing like a freak into the crease of my door. I back up, sort of scared and weirded out, but at the same time completely taken aback by the apology. He doesn't come across as someone who apologizes. He’s a meathead and doesn’t have the common sense to know that one apologizes when they accuse girls they don't know of shower peeing. “Go away.” I can’t help but laugh a little bit at how he sounds in my doorframe. I know he doesn't mean to. I can tell he isn’t the sort of guy who ever wants to come off as creepy. “Nat, seriously. I’m super sorry. I have a thing with showers and pee and my brother peed on me all the time when we were little or when we were in hockey. He knew it was a quirk for me. I hate being spit on and pissed on. He was a sick bastard and it makes me crazy. I’m sorry.” He breathes into the doorframe even louder. I should be completely scared. But I’m not. He doesn't scare me at all. But that doesn't stop me from being pissed off. The more I think about the fact he was listening to see if I shower peed, the angrier I get. He might not be creepy or want to seem creepy, but he’s rude and that I won’t tolerate.

Gripping my towel, and irritated on a whole new level, I storm to the door, ripping it open. “Why did you listen to me showering? We just met, that's super creepy. You’re all like we can be roomies, and I don't like girls like you, you’re super not my type. And then you listen to me shower, hoping to hear me pee first? Why didn't you just add the peeing to the list before you insulted me with the ewwww, I’d never fuck someone like you, Nate-Dog?” I try really hard to do his voice. He’s holding his breath for a moment before he deflates his irritation, embarrassment, and maybe there’s even a little humor. “Sorry, that’s just not how I sound.” “Explain the listening.” I look up and seethe. “Okay!” He backs up, maybe scared of how pissed I am. “All the girls I know turn on the tap to pee. It’s kind of funny. I was on the couch, about to play The Last of Us and you got in the bathroom. I could hear you breathing in there. I didn't need to listen. I assumed you would do the whole tap-water-peeing thing, and I would chuckle because all girls do it. But you just started the shower. I assumed—” “So you weren’t listening at the door, mouth breathing like a pervert?” “No.” His lips press into an angry line and his eyes lower to the very definition of unimpressed. “I don't mouth breathe. If I wanted to listen to girls peeing I could just ask any of the girls throwing themselves at me to do it.” “Oh my God, you are such a disgusting narcissist.” His eyes gain back that confident eye swagger as they lower to my towel. His lip toys with a grin. “For the record, I didn’t mean it like I don't find you attractive, Banks. I do. So if that’s what you’re really pissed about—” “This has nothing to do with that.” It’s my turn to be unimpressed. “Gross. Do me the courtesy of at least looking me in the eyes when you leer and mutter dirty hockey player bullshit. Do girls actually fall for that knuckle-dragging meathead bullshit?” I lower my voice to mimic his again, “I would fuck you, Banks. I fuck hard, rawr! I lift the heavy stuff, I put it down!” His dark eyes flicker to mine, but they lose none of the confidence or seduction. “I would fuck you, Banks, every way including sideways. I just don't dig chicks that tense up when they get touched. I don't like stiff girls.” He smiles sexy-like as he bends forward and leans in to speak, “But maybe what you need is a stiff—” “Oh grow up.” I turn and slam the door in his face, leaning against it and smiling indignantly. Do I feel like I won because the loathsome dirtbag would screw my brains out? There’s something not awesome about that. I have some serious self-esteem issues that need to be worked out. I need to add that to the list of things to do this week. The fact I find him attractive or want his sexual approval, gross hickey and all, is disturbing. I don't think I should go out there until I am fully past the “Brady is a sexy beast,” which may never happen. The way he was standing over me, looking so cocky is still playing on repeat in my brain. He’s too hot to be a roommate, disgusting and all. Staying in my room, my new haven, isn’t hard. I have my laptop and my phone and the entire world is in both. But for whatever reason I am staring at the door. I guess it’s the remorse of calling him a knuckle-dragging meathead. I can’t believe I got so mean so fast. He wounded my pride and so I wounded his back. We don't even know each other which makes

this even worse. We both just attacked. My dad always says two wrongs don't make a right and now I see why. I don't feel good about being a dick, not at all. The smell of cookies wafts in under the door. I lift my nose like Toucan Sam and inhale as my eyes flutter. Is he baking to torture me? How about the fact he can bake? What the hell? I look at the door and think about going out there to apologize but a knock stops me from getting up. “Nat?” “Yeah?” “Can I come in?” Oh, how I want him to come in. I have a vision of how it’ll be. Him in nothing but an apron with the plate of cookies and that smarmy smile. He’s sexy in all the right ways, the dirty stinky ways. “Yup.” I shake my head at myself. Dirty stinky? He enters with a plate of cookies, but he isn’t in an apron. He offers a weird smile. It’s the first time I’ve found him even slightly off-putting. “You want a cook—I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that I would fuck—anyway, I’m sorry. I got mad—” “No!” I cut him off. “I’m sorry. I’m the one who was mean. You just retaliated. I acted like a jerk.” “No, I started it with the shower peeing.” He holds the cookies out, keeping a distance from me. Maybe because I called him a pervert and knuckle-dragging meathead. I take the peace offering and give him a grin. “I’m the one who should be ashamed and making you cookies.” He takes a bite of one and shakes his head. “I think we both know how those cookies would taste.” The cookie melts in my mouth, making me close my eyes and moan. “Oh my God, this is good.” When I open my eyes he looks angry again. I don't know what to say. “My mom made the dough. She’s a great cook.” He looks confused and leaves the room, closing the door again. I finish off a second cookie and contemplate sneaking out there for a third. There’s no noise coming from the living room which makes me wonder if he’s gone to bed. I get up slowly, creeping to the door and cracking it open. He’s gone. The controller for the Xbox catches my eye, sucking me in like an evil vortex. I turn the Xbox One on and load his game, The Last of Us, one of my faves. He’s three quarters of the way through the game. As the game loads I realize I need more snacks. There are no cookies on the counter, but my eyes draw to the cupboard I filled with gummy candy and chips earlier. Getting up I hurry and grab something, not really sure if I recall where’s he’s left off in the game. The last quarter is bad, but I don't remember how bad. I hurry back as it loads at David, the boss. I sigh, hating this part of the game. There are few games that get my heart pounding like this one does. The scene clears and I see I am Ellie. This is the deer hunt. I sit back and start for the deer that I have to wound. I vaguely recall the secret to this section was having a good bow, which Brady does. I’m munching and playing, kicking ass on the hordes until David, the other dude who’s

helping Ellie, shouts that it’s time to move. “This is where I always die.” Brady comes out of the bathroom in a towel and sits next to me. It takes all my willpower to not look. In fact, I focus hard on the clickers, killing them with precision. “Holy shit, you’re really good at this.” I nod and continue to kill the clickers, David and me. He takes some heavy shots while I gather supplies to make the Molotovs to kill the bloater we’re about to face. The bloater scene comes and Brady tries to give me advice, making me laugh. When I get the bad guy down and the game takes over, I sigh, grabbing some chips. “That’s intense.” “Where did you learn to play video games like this?” “Like what?” I look at the TV and then him. “You’re better than I am and you’re a girl.” He clearly doesn't like that fact. “I played a lot.” My cheeks flush as I force my eyes to remain on his. I want quite badly to ogle him the way he did me, but I also don't want him to think I want him. I don't. God help me to not want him. He’s like the apple and I’m Eve and Sami is the damned snake. “What’s a lot? Because I feel like I’ve played a lot.” “What?” Oh, we’re still talking video games. “I’ve played every night for a few hours and then on weekends and holidays maybe more like all day. For the last four years. Plus, I played Xbox and PlayStation regularly as a kid. Sami has always had the best, before it even came out in America.” “That's a lot.” He cocks a dark eyebrow. “My parents both work, my dad two jobs. So I was home alone a lot. Four years ago my friends all went away for college and Sami moved to Manhattan, and I wasn't allowed to go with her. So I played.” “You weren’t allowed to go with her?” “No.” I shake my head and pause the game, needing a stretch and a yawn. I lean back and move around so I’m not too tense from sitting for so long. “Did the president call your house and tell you not to go?” he mocks. “Shut up. My parents are intense. I told you. My mom is a ball-busting, rule-making leader. And I figure they were paying for school since I have never worked, so yeah. I let them tell me how it was going to go. I could have moved out and not gotten an education.” “But to stay home that much longer?” “I still did things.” I roll my eyes and start the game again. “At least I can beat a silly zombie game.” He laughs and pulls back. “Oh, you wanna get mean about it?” He gets up and hurries into his room, coming back out in sweats and still no shirt. He’s not even holding a shirt, and I’m not even trying not to look. I’m ogling. My lips part when I take it all in. I swear the angels are singing. He’s fit in the way Men’s Health Magazine requires cover models to be. There are just so many places to look. I don't know where to first. Everything is like God himself carved it. I actually hate that he let some gross PF, that is such a terrible term, touch him. He’s perfect. Tall, thick, muscled, tanned—what the hell? Is he human? Maybe he’s a cyborg. Fortunately, he doesn't notice it as he messes with the Xbox and then comes and sits next to me. Of course I’m suddenly much warmer than before because I’m more aware of him.

“We can test your strengths at a real game.” He starts up his remote and gives me a cocky grin. I gulp and look back at the TV. I CANNOT look at him. He needs to put a shirt on. He’s so hot. Like I’m sweating from him sitting here. “I’m going to spank you, Banks. We’ll rename it the Spank Ban—” “No.” I shake my head. “Don't finish that statement.” Even with the Spank Banks comment I don't have the heart to tell him this isn’t my first time being forced into NHL 16. William and his friends play it too. Brady laughs. “This one is way more of a skilled game, and I know it’s not fair that I know the game so much better than you, but I sense that you might catch on quickly since you have mad controller skills. “You ready to get rocked?” He winks. “Yup.” This is the moment I decide not to hold back. I was contemplating it since he was being nice, but he’s smarmy and I hate that I loved his cookies and I find his shirtlessness attractive. I hate it even more that I like his cockiness. I think he’s doing the shirtless thing to mess with me. I remind myself I am stronger than this. I grew up next to the hottest of the hot who never wore shirts if they got the chance to take it off. I was lucky they wore shorts. Sometimes they didn't. But he’s cocky and confident and I want to crush that. I crack my neck with a couple of stretches and nod. “Okay. Let’s play.” He starts the game. And I let him have it. From the moment we pick our teams and the puck drops, I work him like an intern. Like I’m going to get worked tomorrow. His tongue sticks out the side of his mouth when he’s concentrating. I don't even put my best foot forward, just the one that I need to beat him. Then I toy with him, act like he might stand a chance but nope! Here comes Natalie Banks, kicking some NHL ass! I understand the game of hockey from a video game standpoint. I don't know that I get it on the ice. I can’t even skate so I won’t ever be challenged to try. But here, in this arena, I am the woman. I let him score twice, absolutely letting him by me. He is not graceful or good about getting a goal. “Ha, in your face, Banks! Take that! You like it, don't you, baby?” “Gross.” I shudder, not at all from disgust and kick his ass harder. At the end of the game I unleash my real skills. My mom says I have ADHD, but my therapist always said I had the ability to hyperfocus but only selectively. Video games are unfortunately one of the things I can do it with. The game ends and he screams, “HOLY SHIT! HOW DO YOU DO IT? YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE HOCKEY!” He throws the remote on the other side of the couch and gets up, running his huge hands through his thick hair. His stomach flexes with his arms, and I don't even remember the game. I lick my lips, stand, looking him straight in the eyes and grin. “Night, Brady.” My heart is pounding and I feel like I might just pull my shirt off to even the score. But I have way more self-respect than that, don't I? Where the hell is it? He grabs my arm. “It’s one in the morning. I have practice in like five hours. I sacrificed almost an entire night of sleep so far. You have to tell me how.” He looks crazed and I am

digging what he is putting off. I like this kind of crazy. I like the way his warm hand on my arm almost wraps all the way around it. There’s a frightening possibility that my attraction to him is just so overwhelming all my senses have flown out the window. I know the common ones were the first bitches to abandon ship. “Tell me how you’re so good at this. What am I doing wrong?” “No.” I smirk, offering him the very same look he keeps giving me. “Yes.” He bends forward, acting like he’s joking but still trying to intimidate me. “No.” I laugh, pulling my arm from his loose grip. “Have a good sleep.” I saunter into my room, enjoying the sudden power shift in the house. I kicked his ass in something he should be very good at. And I dropped the mic and walked away like a boss, leaving him all worked up. Only I’m worked up too. He makes my stomach ache in the right ways. My cell finally rings with a return call from Sami. I know she’s doing the drunken dial, but I don't care. “You whore!” I whisper into the phone as I press my back against my door. “Heyyyyyyy! How’s my beautiful girl? You bored in Hartford yet?” She giggles, and I can almost hear her swaying and falling over. “NO!” “Starting the big job tomorrow! You excited?” Is she purposely avoiding my calling her a whore? “Explain yourself, Sami. I’m serious. Why is BJ a guy named Brady, and why did you lie to me?” Her voice lowers, “Okay for reals. He’s the nicest guy—like ever. He loves his mom and he can cook and he’s funny, and I saw him punch a dude once for hitting on this chick sort of aggressively. Anyway, he’s amazing. I love him! You’re totally safe with him. He is the best ever. World’s greatest.” I close my eyes and try not to picture her as Alicia Silverstone in Clueless. “Why did you lie to me?” “You never would have left the house, boo. You never would have found a roomie in time. This worked perfectly. You guys asked Matt and me the same day. It was kismet, bitch!” There’s no argument from me. She’s right. “So you weren’t trying to get me to hook up with him?” “What?” She totally was. Her tone does that high thing it always does when she’s smiling and lying. “No way! I stand firmly next to you on this whole ‘only one dick ever!’ I totally disagree that you should test-drive a couple of cars before you buy one that you will have for the rest of your life. Be a one-cock woman. That's cool.” I roll my eyes. “Me and William aren’t talking about the rest of our lives. Maybe just moving in together next year. It’s not like that.” “You’ve had one penis, Nat. One. That's sad. How do you even know William’s doing it right?” “You’re disgusting.” I snort. “I know, okay! So drop it!” She pauses and I can hear the water she’s downing because she knows she’s had way too much liquor. “You love me and you know it.” She sighs and inhales hard, taking in more water. “I do love you. I just think ambushing Brady and me was mean.” “Does he really care that you’re a hot blonde and not a nerdy dude?” A wicked smile creeps across my lips. “He does tonight. I just whipped him in NHL 16.”

“Of course you did.” She laughs and makes kissy noises into the phone. “Talk tomorrow. Now that you’re all settled and not moving out I can turn my phone back on.” “How did you know I wasn't moving out?” “Brady called Matt. He said you guys worked it out. He said you’re hot but a little crazy, and he knows how the hot crazy scale works so he won’t try anything. You’re totally safe with him, Nat. Plus, he’ll keep you safe from any problems there. He’s the most loyal dude ever.” My jaw drops, ignoring the rest. He called me crazy? There’s a pathetic place in my brain that whispers he also called me hot. I suspect it’s a remnant from the olden days when women had no rights and being called hot by a beautiful man was as exciting as shit got. But I shut that whimpering little simpleton down. I force myself to smile so she doesn't know I’m totally into him after two days like an idiotic sophomore. “Yeah, we had a rough start.” I narrow my gaze and shake my head. He’s going to pay for the crazy comment. “You should dress super cute so he totally checks you out all the time and make him suffer for the crazy comment. You might be the least crazy girl I know in the whole world. He just doesn’t know you yet.” Contemplating the fact I was thinking about cooking for him and making him suffer through that, her idea is easier. I have a ton of cute clothes. But the idea of making him think something when I’m clearly dating someone else, doesn't jive with me. I’m having a hard enough time not being a hormonal teenaged girl next to him. I don't need to add head games. I strike her idea from the record and plan dinner. Besides, my attraction to him isn’t fair for poor William. He and I have been dating for a couple of years. Mostly off more than it’s been on, but we got back together recently and I think it might work this time. “Dress slutty and make him want you. Try a different dick. It might be good for you.” She rambles and sounds like she’s nestling into bed. “Dude, sit up. Don't lie down yet. You’re going to get the spins and you just downed a bunch of water.” She moans. “I wanna sleep, Nat.” “I know.” I look at my bed and wish I were tired like her. But I’m wired. The new job has me buzzing. “I’ll call tomorrow after my first day. Or from the bathroom if it’s going bad. Answer, kay?” “I will. I love you.” It makes me smile. “Love you too.” We hang up and I wish one of us were a dude. We’d do so much better as a couple than William and I ever have. We’ve never even said I love you to each other. I’ve come close a couple of times, but we fight and then break up and it starts over.

Chapter Nine America’s Sweethearts Natalie The office is adorable and exactly what I imagined when I interviewed over the phone. The two bosses are the Steve Jobs sorts with glasses and huge brains stuffed into shiny bald heads. The rest of the staff welcomed me in the warmest way imaginable. Everyone gathered and greeted me. It’s like I’ve come home. “We have a few contracts for a couple of publishing houses. We need some romance covers. We thought since it’s the most urgent stuff in the pile and a great way for us to see how you do with the task of making someone else’s vision come to life¸ this might be a great place to start off.” Randy, my direct boss gives me a knowing nod and a winning smile. It’s the kind my dad gives me. “You got this.” “I got this.” I smile back. Book covers? I think I got this. I haven’t ever made one before, but I can’t imagine it’s all that hard. “I’m emailing you the specs for sizes, pixels, and how to make the paperback cover PDF. The cover for the electronic copy, or e-book will be in JPEG, as will any advertisements you manage to make with the images you use to create the cover.” He winks and leaves me at my little cubby in the corner. I drag my headphones on and open the email. I can’t believe I’m going to get paid to play with Photoshop and my computer. Hours roll by and my eyes start to blur so I pull out my glasses. The girl next to me nods in my direction, moving her lips, but I can’t hear her. She’s super pretty, dark haired, and about my age if I had to guess. I haul off my headphones. “Sorry, what was that?” “Lunch time.” She points down the hall to the large open area where the entire office is gathering. “We eat together every day.” She gets up off her yoga ball that she uses as a chair and leaves her desk. I grab my lunch and follow, impressed right away by everyone unpacking and sitting at the large conference table in the middle of the workstations. “Everyone, if you were at work on time, you will recall this is Natalie Banks, the new girl. She hails from Greenwich, so she’s judging all of us right now for our poor taste in footwear and handbags. Natalie, this is everyone.” Randy laughs and sits, opening his funky steel lunch box. “Hey.” My cheeks flush as I lower my head, shaking it and laugh. Most of them have greeted me already so this is redundant and embarrassing, but then I start to see that's the point. “Natalie, this is just like being the new kid at school. We must know everything. Give us some details or we’ll force Randy to reveal what’s on the resume.” The other boss, Mario, winks as he takes a large bite from his sub. Sitting down and holding my purse, I swallow hard and shrug. “There’s not much on the resume, apart from volunteer work. I went to design school at Sacred Heart because it was close to home. My mom’s a teacher at Greenwich Academy where I went to school. My dad’s

a builder and contractor.” “And of course the most important part is that you’re dating William Fairfield, of the Greenwich Fairfields,” Randy adds, looking down at his soup. The entire table stares, lips curling into grins. “Yes. I am.” My lips are stuck in a ridiculously embarrassed smile. “He’s at Princeton.” Now I’m just adding things, rambling from the spotlight being on me. “He graduates this year and will work with his dad and uncle in Manhattan.” “Oh my God, stop. This is so mean.” The dark-haired girl gives me a sympathetic smile. “They tormented me for days. Randy likes stuffed animals—we all suspect he’s a furry—and Mario’s mom still does his laundry, which pisses his wife off. Do not let them torture you.” Everyone bursts out laughing and clapping, including my bosses. I sigh and laugh, grateful for the dark-haired girl but weirded out by the furry thing. “I’m Liz. This is Phil. This is Raoul and Hardeep, but we all call him Harry unless his mom comes in, which happens more than it should, then it's a firm Hardeep. Harry waves, nodding in agreement with what she’s said. “That’s Lin and she’s Maggie.” She points at the two Asian girls in the crowd. They both offer waves and smiles. Liz folds her arms and narrows her gaze. “Sacred Heart isn’t exactly the best of the best for schools. How did you go from Greenwich to there?” Her question is the most invasive yet. So much for rescuing me. “Don't answer that.” Randy points. “Because we really want to know something more important.” Mario nods. “We do. Actually, it’s Phil who does.” “Are you seriously besties with Sami Ford? And does she smell like perfection?” Phil, the skinny guy with blond hair bursts out in a way that tells me he isn’t interested in Sami as a girlfriend. “Yes and no.” I laugh at Randy’s strange question. “She’s your best friend. That's like having Blair Waldorf as your best friend. I saw photos of her house once. My God. Have you been there? She’s so fabulous. Her closet must be amazing.” All the eyes are on me. It’s uncomfortable, and yet it’s normal. Being friends and a girlfriend to America’s royalty is something I am very accustomed to being questioned about. “She’s amazing. She’s not at all how the papers have portrayed her. She’s not cruel or evil. She’s kind and loving. Her parents’ house in Greenwich is insane. Like palace big. I’ve actually been lost there. But it’s not the biggest home they have. They have a place in Wales as well, very beautiful. It’s an old castle. It’s colossal and crazy.” I smile at Phil. “Her closet is bigger than my bedroom. It’s huge.” “I knew it would be.” He seems satisfied. Everyone looks interested. But it’s not me; it’s actually never me that interests people. But these guys are cool because it fades faster than with normal people. “So you were normal and grew up with crazy rich people so everyone knows who you are?” Harry asks. “Yeah.” “Cool.” He shrugs and eats a bite of a sandwich. “I guess.” It’s not really though. Being known for knowing people is a bit lame. I’m popular by association and not actually popular on my own.

“Well, I think we can end the hazing there. You’ve given us just enough to add you to the weekly gossip.” Randy winks. “Now on to very important subjects.” He looks at Liz who grins wide. “The Halloween workday party. We all have to agree that we will go with a theme.” Everyone groans except Lin and Maggie. They look indifferent. Mario lifts his hands. “We made Liz the party planner in the crowd. We can’t complain that the cost of a righteous Christmas party is entertaining her sickness for Halloween. Everyone has to come to work in costume; it’s going to be mandatory. If you don't dress up or come as a muggle, no Christmas bonus.” Randy gives him a look. “Evil.” Liz leans in. “I was thinking we could be great fictional characters but only from classic novels. No sparkly vampires and shit.” “Swear jar!” They all shout. Liz thumps her hand on the table. “Dammit!” She gets up, as they laugh mercilessly, and deposits two coins into the jar on the counter behind her. It’s like a world I have never been part of, but for some crazy reason I love these people. It’s my first day and I am in love. Apparently, falling in love is easy for me. Well, love and lust.

Chapter Ten Icing nuts and furries Brady My whole body aches as I leave the elevator and stroll to our door. Mitch Daniels slaps me on the back. “You got beer, right?” My answer is a grunt as I get the key in with the very last of my strength. “Awwwe, muffin. Are you still sore from being ridden like a rented mule for being ten minutes late?” Mike Smolensky laughs, getting the door for me. Again I grumble. When I get the door open I’m greeted by something magical and amazing, and yet disturbing in several ways. A smile crosses my lips, using the last of my strength. “What the fuck is that?” Daniels leans over me, pushing on my shoulder. “And how do we get one in our apartment?” “Holy shit, Bro,” Smolensky mutters. I don't feel tired anymore. I feel something else. It’s deep and annoying and rhymes with fucking kill anyone who looks at her in that downward dog with those tiny shorts on. I pull the door back, shaking my head. “Let’s go to your place, Mitch.” I give Daniels a look. He pulls back. “Yeah—not a chance. You can’t crack the door open and flash that and then close it. I need to meet her. She’s the future Mrs. Daniels.” Mitch pushes past me, bursting into the apartment. Mike does the same, glancing back. “This is the roommate you mentioned? The crazy hot one?” “Yeah.” He starts laughing. “That is the roommate? That?” He laughs harder. “You’re going to be icing your nuts all year. I don't care how crazy she is, that would be a problem for me.” “Laugh it up, Chuckles.” I groan and enter after Mitch, hating that Natalie isn’t anywhere near the crazy I’d imagined. She’s actually kind of awesome. Explosively, sarcastically, awesome. She was just surprised by the roommate switch up. Once she thawed she was fine. And, apparently, rocks yoga shorts . . . She’s a problem. The discomfort in me seeing her in her yoga shorts with Mitch and Mike ogling her, tells me she’s already a problem. I have never had a problem sharing my toys, but I don't even want their eyes on her. “Hey. I’m sorry, I thought I had an hour till you got off.” Nat gets up, red-faced and confused about what’s going on. She has on a long tee shirt that covers her short shorts, but her sexy legs show enough. “Hey. We got off early.” I can’t even add anything because all I want to say is put some clothes on. Mitch offers her a subtle wave and a sly grin. “I’m Mitch.” My eyes meet hers, checking to see if she’s okay. I nod. “Mitch and Mike, this is Natalie. They came over to have some pizza and play some NHL 16. Thought we could play teams. I did text you.” I notice her phone on the counter, nowhere near her. “Oh, sorry.” A smile creeps across her lips. “Let me get changed.” She grabs the phone

and checks her messages. Mitch opens his mouth, no doubt to say something creepy about her not needing to change, but I speak over him, “I’m on your team.” I wink at her. She rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything about her mad skills. I haven’t told them either. When they suggested playing at one of our houses, I had a moment of inner grinning followed by an invite. Mitch gives me a look. “You lucky son of a bi—” “Don't call my mom that.” “That's the roommate?” He points at her door, ignoring my tone. “Easy tiger.” Mike chuckles. “One girl and three guys might intimidate her if you start off with handing her your number.” “Don't talk to her like that and don't hand her your number or I’ll find you a nice pig farm to end your days on.” I open the fridge and grab beers, handing them out. Nat comes strolling out, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail. She looks better in a huge Gap hoodie and some baggy jogging pants. Unfortunately, she’s the kind of pretty a paper bag wouldn't hide. “What kind of pizza do you guys like? I want extra pineapple, green peppers, and chicken with barbeque sauce and sautéed onions.” “I’m in for that.” Mitch grins. She frowns at him, clearly unimpressed by how hard he’s trying. “Okay. I’ll order online. What do you want?” She gives me a look. “I like mushrooms, bacon, peperoni, and onions.” Mike nods. “I’ll take some of that.” “Okay, that's easy then.” She glances at me, maybe still checking to see if this situation is okay. I offer her a soda and a subtle nod, hoping she sees these guys are cool. I wouldn't bring someone here who wasn't. She takes it, eyeing my beer up. That earns her a headshake. She can’t handle her drinks. She catches on and agrees, turning and walking to the couch to sit and wait for us. “I’m not sure you want this slacker for a partner, Natalie. He can’t even get to practice on time,” Mitch taunts me. She bites her lip, grinning as a blush covers her cheeks. “I think that might be my fault.” She wrinkles her nose. Mike glances back. “Do tell.” I fold my arms across my chest. “You’ll see in a minute.” She nestles into the couch, taking the controller Mitch gives her. I have a bad feeling that's not all he’s giving her or even daydreaming about giving her. He has the look like he’s going to say something dirty, but he refrains and says something else. I can tell it isn’t creepy since she smiles wide and shakes her head. She has absolutely no poker face. I’ve seen hatred, disgust, shock, humor, and that sparkle that girls get in their eyes when they’re tormenting a man. And it’s only been three days. Mike nudges me. “She doesn't seem crazy. Does that little show come later?” Giving him my best drop-it look, I mutter, “It’s a problem.” “Hate to say I told you so.” He takes a seat next to her on the couch with Mitch on the other side. I flump onto the love seat and turn on the Xbox. She glances at me, offering a subtle wink. “Ready?” “Yup.” A smile creeps across my lips as I get the game to team selection. “How was the

first day?” Her eyes widen and I can tell by the smile owning her face that it was a great first day. “So awesome. Everyone’s funny and easygoing, and one of my bosses might be a furry and they just mock him out loud for it.” “Furry? Like hairy?” Mike gives us all a confused look. His neck beard sticking out the top of his shirt explains the look in his eyes, but I don't know what a furry is either. “No, not hairy.” “Dude, you know when adults dress up like stuffed animals and dry hump each other?” Mitch scoffs. “Like mascot sex.” I almost spit my drink. “What?” I sputter, “What the—what kind of job is this?” “An office job. It’s just a design firm. They bring all the bullshit to the front—just air your dirty laundry at lunch and everyone laughs.” She rolls her eyes at me; it’s become a thing for us. “That actually seems smart. Nothing to talk about if everyone has his or her secrets laid out.” Mike catches on. “I think some secrets are better left alone. Furry dry humping is weird,” Mitch adds as he stuffs one of my mom’s cookies in his mouth. “Well, he didn't admit to it. They just said they think he is and he laughed.” “What did they say about you?” I give her a smirk. I can’t imagine she has very many secrets. “They all knew I was besties with Sami Ford and dating William Fairfield. So my secrets were pretty safe.” Her voice softens and her eyes lower. Mike’s jaw drops. “Thee Sami Ford?” “Yeah.” “Holy shit! She’s so hot. She’s fucking Matt Brimley! The lucky bastard.” “You’re friends with him, hey?” Mitch gives me a look. “That's how we ended up here. Sami and her are friends and me and Mattie are, and they knew we both needed a roommate.” “Yeah, they did us both a real solid,” she mocks me, making it all funny again. But I can see something is bugging her. The game begins and instantly the guys are baffled. “Holy shit, you play well,” Mitch mumbles as he tries to score on her. She steals the puck, whizzing past Mike and scoring on them easily. She grins. “Beginner’s luck?” I laugh. Both of them start to see the con—at least I think they do. The puck drops and they try harder, plus we’ve all warmed up—our fingers anyway. Mitch skates toward her, going past easily which is weird. The fact he even got the puck drop is amazing. I skate toward him, steal it and head into their zone, scoring on Mike. “Her luck is rubbing off on you.” Mike growls. I give her a look. “She’s a lucky charm I guess.” She groans and I smile wider.



Chapter Eleven Dick pics Natalie We’ve been playing for an hour when I hear the buzzer. I jump up from between the two massive hockey players and run for the door. “That’s the pizza.” I buzz him in as Brady comes and stands behind me. He’s doing that too close thing he does. It’s like hovering. “Are you going to unleash the beast soon?” he mutters, maybe annoyed that I’ve been playing fairly moderately since we started. I glance back, pressing my lips together and nod. My eyes dart to the two beasts taking up most of the couch. “You okay?” He looks weird. I can’t get a handle on what he’s thinking. He keeps giving me weird looks. “You’re not playing as well as you can. Is something wrong? Are they giving you the creeps? I swear, they’re both awesome guys.” “Yeah. I’m fine.” I eye up his friends and whisper, “I just thought maybe I should hold back a bit. I don't want to make them look bad. They’re your friends.” “Oh shit.” He sighs and runs his hands through his dark hair. “What?” He looks down on me. His dark eyes are so wide I can see myself in them. “Nothing—I thought I forgot my Visa in the truck.” He shrugs, opening the door next to me. I scowl at the pizza guy, not at him but just at the fact I didn't hear him at all. “I can buy it.” I pull my wallet from the counter near the door. “Not a chance.” He hip checks me and pushes me out of the doorway, handing his credit card to the guy. “Holy shit, you’re Brady Coldwell.” The guy starts having a fit. “Oh man, awesome!” I look at Mike and Mitch. “You should come make this guy’s night.” They both give me a blank stare from the couch. “What?” Mike doesn’t sound interested in it. “This guy will shit when he sees you three together. He’s a fan.” “Ohhhhh.” Mitch gets up, followed by Mike. I step to the side as the pizza guy loses his mind. “HOLY SHIT! Mitch Daniels, Mike Smolensky, and Brady Coldwell in one apartment!” Brady passes me the pizza as he laughs and signs the receipt. I stand there, holding pizza and watching as the guy gushes over them, and I realize I’ve traded one group of friends for a carbon copy of the others. Everyone is beautiful and fit and famous. And I am left standing and holding the pizza again. It’s weird. Placing the pizza down, I grab plates and paper towel since we don't have napkins. They sign a few things for him and close the door, laughing at whatever was going on in the hallway. Brady closes the door and gives me a smug look. “See, Nat. Some people are impressed when they meet me.”

“I was impressed”—I lift a middle finger and grab two slices of pizza—“with myself for not killing you.” His eyes widen, but he doesn't say whatever is on his lips. We settle back in on the couches but this time I sit on the love seat. I was too hot sandwiched between Mike and Mitch. Brady flops next to me, sitting too close and smelling too good. Mike takes a huge bite, eating half of the piece of pizza. Mitch does the same. I wrinkle my nose and glance at Brady, startled by the fact he is eating exactly the same. It makes me laugh. It’s like eating with giants, unmannered ones. “What?” Brady gives me a look. “You’re savages. This is what you look like.” I pick up a piece of pizza and shove half of it in my mouth. The three of them laugh as it takes me a very long time to chew my giant bite of pizza where as they wolfed theirs down like wild animals. “Dude, have you never heard ‘don't try this at home?’ We’re professionals,” Mike mocks me. “What are you doing, Banks?” Brady pats me on the back. “You’re gonna choke.” I come to the same realization and get up, hurrying to the garbage and spitting the huge mouthful of masticated food into it. All three of them laugh. I cough and shudder, grabbing a beer from the fridge for each of us. Brady stops laughing, seeing the beer in my hand. His eyes do that worried thing they did before. I roll my eyes at him. Just because I was a lightweight last night from doubles doesn't mean I can’t hold my liquor with one beer. He’s so worried about winning the game, he seems to be forgetting I beat him the night before, half cut and high off his mom’s sugary cookies. My phone starts buzzing on the counter. I recoil as I wipe my mouth, but I answer. She’s restrained herself for days. It’s huge and we both know it. “Hey, Mom.” I lift a finger and walk into my bedroom. Brady gives me the eye roll, returning the one I always give him. “Natalie, darling, how are you? How’s the roommate? How was the first day of work?” “Good, good, and great. The new job is amazing. I really like it.” A smile creeps along my lips. “You know those romance novels you pretend not to like? The ones with the barons and the damsels and the time travel or forced weddings?” “Yes,” she answers carefully. I’m certain her mind has taken this to an insane place. “Those covers are what I’m making this week. We got a huge contract for one of the large New York houses and I’m making their book covers.” “That's nice, dear. Have you talked to William?” I groan inwardly, squeezing my eyes shut. I hate the way it always turns to him. Like what I do isn’t nearly as important as dating him. “Yeah, he’s doing good.” “Doing well, dear. Are you thinking about coming home soon, maybe some weekend?” We’ve talked about this a lot, and she still isn’t getting it so I nod. “Mmmhuhh.” “Oh good. I know William is going to be in Greenwich in two weeks for his father’s birthday. I’m sure he’s already invited you.” “No. Maybe it’s a family thing,” I accidentally let slip. She pauses. My stomach hurts from the things that fill up in that space, disappointment and guilt and expectations. They all live there in the blank air we share. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine, Mom. He’s in Princeton, I’m here. We haven’t talked much. I’m sure when he gets a chance he’ll invite me. I don't really care. His dad’s weird anyway.” Which is true. He likes me way too much. “He will likely be your future father-in-law, Natalie. Speak nicer of him. He’s earned your respect.” I spend the necessary time she’s lecturing me to text Sami since I have Mom on speakerphone. Did you get the invite to Mr. Fairfield’s b-day bash? “I hope you’re nicer when you talk about me. I certainly hope you have some respect for the adults who have shaped you and sacrificed for you to get you where you are today.” Yeah, two weeks ago. I forgot to mention it. You going to schlep across Connecticut for it? I can send a car. I frown at her texts. My heart is beating a little quicker. He didn't invite me? My mother continues nattering, “And your father has worked two jobs, two, Natalie, just to ensure that your life would include the right sort of people. Greenwich isn’t an easy place to live, but we did it for you.” He didn’t invite me. I send the text and stare at the words. Why didn’t he invite me? He invited my parents but not me? Maybe my parents’ invite included me. Yeah, that's probably it. “All we ask in return is a bit of respect and care for the things we’ve given up.” She finally breathes. “You know what I’m talking about?” “Yes,” I answer even though I haven’t really heard a thing. “Did you and Dad get invited to the party?” “No. They know we’re going to that conference for the Greenwich teachers at the Academy. We won’t be there for the Saturday night. We’ll be in New Hampshire. His mother asked us a while back, but we had a prior obligation. And with the stress of you moving away, we thought why not just go and have some fun.” I would roll my eyes and pretend to hang myself with something in the room, but I’m actively concerned William isn’t inviting me. Did William invite you or did his parents? My parents aren’t going. She starts typing her answer, making the sickening nervous feeling hit my stomach. Is he going to call things off again? No. It was Will. He asked if I was going to be home for it. I said no. He said bummer. Her text makes me feel sick. He’s doing it again. He’s pulling away from me. This time I am done with it. I don't want to play this game anymore. “Mom, I need to go. I actually have to call Will. We said we were going to call tonight.” “Okay. Love you. Take care of yourself and be safe. Lock the doors and don't forget to come home one of these weekends. We miss you.” “Okay. Night, love you.” “Love you.” She hangs up and I press his name. It rings four times before he answers it, “Hey, how’s it going?” His voice is smooth and relaxed.

“Fine.” “How’s the job? You like it? My working girl.” “Yeah.” My one-word answers should be a clue I’m pissed, but I don't have time to do this dance. “Why haven’t you texted or called much since you got to school?” It’s the question he hates. He doesn't do clingy. I pretended for years I’m not a normal girl and have no needs to keep him happy. Now I’m starting to wonder why I care. “You haven’t been texting me either, babe. And it’s been nuts. First week of school always is. And with it being the last year—” “I know it's the hardest for you.” I shake my head, hating the way I feel right now. He’s right, I haven’t texted him at all. I don't know why. We always text and this summer has been so weird. We got back together but agreed to just be each other’s someone and not hound the other person. I was starting a new job and he was finishing last year, and we didn't need the stress of the other person needing us too. I agreed to that. “Did you get my text about Dad’s birthday? I sent a voice message text to you. It doesn't say that you claimed it. You know when you send them and then they say that they’re being kept by the person?” I sigh, but at the same time, it doesn't make sense. “Why’d you send it by voice text?” I don't know if he knows this is why I’m mad or if he’s telling the truth. My brain whispers that it’s a bad sign if I don't one-hundred-percent trust him for the small shit. “It was supposed to be sort of naughty, and I think it got lost in the world of the web and now it’s likely gone to my aunt Mildred. At least she doesn't know how to use her phone.” He laughs and I smile. I can’t fight it. “I don't honestly know if I’m making the party anyway. You might have to have cake with my dad for me. We’re working on a case here.” “If you aren’t going I won’t either. It’s annoying getting home.” I lie down on the bed and sense the same distant silence between us as there is between Mom and me when I don't do everything she wants. “I miss you.” His voice lowers, “Wanna see how much?” “No. Don’t send me a di—” “Too late. I sent it.” He laughs and I can tell he’s touching himself. I hate it when he jerks off on the phone when we’re talking. I really hate it. I think it’s creepy. I don't know why. I’m clearly not mature enough for the conversation. My phone buzzes and the dick pic lands. I wrinkle my nose at it. Which also feels wrong. I should like seeing it, but it just feels cheap seeing it in a photo. He has a perfectly nice dick. I just don't like the photos. “Did you get it?” His breath gets longer. “Yeah.” I laugh. “You know how I feel about it.” “My cock?” I close my eyes. “Dick pics. I think it’s a terrible idea.” “Send me something.” Has he not been listening? “No. Use porn like the rest of the world.” “I don't need porn. I have mental images of you in the spank bank. Like when you’re on top and your—” “Oh my God, stop. I have to go.” My face is on fire. “Can you give me one more minute?” He sounds like he might finish any second. Shaking my head I mutter, “Okay.”

“Tell me you like sucking my cock.” “I like sucking it.” I say it like I’m talking about liking the smell of my fabric softener. “Say you like it when I pull your hair and push it farther than you want.” “Oh yeah.” My enthusiasm doesn't change. “I love that.” “Oh God, I miss you, Nat. I miss you sucking my bal—” “I miss you too,” I cut him off and try desperately to block this out. “Oh God.” And he’s done. He moans into the phone. “Oh baby, that was all for you.” Does he really think I care that he just jacked off into a sock at college while imagining my boobs? “Call me tomorrow when I’m sober, babe. I miss you.” “Miss you too.” I hang up and somehow feel dirty from that like I did something wrong. And why is he drinking on a school night? Instead of leaving the room I call Sami. “Hey, girlie. How was the first day?” “Good.” I can’t even get excited about it. “So did everyone seem cool? Were they secret nerds like you?” “No. Just regular nerds.” I laugh and sigh, grateful for her. “Except one girl, Liz. She seems like a secret nerd. Super pretty and funny.” “Oh, so you found your Hartford Sami. How fun.” She laughs, but I know she hates that I met a girl. She gets more jealous than dudes do. “I did. She’s not quite as pretty as you but way more down-to-earth.” I can’t fight the grin. “You bitch. You commoners say down-to-earth like it's a good thing to be boring—well, it’s not. It’s better to be spicy and zesty and want some flavor in your life,” she snaps. “Are you eating? ‘Cause that was a lot of food referencing there.” “You know what I mean, dick.” She laughs and crunches. “I’m eating nachos. I had Cecilia make me jerk chicken nachos.” “My favorite?” I gasp. “You’re eating my favorite nachos and calling me the bitch?” “Come and have some. I’ll send a helicopter.” “I would love to.” I moan. “But I have to work in the morning. This is one of those nine-tofive gigs where you have to show up five days a week.” “Oh shut up, I know what a job is. Now let’s get to the meat and potatoes of this meal. What’s up with William?” “He said he sent me a voice text invite but it didn't show up.” It sounds as lame aloud as it did in my head. “If you believe that moron I will kick you in the vag,” she mutters and crunches. I’m starting to think the friendship she has with William has been for my sake only. Since we all went to college she has been increasingly annoyed by our relationship. I used to think it was because I had someone besides her, but I’m starting to think it’s him. “He doesn't deserve you. He never has.” “Okay.” And there it is. The truth of the matter. Just as I think it, she says it. “I’m a little bit drunk again, so don't hate me if this comes out wrong. He’s a douche. A dbag. A wanker. A fuckwit. He’s not worth the paper you wipe your ass with nor the shit stain you leave behind. I hate him, more than I hate anyone.” She breathes, deep and windy into the phone. “Oh my God, that feels so good. It’s been years of me bottling that up, but I’ve finally said it.”

It hurts. Maybe the lying. Maybe the pretending. Maybe just the fact she hates someone I could be in love with. “Say something,” she demands. “I-I don't know what to s-say. I thought you liked him. In high school I thought there was something between you.” I’m not shocked; I’m hurt. Her approval means more to me than anyone’s. “In high school he was older and cool, and I was dumb and didn't know better. He’s the gold standard for guys in our circle, Nat. But I’ve been outside of our circle for a while and there are some really nice guys out here. And they love and care in a whole different way.” She sounds sincere and weird. “I love you—like—more than anything. You’re the kindest, funniest, stupidest, smartest, bestest girl in the whole world. I used to beg God to make us gay so we could just be together. You deserve someone who makes it all about you. I hate the way you chase him up and down the coastline, doing all the things he wants to do. Nat, you’re your dad. You always say you’re so much like your mom but you’re not, you’re your dad. To a T.” She pauses and I can tell she’s pacing. She does that when she’s ranty. “And—” “You don't have to explain, Sami.” “I do. I have to. I know this hurts. We love each other and depend on each other, and I’ve been lying about this for a while, thinking you’re going to see what a knob he is. But you aren’t. You’re letting things slide and taking the path of the least resistance. You’re being down-toearth, and I think it’s high time you pull your head out of his ass and start seeing him with your eyes and not your mom’s.” She takes a huge breath. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I shouldn't have done this over the phone. I love you. I’ll see you then.” “Okay.” She hangs up, and I don't know what to say or do. I feel nothing.

Chapter Twelve Paper, scissors, sexy girls Brady She comes out of the room looking defeated. Her eyes are blank as she grabs another beer and sits down next to me, taking back her controller. “Sorry. My mom.” She sighs and loses whatever is bugging her. “Ready?” Mike asks as he starts the game. The Natalie from last night comes out. She zones out, completely into the game and kills them. Mitch and Mike shout and jump and scream, but she isn’t fazed. She plays hard like last night, blank stare and emotionless like then too. Mitch throws the controller at the couch and gives her a look. “Do you design games?” She shakes her head. “No.” She comes out of the weird zoning-out thing but only partly. Mike laughs. “That was the fiercest playing I’ve ever seen. There are fourteen-year-old boys who don't play that well.” She shrugs. “I like video games.” “You knew! This is why you were late. She schooled your ass last night and you kept going, hoping to win!” Mitch growls at me. It makes me chuckle. “She kicked my ass up and down the ice.” “I really did. I even let him score twice.” She pauses and gives the three of us a look. “Speaking of scoring, can I ask you guys a super-personal question?” “Shoot. We don't have anything resembling privacy or shame.” Mitch nods immediately where Mike and I wince. “Do you send chicks dick pics, specifically ones who you know don't want them?” I have a small heart attack and Mitch wrinkles his nose. “No. What the shit, Banks? Where did that come from?” “Just curious.” “No.” Mike shakes his head. “No. Girls ask for them, but I don't give them. I could hit NHL next year and then what? A sex scandal for dick pics. I don't think so.” “I don't take pictures of my penis.” I hate this question. I hate that she asked this. I have a bad feeling about it, and I suspect she wasn't talking to her mom at all. But I make a joke so we can break the ice that's forming around her. “If you want to see my dick, you know where it is. But if I pull it out, you know what to do.” “Gross.” She laughs and wrinkles her nose but Mitch laughs too, offering me his knuckles. I pound and laugh. Mike gives her a look. “Why?” “No reason. I just don't understand this dick pic era we’re having. It’s sort of gross. I would never take a pic of my privates and send it to someone. Not someone I liked anyway. Maybe a stranger. No, not even then.” She shudders. I know I’m giving her a horrified look. Somewhere between her showing her privates and the vacant look on her face, I have apparently lost all the humor I have in me. I’m stuck wondering why she’s looking so upset and how the dick pic conversation came about. She smiles again but there still isn’t much life in those crystal-blue eyes. Mike looks at the time. “We better get going.” He gives Natalie a sly grin. “We don't want

you making us late too.” Mitch shakes his head, ready to debate leaving. “We don't have to go yet. We can play one more game.” “Dude, it’s eleven. We need to hit the hay.” Mike stands and offers Natalie a wink. “Thanks for going easy on us the first game.” Her smile returns. “No prob.” Mitch slugs me in the arm. “Try not to stay up too late.” He waggles his eyebrows, not being cool at all with his subtle hint. “Okay,” I say awkwardly as he and Mike leave the apartment, both looking back and waving at Natalie one more time. When the door closes she gives me a look. “Is Mitch a virgin? What’s his deal?” “I don't know.” A full belly laugh rips from me as I play back the entire night of him trying too hard and his weird looks and awkward behavior. “He’s a little bit—‘keeps girls in the basement,’ huh?” She shakes her head and gets us both a drink of water. “I mean he’s super cute and he’s got that hockey player vibe, but he loses all his cool and stutters like one of the dorky guys on American Pie the moment he sees a girl. He tries too hard. You should tell him.” I take the water and scoff. “Dudes don't tell other dudes how to work on their game unless they ask. Even then, we aren’t like you girls with your constantly critiquing each other.” “Why not? He’s being weird.” “If I tell him he’s being weird, I have to share the girls.” I smile wide but she gives me the look. “Gross.” She drinks the water and strolls into her room, leaving the door open. My eyes follow her everywhere she goes. I can’t stop noticing the way she does things: Ties her hair up. Stretches her neck. Points her toes when she walks. Cracks her knuckles but only the pointer and middle. She bends forward, fortunately still in those jogging pants, and fishes for something in her bag. She gets it, and then she turns and catches me staring. “What?” “Nothing. What’s that?” “A game I wanted to show you.” She lifts the game and smiles. “It’s The Evil Within. I checked your games and you don't have it. It’s one of my favorites.” “Is it two player?” “Nope.” A wicked smile crosses her lips and she holds out a fist. “We gamble for who gets to play first.” Curiosity makes me pull back from the fist. “What are you doing with that?” “Rock, paper, scissors?” She laughs and furrows her brow, saying it like I’m insane and should have known that. “Oh, okay. Right.” I lift my fist and wait for her to get closer. She frowns at my fist. “Easy tiger. Looks like you’re going to punch me.” “I don't hit girls.” “It was a joke.” Her frown turns into a large grin. “I could have told you that from the moment I met you.” She lifts her hand and gives me a challenging stare. “Ready?” “Yup.” The look in her eyes is crazy, like this is the most excited she’s ever been. “You seriously are a very only child.” She wrinkles her nose and shakes her hand once. “Rock, paper, scissors.” On the third

strike she had a rock and I have paper. “Ha, you are a lucky charm. I win.” I reach for the game, but she pulls it back. “Two outta three.” “Not a chance.” I reach past her, getting too close. She pulls back, but somehow I end up with my arms around her. She’s giggling and writhing, and I sort of stop trying to get the game. My arms completely wrap around her, pulling her into me. Her giggling dies off as she stares straight into my eyes, struggling to catch her breath. Every single inch of me wants to take this and the wide-eyed stare she’s giving me all the way home, but I don't. I fight all my urges and lift her back on her feet, savoring the last second of her in my arms before pulling back and looking down. “Sorry. I—” “It’s okay.” She hands me the game and laughs. “It wasn't anything.” She gets her breath and gives me a smug look. “Let’s see how you do.” “What?” Holy shit, does she mean—? “At the game.” She blushes and looks at my feet, biting her lip. She’s a problem, but so am I. We have a major issue and it’s only been three days. This is going to be the hardest year of my life.

Chapter Thirteen Worst day in a while Natalie Sami orders for us both. It’s a game we play where she thinks she can guess what I’m in the mood for. It almost never goes the way she thinks it will, but I don't care. I’m just glad she’s here. I need to talk to her about Brady and the weird thing that's going on there. I like him and I sort of don't know how to even comprehend that. I have a boyfriend, and I’m not in the market for a slutty hockey player. She gives the server a pleasant smile. “Thanks.” He smiles back, obviously aware of who she is and leaves, sort of bowing a couple of times. It’s what people on the East Coast do when they see her. Her dark-green eyes flicker to me the moment he’s gone. “I’m so sorry.” “You’ve said it like a hundred times. Stop. It’s getting annoying.” I lean across the table and take her long tanned fingers in mine. “I get it.” “No, I was a coward. I kept hoping you’d see how lame he is but somehow he keeps roping you back in.” She rolls her eyes, avoiding mine. “Seriously, stop. I just want to know what makes you hate him. The things you haven’t told me.” I lift my hands and shake my head. “Just hit me with it.” I lift the gin and tonic and chug the entire glass, letting the straw rest against my cheek. “Do it.” She bites her glossy berry-colored lip, shaking her head. Dread fills her eyes. “You have to. You owe me.” She glances around the cute restaurant we agreed to meet at after work. She flew up in the helicopter and met me here. Finally, her eyes land on her dirty martini. She lifts the glass and chugs it, something she never does in public. “Okay, so last summer when you were broken up, he slept with Karen on his dad’s yacht.” “Hartmann?” “Yeah.” She picks the pickled onion from the glass and chews, shuddering from the flavor. “Then you guys broke up in November, and he slept with Annalisa when he was home for Thanksgiving.” “Are you fucking kidding me? She slept at my house in November. We had that huge Twilight movie night. What a bitch.” She looks nervously for the server, offering a quick wave as she points at our drinks. “Then you guys got back together, and when you broke up in April he slept with like five girls from Princeton. He was bragging about it when Rich was with them and he told me. Rich said he hated the way Will always broke up with you so he could bang chicks and not actually cheat on you. Then he would get it out of his system and get back together with you. Rich said William’s been doing this since you started dating. He said he knows he will marry you because you’re the right kind of girl, but he isn’t ready to get married, and he doesn't want you to meet someone else so he strings you along until he’s ready and has sewed all his wild oats. These little breakups keep him sane.” My stomach is sour but when the server comes, I down my next drink, making a motion for him to bring another. “He purposely causes fights and makes me feel like it’s me so he can

fuck someone?” I might be sick. “He’s stringing me along so I won’t meet someone else and be happy?” “I’m so sorry.” “How long have you known?” This is the part of the story I care about. The fact he’s made an absolute fool of me and humiliated me for the past couple of years hurts on a level I’m not ready to deal with. I need to focus on something, and I randomly choose how long she has known. Like making this her fault will make it easier to cope with. It’s petty and I know I’m doing it, but I can’t stop. “Since last month.” She sounds ashamed. A month? That's not so bad. “I was about to tell you, but you guys were broken up and then you got a job and you were doing so well so I didn't want to say anything. Then you got back together with dipshit, and I knew I would have to tell you.” She lowers her gaze again, completely in shame. “Two days before you got the job was when Rich told me everything. He said you deserved so much better and neither of us knew how to tell you.” “Oh my God. I am such an idiot. He’s been playing me all this time, and I’ve been acting like it’s cool because my mom wants me to marry him.” “You are perfect. He’s an asshole. An entitled dick. Screw him.” I lift my gaze, seeing it so clearly. “You’re right. He is an entitled dick. But I’m an idiot.” I’m nauseated but the next drink arrives in a hurry. I down it like the last two, fighting off tears and a lot of self-loathing. How could I be so dumb and let him and my mom—no, this is all mine. I let them. “You have an awesome job. A super-cute roommate who is the perfect guy to get under for some rebound. You have your own things going on. You don't need William Fairfield. Screw him!” I nod along, listening but not really. I reach across the table and drink her drink too. Sweat covers my brow. “I need some air.” She throws down a hundred dollars and follows me from the restaurant. I head for Bushnell Park, trying not to cry or stumble or just drop to the concrete and refuse to move until the past three years are stricken from my record. “I almost told him I loved him, like five times.” “I know.” She links arms with me and helps me. I can’t even be mad at her. She’s wrestled with this for a month, desperate to help me with it—wait. I lift my head and scowl. “Did you hook me up with Brady as my roommate and hope I would screw him and realize what a knob William is so you wouldn't have to tell me?” She parts her lips, ready to defend herself but stops short, closing her lips and pressing them together. Tears fill her eyes but a terrible feeling lodges itself in my throat. “Does Brady know this?” His knowing is somehow worse. I assumed the weird wrestling thing over the game was innocent. And the way he looked at me. But if he’s the hired help, I’m going to die, like walk into traffic. “No. He’d be pissed if he did. He’s not like that. He’s just slutty and we thought that maybe —” “Oh God, you and Matt thought. You and him talked about this. You talked about me being a loser.” “Never! Nat. Never!”

I lift a hand. “Go back to Manhattan, Sami. I don't even—I can’t even right now.” I turn into the park and stagger as the four drinks I’ve sucked back lightning fast hit me. “Nat!” She tries to grab my arm. “GO AWAY!” I shout and shove her off me, running into the park. I think my heart has frozen over.

Chapter Fourteen Mr. Coldwell will see you Brady The music is loud but the beers are cold and the girls are hot. “Dude, you need to either move out or convince her to move out. She’s not a PF, Bro.” Mike gives me some solid advice as he leans in so the other guys at the table won’t hear. “I know, and a part of me doesn't want to move out. It’s been like five days. This is just the first-week jitters. Like I need to just get past the cute girl bullshit.” “You mean sexy, funny, easygoing, enjoyable, rocking, sarcastic, witty, and girlfriend material. Cute doesn't even describe a layer in her long silky hair. This is a thing.” The fact, he’s noticed all that in one night makes me annoyed. “I know, all right? I know.” “You can’t live with a girl like that. You’ll be married in a year. William Fairfield is an idiot for letting her live with you. If that were my girl, I’d never let her out of my sight. And I sure as fuck wouldn't let her live with you.” My grip on the glass of ale tightens. Something about that William guy bugs me. He makes her unhappy. The way she looked when she got off the phone feels like it was his fault. And she never talks about him. He doesn't call or text when I’m there. If she was my girl I’d be calling or texting like a stalker, especially if she lived with someone like me. “See, you have it bad. Five days and you’re in love, Bro. Hell, ten minutes and I was ready to ask her out myself. And I mean in the classy way. She’s wholesome and sweet.” “Whoa.” I give him a look, sitting back and putting my player face on to hide what I’m really feeling. I don't like that he’s thinking about asking her out. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She’s a pretty girl but I don't do love. I don't do sex in the same month with the same girl more than twice. In fact, it has to be two weeks before I’ll even consider screwing the same girl. I never sleep over. I always bootie call. I don't date. I do not eat a meal with the girls I screw. I don't shit where I eat, Bro. I absolutely never fuck a friend or a girl I’ve known for a while as a friend of a friend. I just need to get past the obvious connection. And she has a boyfriend. It’s not a big deal. I’m focused.” “I know.” He leans in. “And that's what I’m trying to say. She’s a different breed of girl. That's not the kind of girl I’d date now while I’m trying to get into the NHL. That's a distraction. You can’t even fight it. She will consume you.” “No way. You’re high. If she does get under my skin then I’ll move out.” I glance around the bar and look for a girl. “See that brunette over there.” I point right at her. “I’m gonna go Clinton that chick in the bathroom, right fucking now. Just to prove how wrong you are. I am still me and no cute girl is going to change that.” I stand, slam back my beer, and offer a wry grin to the boys. They lift their drinks to me. Mike drinks from his beer and nods. “Okay.” When I leave the table I feel the beers. Between the alcohol and the workouts and the hot tub, I’m a bit exhausted. Dinner was a feast but we’ve been drinking for a couple of hours. I make my way through the crowd, shaking hands and nodding at people greeting me, stopping to take a photo with a guy and his girl. The brunette gives me a sly grin. She’s been giving them to me for an hour straight. She’s got long straight hair, a thin body, fake boobs, and a big smile. I made her out as a PF the

moment I walked in the door of Vaughan’s pub. She sees me coming for her, turns, and walks to the back of the bar. She already knows the routine. I follow the perky ass and swaying hair to a door that says employees only. She lifts a long finger to her lips and winks as she ducks in the door, leaving it ajar for me. It’s a small bathroom with a large sink and a mop and bucket. The moment I step inside she closes the door and locks it. “Brady Coldwell, what a pleasant surprise.” She reaches up, running her soft fingers along my jaw. She’s tall and leggy so she doesn't have to pull my face down a foot to bring it to hers. Her lips brush mine, tasting like mint gum to cover the cigarettes. My fingers trail along her arms and shoulders, pulling her tank dress down to her elbows to free those big round tits. They’re nice, not too obvious, except for the fact she’s not wearing a bra. I squeeze them, getting a fake moan from her as I thumb both nipples at the same time. Her big brown nipples are on constant point. Stepping in, I wrap my arms around her as her hands go for the zipper of my jeans, rubbing the front of my erection through the pants. She starts licking my neck and sucking my ear lobes as I drag her skirt up, smiling in the mirror at that round ass. I squeeze both cheeks hard, enjoying their meatiness in my hands. She hauls my cock from my zipper. “No underwear?” She giggles as she gets a firm grasp on the shaft. “I forgot to put them in my bag for after practice.” “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Mr. Coldwell.” That's a pleasant experience. A hot chick gripping your cock and calling you Mr. She drops to her knees, licking the head. I close my eyes for the moment she takes me in her mouth. It’s hot and wet and her shiny head bobbing back and forth with my hands in her hair is exactly the end of the day I want. She strokes the base and fits a large portion of the head and shaft in her throat. It’s always amazing when girls can fit a good amount in, but she’s even more impressive with the way she massages with her tongue while doing it. That big mouth works for both of us. I moan as she increases the firmness and speed. She pulls out, pushing me back so she can stand and bend over. The reflection in the mirror of her gets me aggressively thrusting into her mouth as she sucks and strokes. She reaches down between her own legs, swirling her fingers in the moisture building up there. My breath hitches as she sinks one of those long fingers into herself, moaning into my cock like it's a mic. She fingers herself in the mirror, sucking me off, putting on the most impressive show I’ve seen in a while. Her long tanned legs are lean and tight. Her pussy is glistening from the excitement. Her thick hair in my hands is intertwined in my fingers, giving me the chance to pull it a little. She moans louder as her ass cheeks twitch and she comes all over her fingers, rubbing her clit and fingering herself. I pull out, spin her around, just barely remembering to pull the condom from my pocket and slide it on. Her lips are plump, her cheeks are red, and her eyes are half shut with lust when I finally launch my cock into her wet lips.

Sinking into her still twitching pussy is intense. She grips to me from the start. But I don't play with her. I hammer, hard and fast, until the waves of heat and intensity have me in their grasp. I pull out, slip the condom off and jerk off all over her ass cheeks and back. She bites her lip, staring at me in the mirror as I soak her ass in semen. “The famous Clinton. I wondered if I would be so lucky.” “The pleasure was all mine.” A satiated grin owns my face as I wash my hands and clean off, leaving her there to clean up. When I get back to the table they cheer and buy me another drink. Only Mike gives me a smug smirk. I think he can see right through me and all my bullshit. When the night is over and I get back to the apartment it’s one and I’m drunk, but not too drunk. We have the day off tomorrow from workouts and training, thankfully. Nat’s playing video games on the couch in a red dress and heels. It’s like porn really. Her long hair is around her like a blonde silky cape. I want to go and sit next to her, watch her play and listen to her laugh. Maybe smell her a little bit. Only I’ve just drained my balls on a stranger’s ass. Because that's the sort of pig I am. I’m not the guy for her. I would just dirty the air around her. “Hey,” she offers quietly. “Hey.” I lock the door and stagger in, grabbing a water. “How’s Sami?” She pauses the game and gets up, staggering as much as I am, no more. She’s toasted. “I don't want to talk about that.” She stumbles into the kitchen. I thank God for the sex I’ve just had because she leans across the counter, pretty much giving me the whole show, and it’s good. “Why, what happened?” I don't know how long I can play this game of not screwing her before we play just the tip. “Don't worry about that.” She cocks an eyebrow and smiles, giggling a little bit. “You owe me, Brady. No, wait—BJ. I like BJ. I bet you like BJs.” She laughs harder. “I think I’m pretty good at them. Wanna see?” “No. Uhm, no thanks.” YES! I wanna see, but my dick just did its thing and I need a shower. I wanna ask for a rain check. “Yes, you do.” It’s the weirdest and most random moment. She starts tugging at her dress, trying to get out of it. “What are you doing?” There’s definitely panic in my voice. “You owe me some sex, Mr. BJ.” She stumbles a little as she tries to reach something in the back. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.” “I think so too,” she slurs and laughs harder, turning around, giving up on whatever is in the back. “Can you unzip me?” “Sure.” Hesitating, I lift my hands and pull the zipper down a little bit, enough for her to get her clothes off. She pulls her arms out, letting the dress fall to the floor in a puddle. I force my eyes to stay there, but I can see ass in my peripheral. My breath gets lodged in my throat as my cock tries to make a second appearance and my eyes trail up her legs to the greatest view on earth. She has on white ass-hugging, cheeky, lacey underwear and a little strapless bra that matches. She’s tanned, tight, curvy in the right places, and that underwear is begging for me to slip a finger under the lace to brush against her ass.

Fuck me! She glances back, giving me a sexy and too drunk smile. “Okay, come and service me. That's what you were hired to do.” She steps out of the dress and walks across the room in her red heels and underwear. I have no idea what she is rambling on about, but I think we’re playing a game, and I really want to play. She’s gorgeous, cool, funny, and she plays games. And she wears cheeky underwear. And she has the kind of ass I can sink my fingers into while I thrust into her. I want to service her. I want to make her scream my goddamned name. Oh God, why did I have to screw that PF? No, it was a good decision. Solid decision. Mike’s right. I force my feet to remain exactly where they are. When she gets in her room she falls onto the bed face-first and mutters something else. I don't go anywhere. I stay here, unsure of everything in this moment.

Chapter Fifteen The hangover Natalie My head hurts in aggressive ways. The kind where you aren’t sure if you’re dead until the pain screams that no, you have survived something you shouldn't have. The alarm is going off, making patterns in the air around me like a dance beat. Gripping my pillow, I blink and force my eyes to open, swinging an arm and shutting off the alarm. The room is dimly lit with the curtains closed, and I’m in bed in my bra and underwear. My dress is on the floor and my shoes are set at the end of the bed next to each other. I can tell by the way my lashes are sticking together and my eyes are burning, I fell asleep with makeup on. I don't remember going to bed. I remember the bad stuff like William and all my friends. I clearly recall the restaurant and vaguely recall telling Sami to leave me alone. Not my finest hour, attacking the friend who was trying to ease me into the truth about my boyfriend. I’m not even sure how to apologize. I don't know that I would have been able to tell her the same thing if the shoe were on the other foot. There’s a dull pain in my chest where my heart should be. I might have lost it somewhere in the park on the way home. What did I do when I got home? I don't even remember coming in. The door is closed and I’m in here tucked away neatly. Slowly and steadily I climb from the bed and slip on my robe. My muscles ache. Do I work today? The clock says I’ve got an hour to be at work. There’s no way. Oh God. Making my way to the door, I reach with a shaking hand, turning so slowly and cracking it a bit. My only hope is that Brady is still sleeping and doesn't see me like this. Fortunately, he isn’t in the kitchen or living room. I shuffle across the apartment to the bathroom, ignoring the mirror and stripping slowly and then starting the shower. The path to regaining my humanity begins there in the steam with the soap and the shampoo. I want to rush but I can’t. My boyfriend made me think I’d done things to ruin our relationship so he could break up with me for the weekend. He did this often. We’d broken things off about seven times in three years, taking gaps where I thought he was missing me the way I was missing him. But no. He was using that time to bang as many chicks as he could before randomly being at the same place as me so he could win me back. Humiliation is a terrible pill to choke down. Adding a hangover and the fact I am as gullible as a child bride makes it such a dirtier pill.

I believed him when he said we were too young to feel this way about each other. That the intensity wasn't good for us and we needed other experiences in life. I believed him when he said he wished we’d met later on in life because falling for your soul mate at twenty-two and nineteen was just too young. I foolishly bought the line that he used all the time when we got back together about how he’d felt like a piece of him was missing while we were apart. Having my mother drone on in my ear about how young men needed time to realize they were in love and that if I hung in there I would fulfill all our dreams. I would be with William and he was worth the wait. He just needed to sew his oats and see I was best. Anger and bitterness threaten to own me, making the feeling sorry for myself so much easier. The hangover has me in its clutches—why not William and my mother too? But I refuse. I have a job and a life and I don't need any of them. The stubborn girl in me mixes with the taste of freedom I was enjoying until last night and overrules on the next steps taken. I don't need anyone. I have me. I can be strong. Shuddering from the hangover I realize I can be strong tomorrow—today I just need to survive. Getting out, dried off, and dressed are all very bad experiences. “Hair of the dog,” Brady says as I cross the kitchen for a cup of coffee. “What?” I wince at the level he’s speaking. It’s similar to shouting and yet not. He offers me two pills as he stirs a mimosa for me. “Trust me.” “My liver—” “Oh, that bitch is shot for the day. Take the two painkillers to work, take them in an hour but drink the mimosa now. It’ll perk you just enough.” He stands, hovering over me. Something about him being so close and so warm is nice. I almost want to curl up in his arms and ask him to just hug me, but I don't. I take the drink and sip it, grateful I don't want to puke at the taste of the orange juice. “Thank you.” I give him a look. He cringes. “You don't do hungover often, do you?” “No.” My whole body is still shaking a bit. “What did you do last night?” He looks worried. “I don't know. I just met Sami—” I can’t tell him that part, “—and then I came home and drank more.” I know I did that. I vaguely recall coming home straight afterward. “You don't remember?” “No.” “Okay, you need some greasy food. It’s the first week at work. You can’t be late. Get your makeup on, finish the drink. I’ll drop you off and get you some food to eat at your desk and drop it after.” I want so badly to say no. I want to tell him I’m fine or just admit my defeat and climb back into bed. But the horrible feeling of failing my first week and the pain coursing through me forces me to nod. It takes me twice as long to do everything, but we leave the apartment with enough time for him to drop me off.

He stands close in the elevator, very close. I close my eyes as we go down, hating the feeling of the movement. He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You got this. You’re a champ.” “I don't feel like one,” I grumble and let him lead me to the truck. The fresh air should be soothing but it’s not. It’s cold and horrid, like everything else. “Are you compensating for something?” I cock an eyebrow when I see his massive truck. “Nope.” He chuckles and helps me to the door. He lifts me, both of us pausing at the touch of his arms around me. I inhale him, the way my dad does me. I don't mean to but the smell and the feel of him is calming. He laughs again but this time it’s throaty and gruff. “You okay?” “No.” I shake my head and sigh, getting into the truck and letting him close the door, which he does gently. He’s clearly the master of hangovers. Getting in his side is the same, quiet and gentle. He puts the pills in my hand again. “You left these on the counter. Don't forget, take them in an hour.” “Thanks.” The motion of driving is hardly bearable but when he stops he gives me a smile. “See you in ten minutes, okay?” “Hmmmhmmm. Thanks.” My words are moaned. I know it’s my last seconds of not having to hide the pain. I have to put on my happy face as soon as I get into the office. The cold wind and the brutal steps I have to take to get there are torturous, but the inside of the huge office is much worse. Everyone is typing and cheerful and getting their coffee for the day from the machine. They wave and smile and some of them see it—the possibility that I am sick or hungover or something is wrong. Liz walks straight to me, then alongside me to our desks. “You okay?” “No.” “Sick?” “Self-inflicted and I will recover. I just need some coffee and some crack and a little speed and maybe some Red Bull and a whore to snort it all off of.” She snorts. “Best way to cope with it. I’ll see what kind of pharmaceuticals we have.” I hold out my hand. “I have two Advil.” She wrinkles her nose. “Randy has whiskey in his desk. Maybe you should crack that.” The idea of whiskey makes me swallow twice as I shudder. “No. Just need to sit and suffer and do my job and pretend I’m fine. Eventually, I will be.” She sits at her desk as I sit at mine. Deciding on the right task as far as covers go, I opt for the sports romance and open the stock images of beautiful men in various poses. I have spent almost the entire week looking at crappy stock photos. They are all posed and annoyingly clean. I don't imagine a single hockey player looks this way ever. “She’s just over here.” “Thanks, man.” I lift my head to the sound of Brady’s voice. He cringes when he sees me, making me scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.” I have a croak now instead of a voice. He brings in an armload of food. “I got you my favorite, sausage and egg McMuffin. And I got you some baked goods from that bakery down the road. I wasn't sure if girls like sweets

when they’re hungover, but I do sometimes. And I was going to get a vanilla latte, it seemed like the right choice, but they have pumpkin spice out now.” He shrugs and puts it all in front of me. “You’re a rich type of white girl and pumpkin is a thing for you, right?” “Funny.” I lift it to my lips as Liz snickers, but she’s the only one. The rest of the office is giving me a look from wherever they are, like standing in the middle of the aisles is how we normally work. He rubs my back for a moment and that makes me close my eyes and laugh. “Thank you. You’re the best roommate ever.” His hand freezes where it was, pausing. “I should go. You’re at work.” He stands and maybe it’s the light or the way he smiles down on me like he’s some sort of god, either way I get an idea. I stand next to him, too close but it can’t be helped. My ability to be cool has diminished a lot. “Can you come with me quick? I have a favor to ask.” He cocks an eyebrow and looks like he might laugh. “What kind?” “The kind where you take your shirt off and get paid.” I reach down and grab his hand, pulling him along the aisles. He’s so warm that I don't let go of the hand even as I approach Randy’s office. He sees Brady and jumps up, hurrying to the doorway. “Brady Coldwell?” He looks like he might pee. “Yeah.” Brady smiles and runs his hand through his hair. I realize then we’re still holding hands and drop his. “Holy shit!” He offers his hand and the biggest smile ever. “So nice to meet you. I’m Randy. Nat’s boss.” His smile goes to a place that makes me wonder if he finds Brady as attractive as I do. “Nice to meet you.” Brady nudges me. “You guys working her hard for her first week?” Randy nods, maybe not even hearing the question. I nudge Brady back. “Anyway, I have a question about something.” Randy looks at me for a second before turning back to Brady. “Shoot, kid.” “I was going through the stock for hockey players and it’s not awesome, and I was wondering if I could use Brady as a cover model and shoot some pics. Then we could crop them so no one would know it was him.” Randy’s eyes widen. “Oh, that's a fabulous idea.” He gives Brady a look. “And you like this idea?” Brady gives me a look. “What’s a cover model?” “Like cover of a book.” He purses his lips, making those dumb duck lips while he processes and then nods. “I’m game. What’s involved?” “Taking your shirt off and playing with your stick.” I say it before I really think about it. His lips curl up into the big grin. He chuckles and nods. “All right. Where do you wanna do it?” I know he’s still tormenting me with the do it, but I leave it alone. “The ice rink?” “I’ll get my stuff and pick you up in like ten minutes? We can use the ice over at Champions Skating Center.” I give Randy a look. “I have a camera that can shoot the pictures. I’ll just go with him now and pick it up at the house.”

He nods. “Great plan. I love the enthusiasm. Especially, considering you’re so hungover. I really thought you might try to ride it out and you’re not. Way to not sleep at your desk.” He lifts his hand for me to high five. I slap mine against his weakly and turn back for my desk. “I’ll meet you at the truck. I need my food.” I saunter back there with the whispers haunting me the entire way. It’s nothing new. Brady Coldwell is just the new Sami Ford in my life.

Chapter Sixteen Cover model Brady I skate around for a minute, trying to warm up. “What should I do?” “Just skate and play and be natural.” She walks on the ice, trying desperately not to fall as she shoots pictures of me. “Yes, ma’am.” I skate, doing some maneuvering with the puck and some sudden stops. She’s perked up a bit since the food went in her belly, but she’s still quieter than normal. I think I am too. I’m overcompensating for the fact she did her striptease for me last night and demanded to be serviced. But by her behavior I am assuming she truly doesn't recall it. Thank God. Nothing would be weirder than that and now we can still be cool. “So where did you learn to take photos?” I ask after a few minutes of me skating and her snapping and neither of us talking. “My dad. He’s a hobbyist photog. He loves it. Gave me this camera for my sixteenth birthday. All my friends were getting cars, but my parents couldn't afford it. So he got me this instead.” “And here you are, using it to shoot the one and only, Brady Coldwell.” I offer up the smuggest grin and wink. “Totally worth not getting a car.” She laughs as she shoots. “You do make a perfect hockey player for the cover.” “I do have some practice at it.” She lowers the camera and winces. “Time to start undressing, if that's cool.” “Oh, it’s cool. It's going to be very cool,” I mutter and skate closer. I give her a couple of poses, with the stick, like I’ve done for my hockey cards. Then I drop the stick on the ice, drop my gloves, unbutton my jeans but don't unzip them much, and start taking my shirt off. “Slow, pull it off slowly.” She says it breathy like she’s enjoying the show. I wish I could tell her how much I enjoyed her show. I realize then I want to tell her and see if she needs servicing. “Nice. Now when it comes off just give me a look from under the shirt. Be a warrior.” “I’m a warrior all right.” I laugh and give her my sexiest look. She rolls her eyes, as usual, but keeps snapping. I pull my old practice jersey all the way off, giving her a look. She looks so pretty, standing there with her long blonde hair in a braid that's flopped over her shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed from the ice and when she lowers the camera and smiles at me, all the bad thoughts from last night resurface. I don't care that she’s in a sweater today or that her body is completely covered; I kind of like that I’m the only one who knows what she has going on under there. Her pink lips toy with a grin as she brings the camera back, taking more photos. “That's a really great face, Brady. Stay like that.” She moves around, her legs shaking and her feet unsure, but she manages and takes the pictures. After about two minutes she stops and nods at the stick on the ice. “Time to play with your stick.”

Why in the hell isn’t she boring and annoying and stressful and rigid? Shaking my head, I bend and grab the stick, holding it the right way. “Can you tense and flex everything?” she asks, tilting her head. I do it and her eyebrow comes up. “Yeah, just like that.” She bites her lip and holds the camera again. Mike’s words about her being awesome and sexy and cool and all the other things I don't want her to be flash through my mind. “Yeah, look fierce. That's hot.” There has to be a way for me to get past these feelings. My cock loves hearing the word no. That instantly makes it intrigued. I wish I could just fuck her and get past it and move on. The moment I realize she’s a regular girl and not something special, is the moment I am freed from this spell. “I think I have everything. These are perfect. If you want to drop me back at work I can upload and edit, and I’ll let you choose the one I submit.” She smiles wide and I sigh like a douche. “Sounds good.” I pull on my shirt, catching her glancing at my chest. At least it isn’t just me wanting her. She wants me too. It should be making me feel better, but it’s making all of this more unacceptable. We could be happily doing it if not for the roommate thing. “Thanks for doing this, Brady.” She gives me a side-glance. There’s something in those eyes. It’s partly from whatever got her drunk when she was alone last night. It’s not just the hangover. “Any time.” I wink, keeping up the act that I am completely cool being with her and not touching her. Like we are just two good buddies. When I drop her off at work I realize I need a new strategy. She waves and smiles wide, hiding the hurt with every bit of her but those eyes. I smile back too like we’re old girlfriends and my vagina is just as awesome as hers is. But it’s not and I’m not. I pull away from the curb, dialing Matt. “Yo, Bro. What’s going on? Sami wants to know how Nat is?” “She’s weird. She’s hungover as fuck. She got drunk alone. Whatever they fought about, it was bad. Did Sami tell you anything?” “Uhhhh, no. She just said it was about Nat’s ex-boyfriend.” “Ex?” My chest tightens. “They broke up?” “I don't know, man. Why?” He sounds like he’s smiling. “What the fuck, dude? You hook me up with this roommate who’s hot as a Victoria’s Secret model, and yet she’s got a boyfriend. Is this some kind of hazing before New York will even look at me? Is blue balls and a bad attitude part of what you all are looking for?” Matt laughs. “No, dude. It was honestly to help her. Nat never would have moved out or lived with you. She does everything her parents say. It's weird.” “She’s an only child, Matt. Her parents are intense because of it.” I’m defending her now? “I know. I’ve met her. She’s cool. She’s honestly the coolest of all the girls from their crowd. Ouch!” He cries out. I assume Sami slapped him. “Just don't bang her. She’s not ready to meet the one-eyed monster, BJ.” “Fuck you!”

He laughs harder. “Seriously, don’t fuck her. Be a good boy. Just be nice to her. Treat her like an ugly chick. Ouch!” He cries out again. “All right, man, I gotta smack some ass over here. She’s starting shit. Take care. See you soon.” Someone makes kissy noises in the phone as he hangs up. I assume it’s Sami. My mind is stuck on treating Nat like an ugly girl. Yeah, it’ll never happen.

Chapter Seventeen The next two weeks Brady Hockey. Home game. I sort of wish she’d come, but I didn't invite her. At least my mom and brother came. Hockey. Beer. Awkward silence and weird longing. Cheeky underwear. Fuck. Ugly girl.

Chapter Eighteen Longest two weeks ever Natalie Work. Video games. Work. Run. Video games. Why isn’t he talking to me?

Chapter Nineteen Friends! Natalie Looking at the message, my insides are as tight as they can get. I read it over one more time, hoping it’s some kind of bad dream. Hey girls, not sure how many of you know about each other or about me, but I just thought since we all sort of belong to the same harem of sorts, I would reach out. I’ll start the introductions, I’m Natalie. I’m the one some of you pretended to be friends with while you had sex with my boyfriend. I know what you’re all thinking, seeing all twenty-three names on this list. STDs. I thought the same thing. I’ve gone and gotten tested and I think we all should. Clearly William has a problem. Which means we can’t assume we’re the only ones. You’re just the ones I know about. I think we can safely double that number. That's almost fifty women. Some might be whores or strippers. So if you all go and get tested that would be great. If you come across anything nasty, just let me know. In fact, be a dear and let us all know. Cheers, ladies. It makes me feel sick. How could I think this was a good idea? I’m never drinking again. I take a breath and cling to my phone. The bathroom stall at work feels safe with the walls so tight around me. It’s been two weeks since I found out about the girls. I hadn’t given it the proper amount of rage and anger that it deserved. I just shut everyone and everything out. I worked and gamed and ate whatever Brady had in the fridge for me. Until three nights ago when I phoned Rich, Will’s brother, and made him tell me every girl he knew about. Of course I had most of their numbers, most were my friends, and it wasn't hard to get the rest. Last night I got drunk while Brady was at an away game and sent the message. Now I’m hungover and waiting for the ball to drop. Waiting for one of the twentythree to respond. No one has. I woke to this hot mess and now I don't know what to do. I screenshot it and send it to Sami. My phone rings a moment later. “Hey.” “OH MY FUCKING GOD, I LOVE YOU!” she screams. It’s a weird response since we haven’t spoken in weeks. She’s tried but I haven’t had the ability. “This is amazing. I am dying! Has he called you yet?” “No,” I whisper. “Stop being so damned dramatic. You caught him being a dickwad, that's all. I miss you. I hate that I have to force Brady to take photos of you randomly so he can send them to me so I see you.” “Dude.” I wrinkle my nose. “Creepy.” He’s been taking pictures of me secretly? WTF? He’s barely talked to me since I forced him to be my cover model. “You’re forcing me to do it. I miss you. I’m sorry.” She sounds sad again. “Please don't say sorry anymore. I don't care. I know what you did was never intended to

be mean to me. You’ve never been mean to me, since we were five. Never. I believe you and I’m sorry I got so pissed and acted crazy.” And it's the truth. I knew it the morning I woke up, but I couldn't talk about it. I woke in my bed, tucked in with my red dress on the floor and my door closed, but I don’t remember putting myself to bed. I remember dinner, the bad things Sami told me, and that’s it. Everything else is a blank. “I’m ashamed of being so easy to trick and being so gullible and that I blamed you and Matt for something William did. “How’s it going?” She sounds concerned again. “I mean, other than sending a random slut-shaming letter to most of our friends.” “Oh, I don't even know what I was thinking. Everything else is fine. Work is great. Apparently, I might have a bit of a drinking problem—blackout drunk twice in two weeks.” “I’ll show you drinking problems. I’ve been drunk before three every day this week. How’s Brady?” she asks jokingly, but I know she’s worried. “Weird. Distant. I roped him into being my cover model and since that day he’s been weird. Spending a lot of time away from home. I’m assuming you guys told him what you told me, and he’s freaking out thinking I think we should just move in and start—anyway he’s been super distant and not home much. It’s sort of strange. We were hitting it off awesome and then not. We’re still doing fine, it’s just awkward now. Which it shouldn't be. It should be easier; we’ve lived together for like three weeks. I wish you guys hadn’t told him.” “I never told him. Maybe Matt did.” “Maybe. Maybe I was too forward when I did the photo shoot. I was joking around a lot, but he did look sexy. Maybe I scared him. I was pretty hungover and gross.” “I wouldn’t worry. He’s probably busy with hockey. They eat, sleep, and dream about it. What did you do for the last two weeks?” My gaze lowers to the cold floor in the bathroom and I contemplate lying down. “Nothing. I played video games, went for runs, worked, and played more video games. It’s been good and bad. I need to break things off with William. I’ve been avoiding him since you were here. Sending like crappy one word texts so he doesn't think I’m dead and get my mom worked up.” “Can I come for a visit?” “Please come.” I close my eyes and fight off the tears. “I’ll meet you at the apartment when you get off. What time is that at, like four?” “Five. I’ll be there by five fifteen.” “Okay, me too.” I hang up and feel the ability to breathe again as my ribs loosen. My whole body loosens. Sami is coming. She makes everything better. I turn off my phone and go back to my cubicle. “Hey!” I lift my head as I sit. Randy gives me a smile and offers me a cardboard picture of one of my book covers. It's the one with Brady as the model. I have ten of them now. They’re all him but in different poses. Only two are hockey, the rest are varying. Some are dark thrillers and others are typical romance. “So this was a huge hit. They were wondering if maybe you can do some post apocalypse and horror? They can’t be cheesy. They need darkness but magic and something hidden that makes the reader need to look inside.” “Sure.” I shrug and grab my headphones. “I can try.” “I’ve sent the email already. Nice work again, kid.” He offers a thumbs up and leaves the cardboard for me at my desk as he walks off. At least this aspect of my life is clicking. I

apparently have an eye for book covers. Who knew this was even a thing? I reach over and run my fingers across the photo of Brady. I don't even care if Will and I ever talk again, but I wish I could go back with Brady to this day where I took the photos. He was so sweet that morning. No one has ever been that sweet to me before. And I had to go and take advantage. One guy is nice to me and I act like a stage-four clinger and ruin the friendship? Liz gives me a grin. “Nice work.” “Thank you.” I lift the other cardboard from the week before and place it over the Brady one, the one with the girl floating in the water with the lilies all around her. The title is Ophelia so the water and flowers make sense. “What are you doing after work? Me and some of the others were thinking about getting a drink. It’s Friday!” “I heard you guys talking at lunch. My friend’s coming from Manhattan. Can I rain check for next time? I’m super bummed I’m going to miss it.” “Of course. If you want to bring her that's cool too. Six at Vaughan’s.” “Okay, I’ll see if she wants to.” Liz offers an excited smile. “I hope you guys come.” “It’s a pub. She’ll say yes. She’s sort of rocking a drunken stage right now.” I laugh and pull on my headphones as I open the email. The cover is for a post-apocalyptic book called And the Sky Fell. It’s by some YA author named AE Watson. It’s sounds dark and creepy and I want to read it. I have a fabulous idea for the cover. Liz standing up in my peripheral is the only reason I realize the day’s over. I spent it creatively entranced and didn’t think about the fact I sent the stupid message to the stupid girls about an even stupider boy. I haven’t even looked at my phone. I refuse to now. I pull off my headphones and save the work I’ve done on the image. “How’s it going?” “Awesome. I’ll text you as soon as I get home and see her.” “Sweet.” She offers a wave and heads for the door. I follow. We all leave as a herd. Harry gives me a nudge. “You coming tonight?” “I think so. I have to see if my friend is up for it.” He laughs. “It’s not exactly the Upper East Side. I can’t imagine any of your friends will want to come to Vaughan’s.” “You’d be surprised.” I laugh too. It’s forced because the butterflies have actually eaten my stomach, and I have nothing left but acid to eat at the rest of me. Crossing the park I ignore the constant vibration coming from my phone. I just need to make it to the apartment and fling the phone at her and let her choose the course of action we take from here. She has to make this one for me. I’ve truly blown it thus far. I hope she just burns the phone and we get drunk. Being hungover I can’t help but shudder at the thought of booze, but some hair of the dog might actually help. I’ll just stay away from the red wine. As I get close to the apartment I see her sitting on the stairs. Her limo is sitting out front, looking as inconspicuous as limos can. She waves and sprints across Asylum Street, hardly even looking for cars coming. She’s Sami Ford; cars stop for her. I think the sun and moon would too. She runs fast for a second and then slows down, completely out of shape. She’s naturally

lanky, not fit. She’s walking and wheezing when she gets to me, but it doesn't stop her from tackling me, almost taking us both to the ground. “Don't ever yell at me again.” She sounds like she might cry. “And don't tell me to go away.” I can’t. I’m so nervous I can’t cry. I slip the phone into her hand as it vibrates like mad. She looks at it over my shoulder, answering it for me. “Hey, dick face!” It must be William. She steps back, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. She will not be speaking to you. No. No. No. Bye.” She hangs up and gives me a look. “Thirteen missed calls; all the girls have responded, completely freaking out. Half are denying fucking him. Oh shit.” She starts laughing as she rifles through the messages. “Karen said she’s sorry. She’s one of the missed calls.” She pushes her long sandy blonde hair back behind her arms and shoulders. “Let’s have a listen, shall we?” She presses the voice mail button and puts it on speaker. “Nat, I’m so sorry. I feel sick. I don't even know what to say. I know you can’t forgive me, and I don't blame you. But I want you to know I am on your side, whatever you need. I hope I can earn back your forgiv—” We both stare at it, both a bit shocked. “She was crying.” Sami winces but laughs. “What an epic shitstorm. I’m so excited you pulled this stunt. Of all the stunts, this is epic.” My eyes start to water. “My parents are going to kill me.” “Just your mom. Your dad would be proud.” She sighs. “I’m proud. And my parents will adopt you in a heartbeat. They like you way better than they like me.” We both laugh as she hugs me again. “What did he say?” I don't know why I care. I guess because three years is a long time. “Nothing. He said he needed to talk to you and he begged a little bit. It was pathetic and he’s a fucker. Want to get pissed?” She laughs and wipes her eyes. “My coworkers are going to the pub over there.” I point. “We could go there.” She nods and sniffles. “Let’s freshen up and do that.” Freshen up for her involves changing outfits several times, forcing me to wear shoes I know I won’t be in by the end of the evening, and a completely different makeup style. Friday-night makeup is a thing for her. She has a theme. It’s bronzed and chic and goes with her tawny hair perfectly. Her attitude and disposition becomes light and airy, but her eyes dart to me in the mirror as we get ready. “Stop.” I can’t take much more worrying. “I just hate that all this landed on you when you moved and made such a drastic change in your life. I wish I could have known earlier or later and not now. I tried to shelter you a bit and that's the only reason I didn't tell you right away. And I shouldn’t have told you on the phone. I was drunk and the nachos were delicious.” I offer up a grin. “I wish you’d known in the beginning. I could have saved myself three years of wondering what else I should do to make him happy.” I nod at the phone. “And I might have avoided making a huge ass out of myself.” “Oh, not a chance. We’re never going to regret that. I’m so glad you did call those bitches on their shit. It’s worse to me that they pretended to be your friends but slept with your

boyfriend than it is that Will slept with other people. I wouldn't have traded this happening for anything. It’s the outcome this fiasco deserves. He deserves to be outed for the disgusting pig he is.” She scoffs as she does her eyebrows. “At least people like Brady, Matt, and me don't try to hide the fact we’re slutty. I wear that badge proudly.” She pulls back and looks at the job she’s done. “Yeah, I think I need to be a bit more slutty. Like my dad said, sew my oats and shit.” Her eyes widen in the mirror. “You do live with a guy who would be quite good at that.” “You can’t sleep with someone you live with, moron. That's too close. But he has hot friends. There’s one named Mike. He’s pretty hot. He has huge hands.” I say it, but I’m not sure I mean it. I like Brady, enormously. I don't know that I would ever want to make it awkward between us by sleeping with a friend. “Well, we are going to a pub. Surely there has to be some talent in Hartford.” She laughs and grabs my hands. “Let’s go.” I leave the phone behind on the counter. I don't need it to remind me that I’m sad and evil and bitter and cruel. I also don't need William to call anymore.

Chapter Twenty Grandma Coldwell in her nightie for the win! Brady My legs ache as we enter the pub. Vaughan’s has become something of a second home to us. One of the servers Mitch screwed strolls over, giving him a smirk. “The whole team?” “No, just twelve of us.” He grabs her ass cheek, not even being slightly subtle. He’s never subtle. Like Nat said, he’s a little too clingy and crazy. He doesn't understand not banging servers at the place you eat. Or screwing them more than once in two weeks. He needs some player rules. But not my brother, not my kid, not my problem. We sit, not in our usual spot. I glance over to the large party, instantly wincing when I see Natalie and Sami. They’re surrounded by hipster-looking people and maybe nerds. It must be Natalie’s coworkers. They scream techy, especially the douchey-looking dude with the winter hat in the pub. It’s not even fall weather outside yet. It’s over seventy-five degrees out. One of the other guys doesn't stop staring at Sami as she laughs and tells some story. They all laugh with her. She looks like a celebrity with them. “Holy shit, is that Sami Ford?” Mike leans over, giving her a look. “And Nat.” He slaps me on the back. “I’m gonna go say hi.” He leaves me standing there, hating every second of the way her face lights up. Natalie jumps out of her chair and hugs him. She’s too happy and too animated. It’s very different from how she’s been all week. She looks alive again. She’s wearing colors and not just shades. I’ve spent the entire two weeks since we did the photo shoot avoiding her. I’m nice, I’m polite, but I keep my distance. Except I watch her. The way she avoids her phone. The way she hasn't really been eating much. She’s been gaming a ton. I never imagined I would have to fight a chick for my Xbox. But not tonight. No, she’s alive and laughing. I bet she’s drunk or buzzed. Fuck. I wonder if she’s wearing that underwear or if she’ll strip for me again? Dude, think about your grandma. Grandma Coldwell has a wrinkly face and wears those weird nightgowns. They’re creepy and remind me of a horror movie. Horror movies. Yeah. Clowns and kids singing and dark corners. I hate horror movies. Mike hugs her too tight and too long. He rests his head on hers and my insides clench. Nat introduces him to Sami who hugs him too. Natalie’s eyes follow the path he’s walked to get to her and finds me standing there, wishing it were me hugging her. She pushes past him, walking to me. Fuck.

“Hey!” She’s not drunk, she’s buzzed and super happy. She looks different though. Too much makeup and too tight of a dress. Sami must have dressed her. Her blonde hair has wide curls I want to tangle my hands in. “Hey!” I wave but she hugs. The smell of her vanilla shampoo and the feel of her body pressed against mine is the death of me. My fingers long to creep down the back of her just to check what’s under that dress that's so tight that when my hands land on her back I can feel her muscles tense and then relax as she sighs. Her chest squishes against my abs. I flex to feel them better. Grandma Coldwell. Grandma Coldwell. Grandma Coldwell. She pulls back, smiling wide. She looks like an angel. “How was the first away game? I know you won and scored some goals.” She looks down like she’s embarrassed. “How do you know that?” “I was listening at work while I was doing my new cover. It’s a picture of you.” She looks up at me through those lashes. Fucking fuck. “You were listening to my game?” I swallow hard. “Of course.” She takes a step back, maybe getting the vibe I’m throwing off. The one I don't want to throw off, but I have no choice. I want to grab her face and kiss her so hard I can’t breathe. Acting distant and dickish is better. “Yeah, I always do if I’m at my desk since I started doing the hockey covers. It makes it easy to connect to the character. I can zone out and work and listen to the game. It’s hard to know what’s happening since I don't know hockey, but I think I get the gist of it.” She scowls at me but then smiles and looks at the rest of the table. “Congrats on the win.” Heads turn, eyes linger and roam and spend a fucking vacation on that body in that stupid dress. Her tight beige dress and bright-red heels make me burn everywhere. Are those the same red heels? I think they are. I can see every inch of her—inches I’ve seen with almost nothing on. Inches I want so badly to touch. Grandma Coldwell. Nat leans in, shaking hands and smiling, introducing herself as my roommate. Every eye lands on mine as I shake my head subtly. They know. My face isn’t exactly hiding the pain and anger I have going on. I am being busted badly for the major feelings I am having. The feelings I don't know what to do with. They’re a first for me. If it wasn't for my grandma’s nightgown I’d be getting busted with a total tent in my pants instead of the slight sidearm I’m rocking. “Why don't you guys join our table?” one of the boys shouts. She gives me a look as the guys smile wide, clearly all them keen on getting her to come and sit with us. “I’ll see if Sami wants to when my coworkers leave. They didn't plan on staying late.” She waves at us all, giving me one more look before leaving and going back to where Mike has Sami fully engaged. When he sees Nat again his face lights up even more. I might have to kill him. Or someone.

Dean, our lead goalie, gives me a look. “Dude, who the hell is that?” “My roommate.” “What kind of roommate is that? Is there a catalogue or a website I need to know about?” Dean laughs. “Don't.” I look at the server Mitch has been chatting up. “Can I get a round of shots, Jack Daniels? Please. And a pint of Guinness.” “Is she that Natalie something that’s dating that dipshit, Fairfield?” Anderson asks, leaning back. “I can’t believe he lets her live with you.” “Yeah.” Mitch laughs, pointing at Dean. “Her name is Natalie Banks and we don't mock her or treat her like a PF, ever. She’s best friends with Sami Ford, obviously, but she’s way cooler than just that.” Mitch tilts his head and points, “While she’s crazy hot and super fun, she’s also a ninja. She can play NHL 16 better than any of us. She laughs at dirty shit, eats pizza and not just one slice, drinks beer, and yeah—she’s perfect.” He sums her up impeccably as he offers me a sympathetic look, not something I expect from him. “If I was you I’d just marry her and end it there. Get it over with. There’s no denying she’s the best chick in the world. She even works and has a degree and takes care of herself. There’s just no fault.” “That’s ‘cause you’re weak.” I lift my middle finger. “She’s a problem for my dick, nothing else.” I turn and look at her laughing and inwardly cry a little like the little bitch she’s making me. “I like to think of it as a test of strength.” I give the boys a grin. “And I’m passing with flying colors.” Everyone bursts into laughter. I can say whatever I want, but I know it’s going to be a long night. And it is. I drink and try to find a diversion, but her eyes find mine as often as mine find hers. Her friends all look at her the way I think everyone should. They seem enamored by her. One by one her table gets smaller, but Sami is still bringing the drinks to them. A few guys leave ours, and Mike nods at the girls. “Let's move over there. They’re down to five and we only have seven.” The guys all get up, grabbing their drinks and moseying to the table of mostly girls. Two Asian chicks, a brunette, Sami, Nat, and the pale nerdy guy who keeps staring at Sami. Reluctantly and painfully, I get up, carrying my beer to where they’re all sitting. Nat smiles when she sees me. There’s a glassy look in her eyes, like she might be getting a bit drunk. “Hey, stranger.” “Hey yourself.” I smile back, also a bit drunk. Dean sits near her, offering her a charming grin. “So, you liking Hartford?” “It’s all right.” She nods and gives me a grin. She’s the master of seeing when guys try too hard. She points at the brunette and then each person as she says their name, “This is Liz. Maggie. Lin. Sami. And this is Phil.” It takes me half a second to realize the lone guy isn’t actually into Sami. He wants to be friends with her. He’s actually into me. It’s not the first time a guy gave me the eye. I’m sure I’m giving the same look to Nat that he’s giving me. “Can you introduce all the guys, little Miss ‘I listen to the games?’” I mock her. She narrows her gaze. “Challenge accepted.” She points at Dean. “This is Dean, the goalie. Mike, Mitch, Brady.” She smiles wider when she says my name. “Sven.” She points at Anderson, getting it right. She bites her lip, wrestling with it before she guesses the next two, “Marcus Nelson and Fraser Helm? I can’t tell. You guys look the same.”

Fraser laughs. “I’m Fraser. He’s Marcus.” But she has a point, they do look alike. With a helmet on they are almost the same guy. Brown hair, tall, beefy white dudes with scruffy dark beards. She laughs. “I was close.” “Very.” Fraser returns the look she’s giving all of us. “You hockey types all look the same.” She winks. But she doesn't return the look to him. She glances at me, looking for a smile from me. I can’t even fight giving it to her. I don't want to fight how I feel about her anymore. My willpower is dying off. God, drunk me is a fucking pussy. We drink and laugh and at the end of the night Nat, Sami, and I walk home. Sami staggers, nattering on, “So Matt and I were thinking we should do something this Christmas, like the four of us. Like go somewhere?” Jesus. She wants Natalie and I to be the other couple they vacation with, only we’re not a couple. Is God against me on this one? “I don't know what world you live in where you think my mom is going to let me go somewhere for Christmas.” Natalie wrinkles her nose, taking her shoes off and walking barefoot. “My brother’s having a baby too. I think it’s January they’re expecting her, but you can’t be sure about the date, right?” “How should I know?” Sami gives me a look. “My feet hurt. I hate these shoes, Sami. I like my Tieks.” “Flats are for Sunday afternoons.” Sami scoffs. I don't get girls. I hurry ahead and open the door for them. Sami nods but Nat smiles. “Thanks.” I don't think I like friendly, easygoing Nat. Depressed Nat was easier to handle. When we get inside the elevator I can’t stop looking at her in my peripheral as Sami natters on, still going on about Christmas. “You could easily get a jet home from wherever we are if she goes into labor. It’s ridiculous to think everyone is going to put their plans on hold for a baby that might come.” Natalie snickers and gives me a sympathetic look. Her lips are pressed together, like she doesn't want to say whatever she’s thinking. I suspect it’s the same thing I’m not saying. “And besides, we could have a really fun time. Think about it. Instead of freezing through a Connecticut winter, we enjoy basking at the beach. I can show you the meaning of ho, ho, ho.” She laughs too hard at her own joke. It’s weird. I can’t get out of the elevator fast enough. I unlock the door and hold it open for them. “Thanks.” Natalie sighs, tossing the huge heels to the floor. She stretches her feet and moans. I walk into the bathroom to take a piss, pausing when I see her phone on the counter face up, getting a call. My eyes are stuck to the face showing. William Fairfield. It stops ringing and I press the home button, noting she’s missed ten calls from him and has a million messages. Some of them are girls calling her a fucking bitch for lying and saying they fucked him. Who’s him? Another message is a girl apologizing for fucking him. Other random numbers apologize or call her a liar. Ten phone calls from a boyfriend and girls calling her names or apologizing?

Natalie being depressed for two weeks after the weird strip show. Shit! I’m an idiot. That fucker has been cheating on her and she’s desperately upset. The strip show was her breaking down and I’ve distanced myself from her when she needed me—a friend. I couldn’t keep it in my pants around her so I let her suffer with this alone. I will kill him if I ever see him.

Chapter Twenty-One F*$K friends Natalie The door buzzes as I’m pulling on a sweater, making me run for it while I finish dressing. “Yeah?” “It’s Will. I need to talk to you.” He sounds desperate. “Please, Natalie. I need to explain.” Great. I sigh and lean my head against the wall, about to press the button. But inviting him up here seems like a bad plan. I shove my feet into my flats and push the talk button. “Be down in a minute.” Grabbing my keys and cell phone, I head out the door. The moment has come. I’ve avoided it for weeks, assuming he got the point when I confronted all the girls I know about. Apparently, he did and he wants to discuss the fact he’s a scheming bastard. It’s a conversation I don't need to have. Not at all. When I push out the front door of the cool old building, he’s sitting on the steps. He looks rough, the sexiest version of rough ever. “Nat.” He gets up, immediately reaching for me. Disgust fills me, obviously covering my face like a blanket because when his eyes meet mine he recoils. “I’m so sorry, Nat. So sorry.” “You humiliated me for three years. Sorry is just not the word for this. We don't have anything to discuss. You broke up with me, making me think it was me every time like I wasn't enough for you or this was too much too soon or we were too young to feel this way. And all you wanted was a hall pass for something better for the weekend.” “None of them meant anything to me. I never cheated on you. I could never. There’s just so much pressure.” At least he’s not lying. That would send me over the edge. “What can I do?” He swallows hard. His dark-blue eyes are full of remorse. He has actually never looked like this before. It’s alarming and a tiny piece of me is buying it. But it’s a small part of me. The rest is angry. “Go back three years and take it all back.” I hate him. Which means I care about him still in some ways. I hate that too. His dark-blond hair, tanned skin, and sexy body makes it easy to care about him and find him appealing. He looks like a young Paul Walker but with dark-blue eyes. He’s gorgeous. So having him begging at my feet is a little bit awesome. The fact he screwed my friends while we were on the Ross and Rachel break that he initiated so he could screw my friends, makes me want to stab him in the eye. “I want to start fresh. I want you back. But I want it to be different. I want to be different.” He steps closer, taking my hands in his. He’s warm and familiar and he smells so good. “I want us to be the relationship we want to be and not care what family or friends say. I want us to be ourselves.” He pauses and looks deeply into my eyes. “I love you, Natalie. I always have.” He says exactly the thing I’ve always wanted. My fight dies there. The way he touches me makes my heart thump a little bit. I even make those sad excuses like we weren’t technically dating. We were technically broken up. He didn't cheat. He didn't do anything that wrong that I can’t forgive him. The whispers are old me talking and new me sees how fake this all is. “I love you so much and I’m an idiot.”

He leans in, pressing his soft lips against mine but like it’s God saving me, someone calls my name, “Nat?” I blink and pull back, exhaling the magic William is trying to trick me with. When I turn, everything comes into focus as I see Brady walking up to the apartment with his hockey bag. I drag my hands from William’s and nod. “Hey!” I hold my hand up and point. “Brady, this is William, my ex-boyfriend. Will, this is Brady, my roomie.” Brady tries to smile but it’s not even half his best effort. His eyes don't sparkle at all. “Hey.” His voice is deeper too. “You’re roommates with a hockey player?” William ignores Brady and glares at me. All the remorse and desperation is gone. “Have you been screwing him the entire time while riding me about a few whores while we were broken up?” “No, what? Don't be an asshole. He’s my roommate,” I snap at William, suddenly seeing him so clearly. The way he’s treating me is cruel and I don't deserve this. I never did. I always deserved better. “And just so you know, I want a fresh start too. On life. Just not with you.” I take a step back, freeing myself of the bullshit my brain is whispering. “I’m sorry, Brady. William was just leaving.” William takes a step toward me. “We are not done talking.” He grabs my arm, not roughly at all but Brady drops the bag, not helping the situation. “No.” I turn and give Brady a look. “Go upstairs. He’s leaving.” Brady’s stare darken as his brow lowers over it, ignoring me completely. “Don't touch her.” “You fucking slut.” William’s grip tightens on my arm. “You’re fucking this piece-of-shit white trash behind my back and ragging on me for a few chicks when we were broken up? You hypocritical bitch.” I spin to tell him off but Brady pulls me back, punching William in the face. He takes the hit and comes at Brady, foolishly. Brady pulls his shirt over his head, holding him down and looking at me. “You go upstairs! NOW!” I want to argue, but I think taking me out of the situation will defuse it faster. Near tears made from anger not sadness, I turn and walk into the building. When I get inside the elevator, I don't touch a single button. I lean against the corner with my hands over my face. The tears fade away and the anger pauses as I think about the fact Brady is kicking his ass all over the sidewalk. Every part of me knows he deserves every hit he gets, but I don't like violence, and I don't like boys fighting over girls. It’s pathetic. And I am guilty. I’ve flirted with Brady. I’ve not texted William. I’ve made the bed they’re wrestling in. Taking deep breaths I try to calm myself. When the elevator door opens Brady is standing there, heaving his breaths, looming over me like a heavy cloud. He swallows hard, stepping in. “You okay?” “Yeah.” My eyes lower to the bloody knuckles. I take his trembling hand in mine, lifting it. “I’m so sorry. I don't know what his problem is. He’s slept with everything that moves, and I’ve never given him a reason to think me and you—” “Stop.” He steps forward, pinning me against the wall. His hands lift and cup my face, tilting me to look up at him. I almost protest the whole two seconds it takes for his face to lower near mine.

Everything gets disconnected. I lift my face more, staring at his lips just as he does mine. He hesitates and the moment he squeezes my face even slightly, I know it’s over. “Don't get back together with him, please. You deserve so much better.” His words almost make me cry. It’s entirely frustration. I want him to just take that last step and bring his lips down on mine. But he doesn't. “I won’t,” I whisper back. “Sorry.” He growls and turns, pressing the button for our floor. I grab his arm, spinning him around. “What are you sorry for? What is this?” “Nothing.” He shakes his head, but I see the lie in his eyes. They’re so dark I can see my face in them. “I’m just worried about you.” “You’re lying. This is something, we both feel it.” The elevator door opens and I brush past him, grabbing the door handle to our place and flinging it open as I unlock the door. I storm into my room and slam it shut. I don't even know what the hell for. The door flings open, with him standing in the doorway. “What do you expect, Nat?” “Nothing—” I want to say more but he cuts me off. “That's exactly what this is. We’re roommates. We can’t be more than that. We live together. I don't shit where I eat. I don't screw the same girl more than twice a month. I don't screw girls I know. I don't do relationships.” Something comes over me, maybe the adrenaline from dealing with the asshole on the street below, maybe the fact I find the whole protective thing very attractive, or maybe it’s just the asshole in my bedroom giving me attitude. Whatever it is, it has me across the room, shoving him lightly. “I just got out of a huge mistake of a relationship based entirely on lies and making a world-class fool out of me. I don't want another one. Have you ever considered I just want to fuck? Maybe I want to fuck you too.” I regret it instantly and want to take it back even if it’s the truth. He pauses, looking like he might run away but he doesn't. He steps closer, testing the water or the validity of what I've just said. The thing that came over me, comes over him. He attacks. He shoves me back into the room playfully. “You wanna fuck?” He laughs and nods. “I have been wanting to fuck you from the moment I met you.” He drags his shirt off, grabbing my sweater and pulling it off. It’s rough and exactly what I need. There’s nothing nice about this moment. We stand there looking at each other, both breathing hard but not touching. I imagine this is what it’s like when two virgins have sex. There’s an unknown. But neither of us is a virgin. He’s a manwhore and I want to be used by him. I unsnap my bra, freeing my breasts. It’s my way of saying I don't want to turn back. He fights the urge to look at them for a moment before he finally gives in and that ends the struggle. He pulls me into him, wrapping all the way around me. His body is hot and smells like deodorant and a bit of sweat. It’s the perfect mix. I inhale him as he lifts me up and carries me to my bed. He places me down like maybe I’m a princess. It’s less intense than I expected. He brushes my hair from my cheek, swallowing the lump in his throat as he lowers his face to mine. Finally, our lips meet.

I’ve been picturing it for weeks. It feels like years. And the kiss is better than I imagined it would be. It starts slowly, two mouths brushing delicately together. He sucks my lower lip in, flicking his tongue against it. I reach up, grabbing his head, running my hands through his thick hair. It feels just the way I knew it would, soft and clean. His hands stay on my back, holding me to him. I lower one hand and undo my jeans, starting the struggle of getting them off. Maybe it’s the act of me undressing that gets him going, but the moment I get my pants to my knees his tongue invades my mouth. The kissing speeds up. We get sloppy, kissing each other on the cheek and chin as I work my clothes off. His hands leave my body, hurrying to his pants. He undoes them but stops, pulling back. He takes a moment to look at me. He lowers his face to my neck, kissing delicately. His hands slide along my waist and ribs until finally they make their way to the places I want them, on my breasts. He massages and groans, “You’re so soft.” He bends and places a soft, wet kiss on my nipple. I moan, arching my back, making his movement change. His tongue flicks my nipple, creating more of a storm in me as his thumb rolls my other one. It’s not what I want. It’s too much and not enough. I push him off, dragging him up onto the bed and pushing him down on it as I wrestle my jeans and underwear off. He looks like he might protest, but I climb onto him, dragging his pants down to his knees. From the look of his underwear I’ve bitten off far more than I can chew. “Condom in my pocket?” “Did you know we were going to—?” “No.” His cheeks flush even more. “You keep condoms in your pocket?” There’s a layer of judgment I should not have in my tone, but I can’t help it. He parts his lips but laughs and shakes his head like he doesn't want to say what he’s thinking. I shrug. “It’s cool. Better safe than sorry,” I try to make him feel better as I fish the three condoms out of his pocket. I tear off one and toss the other two on the floor. Sitting back on his calves, I look at him like a present I’m about to open. His dark-gray boxers have already told me what I’m getting but my stomach is still fluttering. Committing this act is like signing my soul away to the devil. Brady Coldwell is the devil I want. With trembling fingers I reach and pull back the underwear, gulping when I see exactly what I’m dealing with. I suspect it won’t fit. I even look down at my vagina, almost apologizing ahead of time. He’s twice the size of William who I always felt was a bit small. This is a bit big. I open the condom, not even touching his cock except to slip the rubber over it. I take a deep breath and crawl up him, sitting on him, not letting it enter me. He sits up, scooping me up in his lap as I wrap my legs around his back. He gives me a look and I feel like a virgin again. “You sure?” I nod. I don't have words. I have fear and apprehension and some brand of bravery I’ve never used before. He kisses me passionately as he puts me back on my knees so I’m straddling him. “You control how it goes in. I’m a big boy.” He chuckles and mumbles against my lips. His hands rub up and down my back, caressing and massaging. I reach between my legs

and stand it up, slowly lowering myself. Oddly enough, the whole experience has me ready. I rub him back and forth against me, before lowering even more. He stretches and widens me but it doesn’t hurt; it isn’t too much. I dip and come back up, very carefully. When I get all of him inside me, I pause, taking a breath. It’s just right. His hands trail down my back, grabbing my ass and cupping me. He lifts me gently, thrusting and rocking us slowly. My arms grip his head, resting his face against my neck as I ride slowly and get accustomed to the size. After a few minutes he lies back, still gripping my ass and hips, working me on him, using his thighs to lift me up and down at a delicate pace. I rub my hands up and down his muscles, gripping as they flex, moving us like we’re a boat on the ocean, the same boat. I sit up, leaning back, forcing his cock to hit the right spot. I come up off him, using the head to rub against my G-spot. I’m so turned on and excited that the buildup is there almost immediately. I reach a hand down between my legs and rub my clit as I start to bounce, increasing the pace. His hands come up to my breasts, rubbing my nipples again. I orgasm, crying out in gasps and spurts of breath. He groans, squeezing my breasts harder, until I’m done gripping his cock with my spasms. I fold forward, taking all of him again, forcing more gasped breaths from my parted lips. His hands lower to my ass, lifting me up and down to meet the pumping of his thrusting hips. His pace quickens as he bounces me, but he makes me take it all. An experience I feared I might not like, but I do. We moan together as his grip tightens with the quickening of his pace. He squeezes and grunts once as his orgasm comes. I help him through it, working his cock as he flexes his entire body and then releases with a single moan. He lies back completely, sweaty and breathing heavily. I follow him, lying on his chest and listening to his heart. If this is what cheap sex feels like, I might have to do a lot more of it. Keeping my word about this being nothing but a fuck, I slap him on the chest and nod. “Thanks.” I climb off and walk to the bathroom for a shower. I don't want to make it weird. He was right. We’re roommates and we can’t attach anything to this. We can’t even do this again. The shower washes away the stupidity I was calling bravery, and I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. I don't know how we can come back from this.

Chapter Twenty-Two Remorse, a dish better served hot and awkward Brady I’m an idiot. The kind of idiot you want to be and yet don't. She asked me to fuck her and I did the opposite of that. Something I’ve never done before. I think I made love to her. And I orgasmed inside her. Jesus. By the end of the week maybe we’ll both have vaginas. The shower can’t get the stain of the shame off. The workout the trainer put us through can’t sweat it out of me. I’m stuck with the feeling of her all over me. I can’t get out of her. I’m still there. My dreams are about her. My daydreams are a repetition of the event. She’s gotten inside me somehow. It’s what comes with breaking all my rules. She’s a friend. She lives with me. She’s there all the time. But there’s something else too. There’s been something else from the moment I met her. Something about the way she smiles and smells and laughs and—fuck. FUCK! Getting inside her didn't change anything. It didn't take away the feelings I have for her. It made them worse. Stronger. I’m officially never going to get away from this. It's at my house and in my bed and in my heart. Oh my God. I’m becoming an emotional idiot. One of those dudes we all laugh at. But do we? Do we really laugh when we see a guy completely into a chick? Am I admitting to myself that I have feelings for her? Am I a sixteen-year-old virgin clinger? I need to screw something else. I need to do it my way. My brain dings as the realization comes around. I need to do her my way. That’ll bring the perspective back. That’s what I’m going to do. “What?” Mike gives me a look from the bench in the locker room. “Nothing.” “Dude, you okay?” He looks worried.

“I’m good.” I’m not, but we have a home game so I don't have time to not be okay. Plus, I’m not emotional. I don't do feelings. I don't screw girls twice in one week. I don't do this. I’ll bang her, jerk one all over her, and end this feeling. She’ll become just like any other girl. Coach gives us all a look. “I bet the coach from Syracuse dinner so you boys better bring it tonight.” We all cheer. Anderson, the captain, stands up and gives us all a look. “Who’s ready to bring the thunder down on them?” We cheer. “I SAID WHO’S READY TO BRING THE THUNDER DOWN ON THEM?” “WE ARE!” we scream as a team. The team we have become in the past month. We have places and routines and plays. It’s planned and precise. We have found our stride. “THEN LET’S FUCKING DO IT!” We stand, bumping against one another as we leave the locker room, ready to kick some ass. The adrenaline fills me, made stronger by the sound of skates on the rubber floor. We thump and bump our way to the rink. The home crowd screams as the music gets louder and the announcer shouts our intro. We hit the ice, banging our sticks and raising arms in victory—the victory we’re about to have. I skate, scanning the crowd. In the seats close to the ice I see her face. I blink and assume I’m hallucinating, but she’s there in a coat with a hot drink and Sami and the brunette from her work by her side. She offers a simple wave. Her cheeks are pink from the cold of the stands. She came to my game? I’ve never had a girl I actually liked at my game. PFs yeah, but not a girl like her. “Holy shit, Sami and Nat came to the game.” Mike nudges me. “You mind if I ask Natalie out?” He gives me a smug grin. “I mean, one of us might as well get the chance to fuck her, right? You can’t so I should. I can give you details.” He laughs and offers her a wink and a kissy face. My blood courses through my veins, boiling and killing whatever common sense I might have had before this moment. The music changes as we do our lap and the Syracuse team hits the ice. Coach calls us back in. My eyes land on hers once more. It’s the last time I see her face for the entire game.

Chapter Twenty-Three Misconduct, all around Natalie “They look so hot in those uniforms,” I mutter. “Better than the video games.” “Jersey, don't say uniform. They don't like it.” Sami points. “See that guy there, number twenty-eight on Syracuse?” “Yeah.” She winks. “You might remember him from when we were kids. He’s a friend of Will and Matt’s.” She rolls her eyes. “He was asking about you.” My eyes dart to Brady, ignoring the guy as I nod. “Cool.” Not even wanting to know his name, I give Liz a look. “Do you like hockey?” Since I’ve been listening to Brady’s games I’ve started to kind of dig it a bit. “No.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I don't hate it. I just don't know it. I’m not painting my face the colors of the uniforms.” I laugh. “I know what you mean.” I nod at Sami. “I’m coming around to it. She loves hockey.” “Players. I love hockey players. The game is awesome foreplay. But it could be any game. I just like how rough they can get.” Her green eyes sparkle. Liz cocks an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” We all sip our hot cocoa and wait for the warm-up to end. They play music and do raffles. There’s a kiss cam. Of course it lands on thee Sami Ford. She gives me a look, but I shake my head and offer my cheek. She plants her lush lips on it, smearing me with lip gloss. I leave the lip mark there as the rink explodes in cheering. When the whistle finally blows and the puck drops I feel like we’ve been here forever. The stands are filled with savages, screaming their faces off. Hartford gets the puck on the drop and suddenly they just become players in the video game to me. The center flicks it to the right to the guy skating with him, right winger I think. That guy dekes around another guy, faking a pass and then skating forward fast and hard. They shout but over the sound of the stands there’s no hope of hearing them. Someone steals the puck by deflecting it with a skate and then passes to a cherry picker who’s just beside the Hartford line. Syracuse skates forward, passing and weaving but Hartford intercepts the way they did. They play like this for almost the entire period, teasing and taunting us with near goals and then finally something crazy happens. A guy from the Syracuse team hits a Hartford man and takes him into the boards hard. The guy drops, taking a minute. The ref blows his whistle and there’s a penalty. The Syracuse team gets boos and hisses from the crowd, and when the Hartford guy gets up I wince seeing his last name. It’s Mitch Daniels. Everyone cheers when he gets up and skates to the bench, but you can see he’s injured. “Why is there a penalty? I thought you were allowed to hit people.” “He checked from behind and violently and Mitch didn't have the puck. You can’t do that.” Sami knows far more than she lets on. She loves the game. Players or not. “How come Syracuse dude is going to the bench and not to the penalty box?” Liz points as a different player comes onto the ice. “What’s that guy doing?”

“Jesus, you two. Read the rules. It’s a two and ten for the minor penalty and misconduct of a CFB. He’s got a two-minute penalty and he’s benched for ten minutes. His replacement can fulfill his time in the penalty box before coming out to play. Mitch’s head snapped back. He could have been injured seriously. That's a misconduct.” Sami sounds annoyed, “Now it’s a power play for Hartford. They better score.” Liz and I laugh, earning a scolding look from her. The game goes on from there with a puck drop, which Hartford wins. Syracuse plays hard, short one man for the two minutes. Their goalie is some kind of magician. Hartford takes four shots on goal over the course of the two minutes but none go in. I wish I were in control of them. I could have done way better. The timer goes off and the period is over. The Zamboni comes out as the team leaves the ice. The music starts again and the announcer begins shouting recaps of the game and playing new raffle games. “This is intense!” Liz shouts, looking excited. She’s clearly been won over. Sami grins wide. “I know, right?” The small break ends and they start up again. The guy from the Syracuse team waves at us. Sami waves back, nudging me to wave too. I offer a confused one. I don't know him or why he’d be interested in me. He doesn’t even know me, and I can’t remember if she said his name. I don't even care. The puck drops, and as with all the others, Hartford wins it. The center flicks it to the right; he does this every time. They need to work on that. The right winger brings it up, passing it to the left winger who has crossed over. The three forwards come up as a line, passing quickly and skating hard. One of the Syracuse guys does a good check, stealing the puck by sweeping it with his skate and passing to a defenseman. Brady is on, skating hard for the puck. He takes the guy into the boards, stealing it back. No one’s open so he brings the puck down himself, weaving gracefully. I jump up, shouting, “GO, BRADY!” My heart is racing and my hands are sweating. Sami is screaming like a crazy person. Brady dekes to the right, going left and moving his stick and the puck so fast I can hardly keep track of it. One of the guys tries to check him but Brady stops fast and goes the other way, dodging the guy. I am hopping up and down like a crazy person. His teammates skate with him but they don't catch him. He flicks and shoots, going for the top right part of the net. The light goes. “SCORE!” The entire arena goes insane. His face and number flashes on the screens. I become something I don't think I've ever been. Crazed. I shout and cheer, hugging to Sami and Liz as we all scream. He raises his arms up as the guys on the ice attack with hugs and slaps on the back. They head back for center ice. He looks fierce. That makes me want to peel the jersey right off him. No, fuck it. Let him keep it on. I just need his hands, face, and cock freed. It’s officially the dirtiest thing I have ever thought. “He’s agile for such a big dude!” Liz points. My cheeks flush as I glance down. “Yeah.” I don't want either of them to know. His is the only goal for the entire game, but the feeling of pride and sexual awareness

don't fade. The game gets aggressive as each team attempts to score again but no one does. When the final timer goes, the Hartford team skates for Dean, congratulating him on the shutout. Liz breathes a deep breath. “Oh my God. I think that's the first time I’ve ever felt this alive.” “That was a brutal game!” Sami looks like she might explode, she’s vibing so hard. We don't wait for them to be done showering or celebrating. We head over to Vaughan’s for a drink. It’s walking distance from XL Center where they play their home games. We sit, just the three of us, and order a drink from the girl who was throwing herself at the guys last time we were here. My mom texts as I get my gin and tonic. We need to talk about William. I sigh and text back. No. I don't want to talk about it. “What?” Sami asks. I flash the phone, making her recoil. “Yikes. I think your mom has been planning this marriage since you were in diapers. Be strong.” My phone rings so I slump. “I’ll be right back.” Liz looks confused as I get up and leave the table. “Hello?” “William came to see your father and I. You have some serious explaining to do, young lady.” I get outside and lean against the side of the building. “Mom, I don't want to talk about this. Will and I are broken up, and we’re never getting back together. You need to move on.” “DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME I NEED TO MOVE ON! THIS HAS THAT SLUT SAMANTHA WRITTEN ALL OVER IT! YOU’RE DISGUSTING JUST LIKE SHE IS!” “What?” Anger starts to rise in me. “He told me about the repulsive situation you’re living in, with that hockey player.” She sounds like she’s had a few. “You lied to us and we trusted you. You are coming home, missy!” “Put Dad on.” “NO!” I end the call and call my dad’s cell phone. “Nat?” He sounds confused. “You okay, kiddo?” He doesn't sound like he knows anything. “No.” I can’t stop the rage from becoming tears. “Dad, I need you to trust me and listen to me before she gets to you. Please, just this once, pick my side.” He pauses. “Okay. What’s going on?” “When I got here there’d been a mix up. BJ turned out to be Brady Coldwell. His nickname is BJ. He thought I was Nate the computer nerd, not Nat. He’s a guy and I’m a girl but it’s cool. We’re just roommates.” “Brady Coldwell, the hockey player?” Of course he knows this. “Yeah.” “Holy shit, is he a nice guy?” I laugh. “Yeah. He’s amazing. He punched William for calling me a fucking slut after William cheated on me for the last three years with all my friends except Sami.” I’ve never said the f-word to my dad before.

He’s silent, but I need him to register what I’m saying. “Are you and Brady an item? That's a bit risky, Nat. You live together.” “No, we’re not. He’s just a friend. A really awesome friend who’s made it easy for me to see that William is scum. I’m done with the whole William and I thing. I need Mom to move on. I need her to understand he’s not a nice guy. He’s rich. That's his only redeeming quality. My dad chuckles after a minute. “What did it look like when Brady punched him? Did William cry? I imagine he’s a crier.” “I don't know.” I laugh, relieved as tears trickle down my cheeks. “It was horrible and perfect. His head snapped back and then he lunged at Brady, but he can’t fight like him. William was out of his league.” “He was never in your league, my dear. You’ve always liked him and pined after him so I tolerated it for your sake. But calling you that name, after everything—” He pauses again. “I’m very glad Brady was there and I trust you, Nat. You’ve never given me a reason not to. William, unfortunately for your mother, has. When I meet Brady, I’d like to shake his hand.” “I love you, Dad.” Tears stream my cheeks. “I’ll take care of her. She’ll see reason on this. She just hates that we aren’t these people. We aren’t like them. We won’t ever be.” “I’m not trying to be a disappointment.” The words are hard to say. “You couldn't disappoint me if you tried to. Just live and be twenty-two. Your birthday is soon. This is your last little bit as a twenty-two-year-old girl. Be a little reckless. Not too reckless.” “Okay.” I sniffle and wipe my face, grateful we used waterproof makeup. “Love you.” “You too, kid.” He hangs up and I turn the phone off. My mom has sent me a dozen texts filled with hate and self-pity, and I can’t read them just now. “Natalie Banks?” I turn, seeing a guy I don't know. “Yeah?” I take a step toward the door. “Do I know you?” He shakes his head. “No. Maybe. I don't know if you remember me. I’m a friend of Matt and Sami’s.” “Oh, you’re the guy she pointed out on the Syracuse team.” “Yeah. Sorry, where are my manners? Zach Palfrey.” He offers a hand. He’s tall—they’re all tall—with dark hair and bright-blue eyes. He looks like every hockey player with his grizzled scruff and sexy body, except he’s got something about him that screams blue blood. The last name takes a cruise through my mind until I stop. “Palfrey as in Richard Palfrey?” “My dad.” I do know him. He’s insanely rich and friends with William and Sami. We’ve met once a long time ago when William graduated. I was in ninth grade then and Sami made me come with her to the grad. “We’ve met before.” “Yeah, I wasn't sure if you remembered. It’s been a while.” “You look different.” He was skinnier then and shorter. “Bloomed a bit late which was good for hockey.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I got fast and efficient before I got big.” “I see. Sami’s inside. Want to come sit?” I grab the door handle. “Yeah, I was actually coming to meet her.” Good God, is something going on with them?

“Cool.” I open the door and walk in ahead of him, giving Sami a weird look from across the pub. Her eyes widen as she gets up and leads Liz toward Zach. Sami and him hug, but it’s clearly not that kind of hug. Liz very clearly swoons meeting him. I can’t decide if I’m glad he’s here or not. I have a large lump in my stomach. It’s made of the fear that Sami has arranged our hanging out, as in his and mine. Like a blind date, two days after my boyfriend and I broke up and I screwed my roommate. Awkward.

Chapter Twenty-Four PFs unite Brady My high from winning the game and getting the only goal is killed instantly the moment I see her sitting at the table with Palfrey. Sami laughs and points at the shots around them on the table. They all grab one and drink it back. Nat shudders. She does that thing where she pulls her hair back, like she’s preparing for war. She does this every time I cook something that might not be tasty. “Is that an enemy player with your girl?” Dean leans in, nudging me. I give him a look. “She’s not my girl. I don't care that she’s here with him. He’s a friend from the rich circles I’m sure.” He nods, smiling wide. “We had a good night, buddy. Let’s not make it a bad night.” Mike cringes when he sees Nat and Zach. “Maybe we should drink somewhere else.” “You guys, stop. You’re making it something. Zach and I have hung out. We both know Mattie pretty well.” I roll my eyes and stroll over to the table where she is. “Hey!” She jumps up, hesitating and then jumping into my arms. The smell and feel of her comes back too fast. “Congrats!” She pulls back, giving me a funny look. She’s been crying, but she’s trying to hide it. Something’s wrong. If it’s that asshole Fairfield again I’m going to jail . . . “Thanks.” I tilt my head at the bar. “Wanna come get a round with me?” She smiles wide. “Yeah.” I give Zach a nod. “Hey, man.” “Nice goal tonight.” He stands and shakes my hand. “Thanks, Bro.” The rest of the team behind him sighs and starts coming for the table. Mitch’s server girl puts some tables together for us to make the huge one we normally have. “We’ll go get the next round.” I reach over and slide an arm around Nat’s waist. She doesn't stiffen or react the way she should. She melts into my touch and lets me lead her to the bar. “Can we talk somewhere quiet first?” I whisper in her ear. She takes my hand in hers and leads me to the back of the pub. We might as well start picking out curtains. I don't even want to fight it. I want to pick out curtains. She looks up at me, killing me with those red-rimmed eyes. “Why were you crying?” I stop near the bathrooms. She shakes her head. “It doesn't matter. It’s over.” Her eyes sparkle, even in the dark. I think light comes from inside her. “Is it Will?” I hate that I even said his name instead of calling him fuckhead or twatface or something else she wouldn't appreciate. “No.” She’s lying. “Seriously, what is it?” She sighs and passes me her phone. She presses down on her chat with her mom. I scan through the texts, going from angry to disturbed to actually doubting this woman raised this crazy awesome girl in front of me. “You must be a lot like your dad.” I can’t say anything else

because if I do I’ll call her mom all the names I’ve silently given Will. “I used to think I was like her. But I don't anymore.” I press my lips together to stop myself from saying everything I want to, and look at her. I pass her phone back to her and shake my head. “There’s not a single thing true in there. Not one.” I step forward, releasing the huge sloppy mess I am inside. “She has spent a lifetime with you and hasn't ever seen you. People never see you. They see the friends and now the team and the people around you. But no one sees you.” I swallow the fear in me that's begging me to man up and not say the things on my chest, but I have to. I hate that she’s hurting. I hate it. “I see you.” I lift a hand and cup her cheek. “You deserve better than everyone in your life has given you.” Including me. “Thank you.” Her eyes start to shine but she goes easy on me. “But I assure you, there are plenty of people who have been amazing to me. My mom is just one of the people who has expectations and can’t see past her own goals for me.” She doesn't make it weird. She squeezes my hand and pulls me down to her. When I kiss her this time it’s worse than the first time. My entire chest aches, and I know nothing will ever be the same again. We kiss until I can’t take it anymore. I need her. “Let’s go home,” I whisper but she shakes her head and laughs. “No.” She runs a hand over the front of my jeans. “I like where you’re at. Besides, I have to differentiate myself from the usual PFs. I have to make it more fun.” She winks and leaves me there, hard and desperate. If only she knew how I felt and how different she is from the girls who just like the hockey. The night is more painful than any I can remember having in a long time. She laughs and tugs at all my heartstrings. She smiles and I feel like I’m on autopilot and smile with her for no reason. The torment lasts a couple of hours before I decide to man up. At some point I come out of the haze and somehow get my blue balls back from her keychain and get my drink on. The boys toast me as more of the guys from Syracuse make their way into the pub. It goes from awkward with Zach and Nat to all of us singing and laughing. We might as well be in a real Irish pub. I stumble out of the bathroom, ready to get another drink but a hand grabs me, dragging me through the back, past the kitchen and through the back door into the alley. Natalie doesn't kiss me. She smiles wide, reaching up her dress and pulling her underwear off. She puts them in my pocket and starts undoing my pants, dragging my sidearm out of my jeans. It’s been in various stages of erect all night. Reaching into my other pocket she laughs, biting her lip and pulling out a condom. I shrug, having no defense, apart from I like to screw and I like to be prepared to do it. She slides it on with a firm grip, making me groan as I scoop her up, pressing her back against the wall of the pub. She weighs almost nothing, maybe a hundred and fifteen pounds. She’s not even my warm-up weight so bouncing her on my thighs isn’t hard. She lowers herself onto me, taking it slowly until her legs are wrapped around mine. She digs her nails in, gripping me as I thrust increasingly harder. The way she clings and the feel of her wrapped around me, brings a sensation I don't like. The alley isn’t good enough for her. My brain starts to rifle through the regret hitting me hard. I close my eyes and see the girl from the employees only room. The brunette I Clintoned.

She moans and arches, moving her body the way she needs to. There’s desperation in her for me to keep the pace I’m going, which is easy. I couldn't come now if my life depended up on it. I’m stuck with the fear someone will see her. Someone will think she’s a PF. She reaches back, grabbing onto a pipe above her. The way she rotates her hips, bites her lip, and closes her eyes has me mesmerized. She comes, writhing and jerking her body onto mine. It’s time to Clinton and I can’t do it. I’m choking. I fake my orgasm, staring at her. She sighs as I put her down, handing her back her underwear. “You don't want them?” “No. I want you to wear them far more.” I don't sound like I had an orgasm. She’s sweaty and satisfied and I’m dying. I drag her dress down and steer her toward the pub, ripping the condom off and tossing it behind me. I zip up as she walks in. “I don't want anyone to see you out here.” “You’re far more of a gentleman than I expected.” She shakes her head, walking into the bathroom for the ladies as I enter the guys. It was the worst sex I think I’ve ever had. The look on my face is troubling. I couldn't pull out and Clinton her. I need to drink more. Heading back out, I earn looks from her the whole night, but I avoid her. I don't know what to do about her. I can’t drink too much because she’s here. Because we live together, I can’t let her know I like her—a lot. It’s the worst post-game celebration ever. Thankfully, at some point Nat, the brunette, and Sami all leave, but we stay out. We end up at a party after the bar with PFs and a few wives. The wives hang in the corner, not dressed anywhere as revealing as the PFs. Some of them used to be puck fucks and have classed it up. No doubt they've been asked to do it. No guy wants everyone else thinking his girl is on the market, and unfortunately for girls, men are visual creatures. We assume if you’re showing a lot of skin, you want us to look. I don't buy into the whole girls dressing a certain way deserve to get raped. But at the same time I wouldn't want my girl showing the merchandise off while she walked down the street at two in the morning or coming to a sports party with a bunch of knuckle-dragging meatheads, as Nat calls us. Dress for success I say. If you are looking for love in all the wrong orifices, show me those orifices. When I see no underwear on a girl in a dress, I assume she wants me to talk to her, and by talk, I mean fuck. If she winks and walks to the bathroom, even better. We don't even have to talk to get to the fucking. Here at the after-party, there’s a lot of talent and most of it’s on the market. I, however, am not on the market. I’m still rocking the remorse sidearm from earlier. It comes and goes with my shame of not being able to use her like a fuck toy, combined with thinking about using her as a fuck toy. Mike passes me a beer and nods at the girls in the corner all sitting and laughing amongst themselves. “The wives club looks extra annoyed tonight.”

“First party with the PFs. They loosen up as the year goes on.” “That one on the end doesn't look like she’s going to mellow out.” He tilts his head at the girl with the bright blonde hair. She looks plastic. We’re all young twenties and she’s already plastic. “She must be pissed about something. Who’s she here with?” “Not a clue. I’ve never seen her before. I don't know any of the wives.” He says it and turns, spitting some of his beer on the floor. “Oh shit.” I follow his eyes to the three girls who just showed up with Zach. “What the hell?” I start in that direction, but Mike grabs my arm, gripping hard. “Stop and breathe first. Take a couple of deep ones in. Then decide the right thing to do. He’s taunting you. He brought the girl you like, regardless of what you say, to a puck-fuck party. You’re angry. I’m angry. I don't want any of those three girls here. Everyone assumes it’s open season on anyone but the wives. I don't even like the wives here. I think an after-party with a bunch of drunk hockey players who are hyped up on the win is a terrible place to have a girl you like.” His eyes are earnest and wide. “I get it, Bro. I just don't want you to get into trouble for something stupid like punching out Zach.” I take three deep breaths. “Why would he bring them here? Why are they even still with him? I thought they went home.” “Two reasons. One, he’s brought them to be the big man on campus here, show us who he hangs with. It’s likely to make up for the fact he lost the game.” “What’s the second reason?” My eyes don't leave her. “He knows you have a thing for her, and he wants to torment you and draw out a fight to get you suspended or get you some charges. He wants the fight.” I take two more breaths. “Okay. So she’s a pawn.” I want to kill him, but I agree and I’m smarter than to fall for this. I did actually graduate from college, and I had to maintain my grade average. My daddy couldn't buy my way into Ivy League. “Then I guess I just have to make her come to me.” I give him a grin. He sighs. “I didn't mean that you needed to stoop to his level. I meant avoid it altogether.” “Not a chance.” I head for the pool table where a couple of guys are playing with girls draped across them. “I’ll play the winner.” Chuck, one of the forwards, gives me a nod. “That's me. Corner right.” He bends forward and sinks the eight ball in the corner right. Dean wrinkles his nose and hands me the cue. “Kick his ass for me.” “Oh I will.” I give Chuck a rogue smile. “Ready to get spanked?” He laughs. “Yup, let’s see what you got, Coldwell.” He racks and breaks, sinking nothing on the break and the balls are spread evenly. “Fuck.” I beam and point at the orange stripe ball. “Thirteen, side pocket.” I lean in and sink it with a thwack. “Ten in right corner.” I hardly even have to bend forward to send it sailing straight into the pocket.” I grab my beer and chug the entire thing. “Nine in the left corner.” It is a bit of an angled shot, banking it off the opposite wall, but that doesn't matter. It lands with a thud in the pocket. “Holy shit, Brady!” Chuck glares at Dean who’s laughing. “You knew, didn't you?” “Yup.” Dean grins wide. “Fourteen, left pocket right here.” I nod at the pocket next to me.

“Pshhhh. Whatever.” Chuck shakes his head. I glance back at Nat and wave. “I need my lucky charm.” Her lips spread into a big smile. “What?” “Lucky charm. Come on.” She makes her way over, scowling at the balls. “What’s the shot?” “Fourteen in this pocket.” She scoffs. “If you don't get it I can finish the game for you.” She winks. “You can be my lucky charm.” I wonder if everyone else in the room knows we’re screwing. She has zero poker face. I give Chuck a look. He throws his hands in the air. “I might have better odds if she plays.” I hand her the cue and she bends across the table, flashing that sexy ass in that short skirt. I stand in the way of the view, unable to stop myself. She doesn't care that I’m there. She looks at the angle one more time before looking back at me and shooting without even looking. She grins, but I can tell she’s listening. When the ball lands in the pocket she jumps up and gives the table a look. “Eleven in the left side.” She points with the cue before bending across the table, drawing all the eyes in the room. She taps it, sending it gently into its hole. “Jesus, do you guys do this as foreplay?” She gives him a look. “We play Xbox.” She looks at me and winks. I laugh, but she points at the last striped ball on the table. “Twelve in the corner on the right.” It’s another bank shot. She holds her breath as she lines it up and exhales as she shoots, nailing it. She passes me back the cue. “You want the eight ball?” I give Chuck another look. “I don't give a fuck.” He snarls. He’s a sore loser. I love it. I look at the worst shot on the table, giving him a chance. “Eight ball this pocket here.” I point to the one beside me. He rolls his eyes. “You trying to lose after a great show?” Natalie looks confused. “Really?” “Yeah.” She smiles wide, cocking an eyebrow and pulling her phone from her pocket. She texts and grins. My phone vibrates. I shake my head as I pull it out and swallow hard, staring at the words she’s written. Scratch and I’ll make it worth your while. I bend forward, shooting and sinking the eight ball in the pocket to my left instead of my right. Fuck it. “Dude, you said the other pocket! I win!” Chuck shouts, clearly missing the shit-eating grin on my face. I want her to make it worth my while.

Chapter Twenty-Five Slut shaming Natalie He gives me a look from across the room, lifting his beer to his lips. I sigh and swoon over the fact he embarrassed himself without a single explanation to Chuck. He took the loss like it was nothing. He suspected I could play pool. But it was more like he guessed and knew because he’s getting to know me well enough to be able to do those things. No one has ever done that before. Except Sami and my dad, but they've known me forever. And the sex in the alley was oh my God awesome. I’ve never come like that, against a wall outside. It was exhilarating to be doing something so wrong. I repay him for his look with a leer as I too suck from the bottle of beer in my hand. His mouth toys with a grin as I contemplate the feel of him against my body. His hands digging into my hips, lifting and thrusting. The feel of him inside me. It’s weird but the best part was that he wanted me to put my underwear back on. That was a move I regretted the moment I did it. I need underwear. I’m that girl. I’m excited that we’re going to do it again, but in a bedroom this time. Excitement isn’t the right word. My eyes draw to the crotch of his jeans, remembering what’s in them. The feeling of him filling me up and making us one still gets me excited, but I also fear the fact that he’s Brady my roommate and I’m not the girl who does this. Yes, I flirt. I laugh. I joke. I’m human. But I don't wear tight dresses and lie across pool tables. I don't send sexy texts. I don't screw in alleys. I don't act risqué. He has me coming out of a shell I didn't know I had on. I don't fit into his world. But it’s not his fault. He didn't invite me into the world. I forced my way in. Looking around the room I can’t help but grimace at it all. The whole thing has Liz uncomfortable too, even if she’s laughing and joking with Zach and Mike. I can see her scowling at the girls in tiny dresses all giggly and ditzy. She’s slut shaming and I feel like I am too, even against myself. I want so badly to be that girl who wears whatever she wants and declares to the whole world she isn’t asking for a guy to hit on her. I want to be Sami. But I’m not. I wore this dress to a hockey game, expecting to be hit on. I didn't change, knowing I was coming to an after-party, even though I let Brady screw me in an alley. Actually, I forced him to do it. I wanted Brady to want me and he does. And now that I have him I can’t use him the way a dirty guy like him is meant to be used. His eyes roam my body, making me blush and look down. He crosses the room, not even excusing himself from the people talking to him. When he gets to me, my whole body is tensed. He leans against the wall, tilting his head. “Want to go somewhere quiet?” “How did you know I could play pool?” I change the subject, determined not to be the girl

who screws at the PF after-party. “Your eyes. You looked at the ball, the pocket, and then instantly zigzagged along the table in the exact way I was going to shoot. Only a good pool player would have seen that.” His thorough answer makes me grin. “You took quite the gamble on me.” “I trust you.” The words come out like they’re the most unnatural thing for him to say. “Want to go somewhere quiet so you can tell me what’s running through that head of yours?” “You can’t guess?” He takes a visual stroll across me, stopping on my eyes again. “You wish you never came here. You’re realizing you’re not actually like these girls, and you don't just like me because I play hockey.” “Wow.” I pull back. “That's uncanny.” “You’ve been eyeing up the wives and other girls pretty harshly.” “The girls all talking to each other in the corner are wives?” I was wondering about them. There are only about five and they seem like the mean girls at school. “Yeah.” My jaw drops. “They’re married? What are they, Mormons? Who gets married at twenty?” He laughs. “Wives are girlfriends. We call them wives. It just means they’re not party favors.” “Gross.” “Don't hate the players. It’s a mutually beautiful thing. These girls dig sports players. They’re like groupies. They just wanna say they screwed a hockey player. They care about very little else as far as we’re concerned. Some of the idiots get together with a girl and have that baggage to tote around to the varying teams they land on. Some of them even get married. Then they hit the NHL and it’s all about road trips. It’s not the kind of life you want to have someone follow you around on, with girls like these ones throwing themselves at you constantly. Divorce is super high.” My insides tighten, but I try desperately to keep the smile on my face and not worry about the fact he just wants this to be casual. But I have no poker face. None. His eyes meet mine and he pauses his rant about baggage of girls and hoes. “I mean, some of them make it.” The little trip inside his head, seeing what’s really on his mind and how he really feels about relationships is disappointing. And yet, it’s my own fault if I’m discouraged by the truth. He’s never been anything but honest with me. He just screwed me in an alley. Oh my God. What have I done? Oh God. I had sex outside in a dirty alleyway. Oh God. Panic sets in. I turn, and look for the support team. Sami is having a good time. Thankfully Liz turns, yawning and searching for me in the crowd. “I need to get Liz home. She’s yawning. It’s almost three,” I say and start to walk away from him. “Yeah?” He nods, grabbing my arm gently. “I’ll get you both home.” “No. You stay and have fun.” I shake my head. “It’s okay. We can get the limo driver to get us home. Liz is staying at our place tonight with Sami anyway.”

“I’ll come with you. She or Sami can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.” He doesn't sound like he’s negotiating. “Okay.” I wave at Liz and point at the door. She looks relieved and nods, saying something to Zach and then leaving his side. He turns and looks at me and then Brady. He offers a smile, but I don't know what it means. I hope he isn’t into me. I really hope he noticed the way Liz has been talking to him all night. I motion at Sami and the door. She waves me off, laughing and flirting with Mike and Dean. Zach sees the interaction and gives me a look. “I got that. I’ll make sure she gets home.” “Thanks.” I wave at him and give Sami a second glance. She winks and nods. Liz looks back. “She’s staying?” She looks worried. “Oh, dude. She has a security team and a limo to take her home when she’s ready. Plus, there isn’t a single guy in the room who would mess with her with Zach here. And she’s a harder partier than all of them. And everyone knows she’s seeing Matt.” “Except Zach. He might mess with her in the limo on the way home.” I swat Brady. “He’s nice. He’s friends with Matt.” “I know.” He looks bitterly at the party. “Stay if you don't want to come. We can get the limo driver to drop us off and come back for all three of you.” He gives me a scowl. “I’m not mad about leaving. I don't want Sami to stay. I don't like girls I know at shit like this. It’s trouble. The guys finish the game—they’re jacked up on the win and want to fuck. The girls here are aware of that. Sami is aware of that. Poor life choices get made in a situation like this one. And if you were at one of these parties, I would hope Matt wouldn't leave you here alone, with no one but Zach to watch over you.” I’m stunned. He compared me to Sami for Matt, but for him. I’m his Sami? “Fuck it, I’m dragging her ass out.” He turns and starts back inside. I grab his arm. “Whoa, wait. I’ll go. I can get her without Zach acting like I’m stepping on his toes.” I wait for him to agree. He doesn't do it verbally, but I know we have an agreement. Then I go inside and come back out moments later with Sami in tow. She staggers and laughs. “Party pooper.” She sticks her tongue out at Brady. “How’d you manage that?” Sami gives him another sneer. “She said if I didn't come nicely you were going to come in there and carry me out. And I know you would so I came. I don't need Matt to hear that I got carried out of a puck-fuck party.” Liz winces. “What?” She looks back, horrified. “What did you just say?” “You heard it right.” Sami laughs again. “Girls who like hockey players are puck bunnies or puck fucks or PFs. They’re just there for the high sticking.” She laughs too hard at her own joke. Brady chuckles but Liz looks disturbed. She mouths the names and gives me another look. “I know. It’s disgusting.” “Everything has groupies. Think about all the girls who follow bands around America or Europe. Or the girls who love actors. Or the girls who adore baseball players or football stars. Everything has groupies. PFs are hockey groupies.” Sami sighs and she folds her way into the limo. “I’m a total puck fuck. I love Matt.” She sits up abruptly and looks at Brady. “That goes to

the grave or I pay to have you killed.” “What does?” He grins.

Chapter Twenty-Six Blue balls and broken hearts Brady The trainer adds another huge stack to the set. “I want three, Brady. Just three.” I put my hands on the bar and puff my breaths out three times before flexing everything, tightening my core, and lifting with everything in me. I pump out the first chest press, certain I won’t make another, but I’ll be damned if I won’t try. I shake a little but squeeze that second one. The third one is full defeat. The trainer grabs the bar as it’s falling and nestles it back in the holder. “Nice work.” My chest is tight from the workout and my balls are aching from the cock tease I live with. And the fact I can’t just screw her and end it. It’s been a week since the empty promise of making it worth my while if I scratched was texted. Since then I’ve been waiting for my prize, but she’s doing the pulling back thing. We talk but we don't say anything. We stare at each other but look away when the other person sees. It’s gotten annoying but at the same time it’s saving us from making the biggest mistake ever. My willpower is pathetic. I have to count on her. The alley proved I don't think about it the way I should. “Hit the mats for some stretching and then you can hit the showers,” he shouts at Mitch and me. We walk together to the mats, flopping down, and start stretching. “How’s Nat?” Mitch nods my way. “Good. She got some award for some cover she did like three weeks ago. She’s all excited about it. It’s really good too. I didn't even know she was as skilled as she is. It’s like real art.” He looks dead inside, he’s so bored. “I meant like did you bang her yet?” My face says everything. “Right,” he withdraws his question. “Cool about the cover.” Mike comes and flops next to us. “My glutes are killing me. This was a tough workout.” “Yeah.” I nod. “Mine is my chest. It’s tight as balls. I might need some massage and maybe a little yoga.” “Yoga?” Mitch cocks an eyebrow. “Don't hate. It works and Natalie goes to this class a couple of blocks over from XL and I’ve seen what she wears. It’s a tiny little thing, like a swimsuit. I made fun of her, and she said it’s hot and sweaty and all the girls wear it.” Mike looks alive. “What time is yoga?” “She goes at like six randomly during the week.” I say it because I know she isn’t going tonight. She was on the phone with Liz from work and said she’s feeling a little stuffy and was going to have to cancel. “I’m in. Sweaty girls in bikinis and some stretching sounds like just what I need.” I almost agree but my balls are killing me. I need to rub one out, but I’ve been too tired. I head for the showers, offering a nod. “I’ll text ya the address when I get it from her.” The shower doesn't help.

The drive home doesn't distract me. Being at the apartment alone while she’s at work can’t seem to entice me to wank off. I want her. The smell of her is in the apartment, every single corner of it. Even my room where she hasn't ever been. She’s trouble. I’m in trouble. I head into the bathroom to take a piss but I pause in the mirror, seeing the face of misery and longing haunting me. I grimace but it doesn't go away. I have to say something. My plan to dirty fuck her didn't pan out. I take my piss and stew about the whole thing. She’s exactly the sort of distraction I don't need. I contemplate calling my brother, but I know what he would say. He would tell me that if something is eating at me I just need to say it out loud to the person and it will go away. Bottled things fester. That’s how Dad always used to say it. It takes me some time and internal wrestling before I finally see that the only choice I have is to say what I think and be done with it. I’ll tell her how I feel and then it’ll be off my chest and I can move on. She’ll put up a wall, and we’ll stay here in the awkward tension of both wanting something we can’t have. Looking around the apartment I cringe. I can’t do it here. I have to do it somewhere else. I glance at my phone and realize she’s off in ten minutes. If I hurry I can be waiting there for her when she gets outside. I grab my keys and run for the stairs, leaping down them and out of the building. Checking for traffic, I run in the empty gap and hurry across Bushnell Park and past the capitol building. Hope builds in me as I get close. I’ve never even come close to the moment I’m about to have and as much as it scares me I’m excited. My legs are taxed, my chest is aching, and my balls are killing me, but the moment I get to the door I forget it all. She waves and smiles, heading straight for me. She looks perfect, like an angel. I forget every bit of pain I’m in. I forget the possibility she’s going to tell me she’s not interested. I know in my heart that this is the moment when we start. I’m going to say it and she’s going to agree and we’re going to kiss. It’s going to be textbook romance chick flick. I don't recognize myself but maybe that's not a bad thing. “Hey!” She strolls over, shouldering her workbag. “Hey, I can carry that for you.” I reach out, not for her but for the bag. “Thanks.” She blushes and nods, looking down as she hands it to me. She hasn't met my gaze since the pool game and the promise. I don't even care about the promise. I need to say it before I lose my nerve. “Can we talk?” I blurt out as we stroll back toward the capitol building. “Sure. I think we need to anyway.” She sounds funny. “I have to say something that's been eating at me. I think if I say it I’ll feel better, and it’ll stop taking over my life.” The words aren’t the way I intended them, but I can’t stop myself. My

nerves are shot. “Okay.” She looks straight ahead, still not meeting my gaze. When we get to the capitol building, it starts to rain as I open my mouth. “Oh shit!” She lifts her hood and runs for the side of the building. I jog after her with water dripping down my face as I struggle for the words I was so confident of a moment ago. “Is something wrong?” She looks worried. Her bright-blue eyes are wide and scared. I wonder if I look the same. I’m terrified. “Yes.” My lips tremble as the rain creates so much noise around us I can barely think. “I want to try to date.” “What?” “You. I want to—I uhm I like you. Not as a friend. I like you more. I like us, together. We fit.” I’m blowing this. What the hell was that? I’m cooler than this. Be cool, for fuck’s sake. Be cool. Her perfect lips part, confused and stuck on the words she wants to say. Her eyebrows draw together, but I see the horror of the answer in her eyes. “Oh.” She swallows and nods. “Okay, uhm.” I’ve taken her by surprise. She doesn't feel the same way at all. “Brady.” She starts but she can’t finish. “Nat,” I whisper her name as my heart cracks, freezing over in my chest. “I-I just had to say it—needed to get it off my chest.” I force a smile across my lips. “It’s just—we—already.” My words die off as the pain in my body becomes overwhelming. Her eyes sparkle. “I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to make you think that I wanted—” “You didn't.” I shake my head, but I’m hovering over her, staring down at her pink lips like an idiot. “At all.” It’s a complete lie. She fucking did make me think she wanted me, but I don't want to be that douche. I shrug. “I just—it’s been on my mind. Now it’s not.” I cock an eyebrow and a grin and nod toward the apartment. “Ready to go?” She swallows hard but she nods. “Yeah.” “How are you feeling?” If I keep being normal maybe she won’t notice how close I am to screaming and ripping her bag apart. “Good. Still stuffy.” She sounds weird still. “What were you going to say before I acted like a chick?” “I think I forgot my phone in the office. I have to go back. Can I meet you at the apartment, and we’ll talk about it there?” Her voice cracks. “Yeah.” Thank you, Jesus. “Cool.” She looks like she might say something else but she doesn't. She nods and turns, walking quickly in the rain. I sigh and look up, wishing I could go back but at the same time sort of glad it’s over.

Chapter Twenty-Seven He loves me not Natalie I lean against the bathroom door in my office as tears stream my cheeks. I don't even know why I’m crying. The look on his face. The heartbroken look on his face. That’s why I’m crying. He looked like he died a little bit. “I’m such a fucking moron,” I whisper into the phone. “I was just about to tell him I couldn’t do this anymore because I can’t fuck a greasy guy like him. I need respectable and decent and he’s not. He doesn't want that. He fucking just said he doesn't.” “No, this is my fault. I never thought in a million years Brady Coldwell would end up into you like that. I thought he might screw you a few times and make you forget about William the knob.” Sami sounds like she might cry too. “I thought you would start your sexual revolution, not start another relationship.” “His face was so horrible. He was stuttering and looking so lost and then he tried to play it cool, and it was like someone was stabbing him.” I feel sick, like actually sick. The head cold is nothing, compared to this. “Oh God, you know it’s bad when a guy like him becomes a puddle. No chick is prepared for that. You have to move out. Even if you like him back, you have to move. You can’t start something with a guy you live with already.” “I know.” I nod. “I can’t do this to him, and I can’t be with him. I just got out of a terrible relationship, and the living together, I’m not there. I don't want to date. I just wanted to be properly—” “Screwed.” “Yup.” I sigh and cover my face. “I’m going to text Liz and see if I can move in with her. She said her roommate was thinking about moving out with her boyfriend.” “Okay. If that works out I’ll see if I can get up there this weekend and help you move.” That makes me laugh and cry. “You mean pay someone to move me.” “Duh, how else does someone move?” I laugh and wipe my face. “Love you.” “Love you too.” We hang up and I stare at the wall, wondering how the hell I am going to go home. Everything is a mess. My phone buzzes, scaring me. I groan when I see the name. “Hello?” “Natalie, darling. I wanted to apologize for the other night. Your father and I talked, and he said I was wrong. I see now I might have been a touch angry.” I love the way my mother takes responsibility. “Hi, Mom.” I’m emotionally exhausted and not in the mood for this at all. But I don't need her driving up here to see me. “How are you, dear?” “Good. I have a head cold.” My voice almost cracks but I keep it steady. I’m not good. I don't even know why. “Yes, you sound ill. Your father and I were hoping you’d try to make it to the Vandervalks’ anniversary party in two weeks. It’s the same weekend as Halloween. You could stay down and

see some of your friends maybe.” “Maybe.” The idea isn’t terrible and the Vandervalk family is one of the few I actually like and William hates them. “Let me see how work goes.” I don't mention the move or the hockey player, or the fact I might have made the biggest mistake ever. “Okay, dear. What about your birthday? It's in a week. What’s the plan for that?” I realize when she says it that I don't have plans. “I’ll probably go to Manhattan with Sami.” She inhales slowly and forces herself to smile. I can actually visualize the entire thing. “That sounds like fun.” “I’ll let you know.” I pause. “I love you, Mom.” “Love you too, dear.” “Bye.” I hang up and contemplate my birthday, the mess I’m in, the Vandervalks’ party, and Brady. Everything swings back to Brady. I’ve known him for two months this weekend. Sniffling, I wipe my eyes again and leave the bathroom. “Natalie?” I turn to see Randy. He smiles like my father would if he were here. “Are you all right? I mean, I can tell you’re not. What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” I sniffle. “I’ve had some boyfriend problems lately. We’ve broken up for good after three years.” I lie. I can’t bear to tell him the mess I’ve made. He’s my boss. But I also don't want him to think I’m neurotic. “Oh, boys and love are such terribly beautiful things. It will get better and if you had the inclination to break up, then it was likely the right choice. We always go back for fear of losing or being alone. If only we were smart enough to follow our hearts the first time we walk away from something.” It’s the smartest thing someone has ever said to me. “Anyway, I was going to leave you a note. Brady has actually won, as have you, a book cover contest. Penguin Random House has asked if you’ll head to New York next weekend so you can be part of the award ceremony.” “Of course.” Shit. “Yes. Absolutely.” I nod too aggressively. “Liz mentioned it was also your birthday that weekend. So I was thinking you should stay an extra night and charge it to the company.” He winks and turns, waving at me. “Don't tell me. If that's your plan, just do it and consider it a happy birthday from us.” Clinging to my phone, I turn and leave the office. It’s still pissing rain. When I get halfway across the park I pause. Panic starts to build inside me. He’s still there. He’s sitting on the side of the capitol building, staring at the grass. My heart breaks, but I force myself to walk to him. I made this mess. I have to clean it up. Every step hurts my pride and my heart. His eyes dart to mine, instantly perking his face up. He stands, walking to meet me in the middle of the path. I lift my phone, flinching when I realize the rain is dousing it. “We need to finish that conversation.” He looks annoyed now. “Okay.” I don't even know how to tell him that he won an award for being a cover model. He walks to me, not stopping at an appropriate spot on the path. He comes right up to

me, too close and yet just close enough. “I thought you wanted me too. I think you do. I’m not good at this part of this. I don't even know what the fuck I’m saying right now.” He takes a breath, calming himself. He reaches forward, cupping my chin and lifting my face. The way he touches me is softer than the rain coming down on us both. “I like you in the way a girl like you needs to be liked. I don't want to fuck you, Nat. I don't want to fuck anyone anymore.” I flinch, making him laugh nervously. “I mean, I want to ask you out for dinner and walk you home afterward and maybe kiss on the stairs. I don't want to live together and be an instant anything. I want a do-over.” “Okay.” I think I surprise us both, but I can’t think of a single reason, apart from his being a manwhore, for us not to try. “I’ll move out.” “No, you won’t. You’ll stay. I can crash with Mitch and Mike. They have a third room at their place.” He’s already thought of everything? “Okay, but there are definitely some rules.” He laughs and leans forward, kissing my forehead, taking in a breath of me like my dad does. “Of course there are. You’re a little bit of a head case.” He kisses me again, wrapping his arms around me. I don't know if it’s him shaking or me, but when I close my eyes, I don't feel the rain. I feel him and little pieces of my own world clicking into place. We walk back to our apartment in the awkward possibility of where this might all go once we get inside. He holds the door for me, looking at me with a subtle hint of a smile. It’s not the sly grin. It’s something else. At the elevator, he turns and looks down on me. “So we’re cool?” “I guess we are.” I shrug. We walk into the elevator, turning at the same moment, both facing the door. My mind fills with the memory of him pressing me into the corner of the elevator when he fought William. The back of his hand and arm rubs against the back of mine, creating even more tension. I exhale slowly, trying to stay calm. The door opens and I contemplate just asking him to stay. But he opens our apartment and pulls his hoodie off, revealing far too much of his abs. My eyes get stuck, my lips part, and when he’s done he fully catches me staring. A slow smile crosses his lips. “I’m going to get my stuff to the truck if you wanna hit the shower first.” “No.” I’m about to beg him to stay and just be my boyfriend, and we’ll pretend that we’ve been dating for years. “You shower first. You’re way more wet than I am.” He looks like he might say something but he doesn't. He stares and nods once. His dark eyes, framed by those lashes, are like a weapon. They tear into me, seeing right through me. “I’ll be fast.” He turns and walks to the shower, peeling his tee shirt off. His back is just as sexy as the front. God help me. I hurry into my room and change as fast as I can. I’ve spent two months lounging in front of him in sweats and tee shirts, but now I’m washing my face with wipes and cleaning my makeup up. I drag off my wet clothes and pull on my Lululemon yoga pants, a push up bra, and a tee shirt with a decent V in the front but let my long hair hang limp. It’s not too obvious, since I’m soaked and not going out, but it’s also formfitting and showing off the goods. I drag some lip gloss on and some new mascara. My cheeks are flushed from the cold and my eyes are sparkling from crying. I still look rough, but it’s in all the good ways.

Pretending to be drying my hair, I leave the room. He leaves the bathroom in a towel. His body is glistening and hard. The memory of the way his skin felt under my palms still haunts me. I used him. I didn't get to appreciate him. I never worshipped at the temple he is. His eyes meet mine again, him standing in the doorway of the bathroom and me here in my room. Ignoring all the common sense alarms going off in my head, I walk to him. I don't let my fear or worry filter my acts. I press my hands against his meaty chest and push him back into the bathroom. I flick on the light and close the door, as if to block out the world. “I don't want you to fuck me. I want you to show me how you feel.” The words are brave and bold, and I don't know if I am any of those things, but I do those acts as if I am. He nods, letting the towel drop to the floor.

Chapter Twenty-Eight Magical vag Natalie “So he moved all his stuff out for you and never asked for the rent money back?” Liz sips her wine, glancing around. “He didn't even take his stuff from the kitchen or his Xbox. He said I could use it as long as I wanted. Honestly, though we’ve hung out every day and I suspect eventually he’ll be sleeping here again. Maybe that's why. We both know it’s inevitable. I tried to tell him I could get a roommate. I was thinking we could live together.” “Yeah, that would have worked perfectly. My lease is up.” Her eyes narrow. “What did you do to him?” “What?” I swallow the lump in my throat as I recall the things we did to each other in the shower. “I don't know.” “She has magic vagina. I’ve seen this before.” Sami winks. “Boys can’t refuse magic vag.” “If anyone is rocking the magical vag, it’s you.” I roll my eyes. “And what is magic vag, exactly?” Liz cocks her head to the side. “It’s the soul mate to the penis of the manwhore. He wants to, but he can’t fight his need for more of that.” Sami laughs. “It changes him.” “It started out as urban legend, but you’re making shit up now.” I make a face at her and sip my wine. “Whatever.” Sami gives Liz a look. “So are you going to these cover model awards?” My phone buzzes, drawing my eyes to it. A smile owns my face when I see the message. Thinking about you. Wanna hang out? Glancing at Liz and Sami, I press my lips together as they start talking about something else. Yeah, is this you asking me out for a date? Because the shower was a one time deal. I can’t help but laugh. He’s texting me at night and asking if I want to hang out, like he’s not into the bootie call he thinks he’s making me. I want some sushi and I know this place. You in? I am hungry and it is nine, the time I normally snack. And sushi does sound good. I give the girls a look and then my phone and press my lips together as I send him back his text. Fine, but it’s sushi and we discuss the circumstances we find ourselves in. Wouldn't have it any other way. He sends an emoji with a kissy face. I almost smile. I’ll meet you. I’ll pick you up. You can’t walk in the dark alone. I roll my eyes at him but smile at how cute he is. “I’m going for sushi. Can I leave you guys here?” I tap my phone against my palm. “You know that's a bootie call, not a sushi call, right?” Sami folds her arms. “Maybe he’s not so different than before.” A smile crosses my lips, maybe to hide the sting. “Oh, I’m sure he’s not different. I’m just

not the girl who does bootie calls. So it will be sushi on the menu and nothing else.” “Let me pick your clothes.” Sami smiles wide, jumping off the couch. Liz runs for my room. “And shoes!” “It’s sushi.” I laugh and follow them in.

Chapter Twenty-Nine First time for everything Brady She lifts the chopsticks and lowers her gaze to my hands. “Can those meat hooks actually hold chopsticks?” “I think you will recall that these meat hooks are graceful and delicate to the touch.” I waggle my fingers. She laughs and picks up a piece of the crunchy roll. “I thought we weren’t going to play that game.” I lean in, narrowing my gaze. “What game?” Using my masterful chop-sticking, I pick up a piece and dunk it in her soy sauce and wasabi mix. “The one where you try to smooth talk your way into my pants, and we end this meal having crazy sex and then tomorrow we start fresh again, trying to date after we’ve already had sex.” I pop the sushi into my mouth, struggling to not grin while I chew. “Please.” She eats and laughs. “Don't act like this isn’t your plan.” “You let Sami do your makeup and your shirt is almost see-through. You came here to torment me.” I laugh and point my chopsticks at her. “We lived together for two months. I know what your level of makeup is in comparison to hers.” She sits back, offering me a headshake. “I want you to want me. You want me to want you. I feel like this is not an area we have a problem. We both clearly want the physical aspects of this.” I sit back and fold my arms too. I wish they were folded around her, but she’s on a mission. I can see the weird head-case thing going strong in her eyes. I don't fear it though. It’s her response to being nervous. She needs lists and other things. “You can’t date anyone and if you feel the need to date other people you end this.” She looks like this is harder for her to say than she might have imagined it would be. “And you get one shot.” Her face gets very serious. “I don't give second chances anymore.” Lowering the chopsticks, I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. “I don't need a second chance. You’re the first time I’ve ever wanted a chance at all, let alone a second one.” Her eyes widen and I can tell I said exactly the right thing, finally. I got game on the short term, but long term and I’m an idiot. “And you can’t do the bootie call thing, not to me and not to anyone else. If you want to date me it’s entirely me and it’s a date, like this. No PFs, no gross hockey player bullshit.” She still hasn't recovered from the thing I said so she’s repeating herself. “I got it, I swear.” I try really hard not give her the smug grin, but I do feel smug. I feel everything. It’s weird and amazing. She takes a breath and nods. “Okay.” “You are safe with me.” I say it and I believe it, but I think deep down we’re both worried about that. “I don't want this to start so intensely.” She sighs and frees her hand, grabbing another bite of sushi off the plate we’re sharing of assorted.

“Why? It’s kind of awesome. I’ve seen your bad side, your stripper side, your drunken side—” “Stripper?” She cocks her head at an angle as she pulls back. “What does that mean?” My mouth opens but I pause, not sure what to say. “You’re doing your hesitating thing that always means you’re trying to come up with a better answer than the truth. Say it.” “I might have seen the show once. No big deal.” Her hands drop the chopsticks and fly to her face. Through the fingers she mutters, “The night I got trashed and you were so nice to me in the morning. I knew I didn't put myself to bed.” “It was no big deal. Seriously. You were hot and it took every ounce of restraint I had not to take you up on your offer.” I regret those words the minute I speak them. Her hands lower and her mouth drops. “What offer?” I lick my lips, not sure I should say it but I do, “You offered me an amazing blow job and sex and stripped your clothes off.” Fighting the grin owning my face is futile. Instead, I shake my head and take another bite of sushi. “It was nothing.” “Oh my God. I feel like such an idiot.” She cringes. “Why? Want me to tell you a terrible drunk story so you’ll feel better? I have millions. The remorse fades when you realize everyone has them.” “No, I don't want to hear one of your disgusting stories.” Her nose wrinkles. “Not all my stories are disgusting. In fact, my worst drunken story has nothing to do with sex.” I take another bite. She cocks an eyebrow. “Okay.” “I was out with friends, getting trashed. It was New Year’s Eve. I think I was about sixteen. I was newly billeted with a family who had a lot of money and they were having their own party, but we didn't stay for it. We went out and got rip-snorting drunk. We came back around two in the morning. I flung the doors open, I think maybe expecting the whole house to be drunk.” I laugh at my own stupidity. “I stumbled in, slurring and staggering all over an AA New Year’s Eve party. It was a dry party filled with sober drunks. I fell down the stairs and passed out there.” She starts laughing, making me laugh harder. “You’re an idiot.” “I told you. Taking your clothes off for a guy who already likes you isn’t such a big deal. Especially, considering I’ve scrubbed every inch of you in a shower.” I look down, hiding my little bit of shame that remains. “I got kicked out of that house.” I don't need to tell her I nailed the older sister at the next house and had a way better stay. It’s her turn to reach across the table as small giggles still slip from her. “Sorry, but that's an awesome story.” She laughs and clears her throat. “So you don't have a lot of humility then?” “No. I’m out of ways to embarrass myself, trust me.” “Good.” She bites her lip. “I have some news that ties into you having no humility. And I should have told you last week.” She avoids my eyes. “We won some cover contest.” “What! That's fabulous.” I reach across the food, hugging her. She hugs back. “No, Brady—we won.” I pull back, sitting back down. “We?” She lifts her phone out of her purse and taps until she gets to whatever she wants to

show me and spins the phone around. My jaw drops. It’s me and yet it’s not. The covers are dark and creepy or they’re romantic and sexy. My body is put there with other people. My face is hidden behind a hood, masking everything except the scary look in my dark eyes. I can trace every look on my face to the thoughts I was thinking as she was talking. “These are amazing.” I look up, humbled by the skill she has. “You made art.” She shrugs. “I had a muse I guess.” She points at the one where my face is dark and feisty. “This is the one that won.” “What did you win?” “Well, I won cover artist of the year and you won cover model of the year. We have to go to New York this weekend.” “That's why you asked if I could come to New York for your birthday.” My insides tighten. Cover model of the year? “Yeah. I was hoping we could go to this for a couple of hours. The company is paying for the hotel and food.” Her sapphire eyes are wide and hopeful. “Yeah, sure.” I relent. It’s not the answer I want to give but this is about compromise. We finish eating, laughing, and talking. I don't honestly think about stripping her naked until we walk back out into the rain. She lifts her hood up and waits for me to come out after holding the door for her. I reach and take one of her small hands in mine, lifting it and kissing. The softness of her skin drives me wild. Grandma Coldwell. “So when is your next game?” She leans into me, smelling like vanilla. “Next Thursday. It’s a home game against Hershey.” “Chocolate?” She looks up, confused. “The Bears. We played—” “You played them already. You beat them. That was the game you scored like three goals.” “Two goals and an assist.” It makes me smile. I can’t even pretend I don't love the fact she’s learning the game and keeping track. “What?” She nudges me. “Nothing, honestly. I just like it that you’re so obviously into me.” She shoves me a bit. “You’re into me. You’re going to be strutting your stuff in front of hordes of book chicks; I know you like me.” “It’s true.” I wrap myself around her and kiss the tip of her nose. “I do like you.” She beams back. “I like you too.” I lower my face to hers, pressing against her lips. She doesn't kiss passionately. She nestles into the kiss and stays there, offering me no chance for tongue. She’s serious about the whole not screwing, which works. I’m actually full from finishing all the rolls she ordered.

Chapter Thirty Moves like Jagger Natalie Sami’s driver gives us both a look, still waiting for us to get in. I scowl at Brady. “We’re letting Vincenzo drive us. Stop being a baby. You are going to make us late for the dinner she’s having.” “Actually, Miss Banks, I am only driving you to the helicopter pad. The pilot is awaiting you there. You have plenty of time to argue.” He winks at me. “Even better.” Brady rolls his eyes. I grab his hand and drag him into the limo. “Just do it, this once.” He gives me an annoyed face. “It won’t ever be this once. It’ll always be once more, and then eventually I’ll be snapping my fingers and telling Jeeves there to bring round the car. I don’t do the whole servants thing.” I cover my face as Vincenzo closes the door. “That's not what this is, at all. He’s paid better than you or I, and he’s treated like family. He’s also a ninja, not even kidding. And the pilot for sure makes more than you and I combined. They like working private security and transport. They like their jobs. And his name is Vincenzo, and he’s incredibly polite and kind. If Sami snapped her fingers her dad would swat them and take away her employees. They aren’t the help. You see that, right?” He snarls and looks out the window of the limo as Vincenzo drives us away from my apartment. “Why are you so cranky?” I slide into the seat next to him, rubbing his leg. He jumps, dodging my touch. “It's nothing.” He turns and forces a stupid smile on his lips. “I’m fine.” “Wow, using the ‘fine’ on a girl? Don't steal our lines.” He smiles for real. “I’m a bit, uh, pent up.” He gives me a look. “Coach says I’ve never played better though.” “Pent up?” I regret asking it right away. “Oh.” A cruel grin forces me to look away. I don't want him to think I’m mocking his pain. I also don't believe in the whole ‘it hurts so good’ crap. He scoops me into his arms, kissing my neck and sitting me on his lap. “Pent up because you think it’s funny to torment me.” His hands trail up my sides, tiptoeing and tickling. “I swear, I don't.” I squirm and struggle, which results in my giggling and rubbing my butt all over his lap. He holds me tight, but it’s too late. I feel it pressing against me. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were compensating.” I tease and glance back. He grins, grinding me into it a little as his breath brushes against the back of my neck. I spin, turning to face him, putting us pelvis to pelvis. I lick and kiss his neck, whispering, “I intend to make it worth your while, finally.” His hands creep down my back, cupping my ass. The way his fingers dig in make me gasp. “No, Nat. I’m going to make it worth your while.” He kisses and squeezes and then lifts me onto my seat. “But not in here with another man driving my ass around.” He winks and looks out the window. I cross my legs and get comfortable, feeling weird about his discomfort with all things

Sami. It’s not my type of life, but I can sit back and relax in it. “So does it all make you uncomfortable or just the driver?” “No, the helicopter is sort of cool. The yachts and country clubs and drivers and maids and cooks—that I can do without. I think they can do without it too. I mean, honestly, who has a life so big they need other people to live it for them?” He shrugs like what he’s said is simple but it’s not. It’s complex and smart and he’s so much more than he seems. “What?” “Nothing.” He makes me smile. “You know it’s true, Nat. Me and you, we aren’t like these people. Even if we had all the money in the world, we would never be these people. We have common sense.” He smiles. “I mean, you have some.” “I have more than some.” I swat at him, but he catches my hand and kisses the back of it. “No, you don't. But you’re getting better at not being a princess. Having a job helps.” He chuckles at himself. “Oh my God.” I roll my eyes but I don't argue. I can’t argue. When we get to the helicopter pad, Vincenzo parks and opens the door for us. I climb out, offering the kind older gentleman a soft smile. “Thank you.” Brady does the same but nods. “Thank you, sir.” Vincenzo laughs and shakes his head, climbing back into the driver’s seat. The helicopter has the blades rotating slowly as we approach so we crouch and run for the open door. Brady goes from an indignant snob to a small boy in a matter of minutes. Essentially, it happens when he puts the headphones on and the pilot greets us.

Chapter Thirty-One The frank and the beans Brady The flight was amazing. Landing on top of a building in New York as the city lights are coming on is something else. Sami and Matt meet us on the roof of her father’s building. “Blow Job!” Matt comes running toward me, slapping me on the back with a quick bro hug. “How was the flight?” “Pretty awesome. How’s it going?” “I’m sorry, did he just call you Blow Job?” Natalie gives Mattie and me a look. “He did. He always does.” Sami wrinkles her nose. “It’s his pet name for him.” Matt nudges me. “His initials are BJ and that's what his mom calls him.” “So my brother got me a jersey made that said Blow Job on it with my number fortyseven. The name sort of stuck.” “Besides the fact he gives a mean BJ,” Matt says it poker-faced until my light jab lands in his guts. “Gross.” Nat cocks an eyebrow and lets Sami lead her away. “They didn't look impressed.” “They never do. I think it’s the Botox.” I laugh and follow the girls. “So explain the cover model of the year award for me, because I don't get it.” Matt again tries to keep a straight face. Nat gives Sami a burning glare. “You swore.” “He stole my phone and took it in the bathroom while he was taking a crap. I couldn’t go in there and get it back.” Sami tries to defend herself, but Nat turns and points at Matt. “Harass him about this even once, and I publish that little video of you.” Matt shuts his mouth and nods, earning a laugh from Sami. “What video?” “She got him mid striptease, and he did the whole Something About Mary thing and zipped his wiener a bit.” Sami laughs harder. “We agreed never to talk about this again.” Matt’s face turns bright red. “You swore.” “I might not talk about it, but I still own it. Don't make me use it. I don't want to destroy you. Don't force me.” He gives me a look, but I shake my head. “You’re on your own, Bro.” “Let’s get a drink.” He slides an arm around my shoulders and leads me to the bar in the back of the penthouse suite. It’s, of course, ridiculous with a view of most of the city and the bridge. He passes me a beer and leans against the counter with his scotch. “So you’re looking good. Second lead scorer for the Wolf Pack and most assists, and the defenseman with the least amount of penalty minutes. I heard the coaches talking about you and Mike.” “Seriously?” “Yeah, man. They said that you both are looking like talent they wanna bring up. You should try for a hat trick in the next game. When is it?” “Thursday against Hershey.”

“Nice. Well, they’re watching you. You should try to capitalize on that. Warner is working with an injury that’s pretty bad. He’s making it through, but I think he’ll be out for the season if he takes one hit.” “Not to drink to a guy’s misfortune, but I hope I get my chance.” I lift my beer and let him clink his against it. Our eyes drift to where the girls are laughing and looking at their phones. “So Nat’s awesome.” He grins. “You’re a smug fuck.” “Hey, we matched you quite well I think. If the NHL doesn't pan out for me, I might try my hand in matchmaking.” He lifts his hands innocently. “Honestly, you were only supposed to distract her, Bro, not marry her.” “Whatever. You’re a fine one to talk. You and Sami?” He sighs. “I can’t shake her.” He sounds serious. “She’s in my veins.” His eyes burn and I imagine his guts are too. I know the feeling well. “What’s the plan for tonight?” I ask nonchalantly. I don't want to be a dick, but it’s Nat’s birthday and I have plans for us which he knows all about. “Dinner and some drinks and whatever.” He grins. “It’s her birthday.” “I know. I took care of everything on that end. But it’s not till midnight so calm your tits. Like I would have forgotten her birthday anyway, Sami hasn't shut up about it for two weeks. If she ever leaves me, I know it’ll be for Nat.” “Which means I’ll be single. You can crash with me.” He laughs. “Deal.” The night goes by fast. Dinner is at the fancy schmancy place where we don't even get a bill. Then drinks at some bullshit bar where you can only order dessert and martinis. It doesn't even make sense. We laugh and drink and visit until Nat is starting to look tired. As we get closer to midnight I start to get worried we won’t be at the room in time. I’m saved when she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Ready to go?” “An hour ago,” I lean in and mutter into her neck where I plant a kiss. She pulls back and gives Sami a look. “We’re going to head for our hotel.” “Sounds good. I’ll see if Vincenzo wants to drive you.” Sami grins directly at me. “Funny. We can get a cab.” She gives me a look as she leans in and wraps her arms around Nat. I nod, hoping we’re both talking about the birthday that's going to be upon us at midnight. Matt slaps me on the back. “Good luck tomorrow, hey!” He winks and makes weird faces. “Whatever, freak.” I wave at Sami and flip him off as I wrap an arm around Nat, escorting her from the weirdly matched bar. “You tired?” She gives me a side eye glance. “I am beat.” I force a yawn and hail a cab as we hit the street. One stops immediately. I get the door for her and nod at the cabbie. “Marriott Marquis.” “Yes, sir.” He drives and I fight to look tired. She leans on my arm, melting into me, actually looking exhausted. The way we touch has always been more comfortable than it has ever been with any girl, but this last week she’s gotten even more at ease.

When we first moved in together she went from tense and stressful to flirty and funny in a matter of days, maybe because we were never going to be more than friends so I was an easy person to be around. The real test has been this last week. We’ve spent all of it trying not to have sex. We’ve succeeded more than we’ve failed, which is huge. Especially for me. I don't usually hang out with girls except to get laid. She has been the exception to that rule. The city flashes by us in a series of bright lights and loud noises. She rests her head comfortably on my arm and closes her eyes. Every bit of me just wants to seduce her, but I think the plan I have going is the best one I could have come up with. She looks like an angel. The cabbie stops abruptly, making her eyes open wide as she sits up and stares around her. “We’re here.” I wink and slide the man in the front some cash. I get the door and pull her out, helping her stand. “How are you so tired?” Our hotel is in Times Square so it doesn't feel like it’s night or even dark. This is the heart of the city that never sleeps. “Fridays are hard for me. This nine-to-five gig is exhausting. Normally, I power through, but I’m just bagged this week.” That makes me laugh as I pull her to where the doorman gets the door for us. This part of the city is booming with huge flashing lights and billboards and noise. So much noise. “Good evening.” He nods. I hardly even hear him. “Thanks.” I walk to the front desk. “Mr. Coldwell, hello. Welcome. Your bags are in your room already.” The man at the front desk smiles and nods, handing me two keys. He winks, no doubt because of the special request I have made. I glance at the clock. We have three minutes until her birthday. “Don't we need to check in?” she asks as I pull her to the elevator. It’s one of those cool ones that goes on the outside of the building, so you can see this part of the city from inside. “No.” I hand her one of the keys. When we get inside, I slide my card in and press our floor. She leans against me, taking a deep breath and blinking slowly. Neither of us turns and looks at the stunning view to our backs. We aren’t those people who are impressed by Broadway and all its splendor. We’ve both been to Manhattan enough times to have seen it. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” I pull her from the doors as they open. Our suite is at the end of the hall, apparently the one with the best view of Central Park. She grumbles about something as I slip the key in and I smile when I see it. I wrap an arm around her, covering her eyes and lead her inside the doorway. “What are you doing?” She pulls at my hand, but she doesn't stand a chance. “Shhhhh.” I take in the beauty of it all for a moment. The room isn’t anything special, just the deluxe suite. But it’s been done up in candles and balloons and streamers. There’s a cupcake tray and a fruit tray and the bed is covered in rose petals. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NAT is spelled out in glow sticks on the coffee table and flameless candles are spread around to create an ambiance. “Did you just shush me, seriously?” She claws at my hand so I lower it and let her feel bad about scratching me. “Oh my God!” She covers her mouth and looks around the room. Her eyes are wide and a

little watery, but she doesn't cry. “Oh my God!” “Happy birthday, Nat.” I lean in and kiss her on the cheek. She turns and gives me the sweetest smile. “I didn't know what the appropriate gift was for the one-week relationship, so I got this.” “Two weeks and it’s perfect.” Her counting weeks should scare me but it doesn't. The amazed look on her face says everything I want to hear. “Thank you.” She turns and looks at it again. “But how?” “I had some help.” She sighs and touches the rose petals. “Sami?” “No, she can’t keep a secret like this. Matt. He came and made sure they understood what I wanted exactly.” Something about seeing her so excited fulfills me. I don't know why I care so much so soon, but I do. I can’t deny my feelings for her. I don't want to. It goes against everything I have ever worked for. She is technically the perfect distraction. I am on the cusp of succeeding and joining the Rangers, and yet I would choose this moment to fall for an angel. And not even care about doing it. At least I moved out. It hurt to do it, but it was the right choice. I like her too much. I almost reach down and grab my balls, just to see if they’ve fallen like Andy said they would. I think I’m cured of my same-girl-itis. She pulls me to the bed, spilling petals and making shadows as she dances through the candlelight and my heart.

Chapter Thirty-Two Male model Natalie We look different than the other people here. The artists and models don't have Sami’s closet to shop in, so my dress happens to outshine the rest without being fancier. They have dresses from regular shops and I have haute couture. I assumed a New York awards ceremony would be filled with stylish people. But they’re more like the people I work with in mediocre attempts at dressy. The writers are even worse. They look like they would rather be anywhere but here. Socially awkward maybe, even more so than the artists. And the male models all have beards, man buns, and tattoos on the their necks and arms. They look badass which is funny because the clean-shaven pretty boy next to me is badass, you’d just never guess it. “Did I mention you look really beautiful?” Brady leans in and whispers against my neck again. “About a hundred times.” I lean in, enjoying the feel of him. I’m so glad he’s here and I’m not alone. The lady announcing is too excited about all the books; most of them I have never heard of. I don't know the authors but the genre is New Adult and Young Adult, and for some reason these women and men are more famous than anyone I know in the real world. People go crazy in the crowd when the sub genres are announced. Paranormal is akin to a Beatles performance in the sixties. The announcer quiets the crowd, speaking quickly and laughing in a girly chuckle that's not quite a giggle. I give Brady a look. “Are you excited you won?” He shrugs. “I’ve won way cooler—” he pauses, “—I mean, cool stuff before.” It makes me laugh that he just called this lame. “Don't be a dick.” I glance around at the people. “This is clearly a big thing for them.” “Natalie Banks from Inspired Digital for the cover of Sacred Love,” the woman shouts as my art comes up massively on the screen behind her. “You were taking that picture, and I was thinking about how Mike was going on about how hot and cool you were,” he mutters as the lady announces another artist and cover. “You were jealous of Mike? I guess the real question is, Mike finds me attractive?” I give him a devious grin. “Interesting.” I cackle and it’s evil, but in the midst the lady calls my name again and the crowd goes crazy. Everyone starts looking for me. “I think you actually have to go up there, babe.” Brady lifts me, helping me stand. The spotlight darts around the sea of people before landing on my face as I slip between the chairs and tables to get to the walkway. Everyone becomes something of a haze out there in the sea of movements and noises. I turn and focus on the lady welcoming me to the stage. “Hi, dear.” She greets me away from the mic. “Congratulations.” She hands me a giant piece of glass in the shape of a book and nods as everyone claps again. “Thank you.” I wave and look at the book one more time. “This is just crazy. I didn't even

know there were contests for this. Thanks.” I wave and turn, getting a strange look and a laugh from the lady on the stage. The award weighs a ton, but I cradle it, scared I’ll trip and drop it in front of everyone. The eyes and cheering are too much. I don't like being in the spotlight, especially not for me. It’s one thing when people want to talk to you because your best friend is a celebrity. It’s another when they’re clapping for you. Brady is laughing at me, no doubt at the stricken look I can feel on my face when I get to him. “You may not look the part, but you are definitely at home with these cat ladies.” “Don't call my people cat ladies.” I pass him the award and slump into my chair. “I don't have a cat.” “You’re one cat short of being one.” He’s being cheeky but suddenly the nattering awards lady flashes the cover again, along with several of the shots I’d taken. Randy must have submitted them. Brady loses his humor and gives me a look of betrayal. “I didn't do this.” I shake my head. “This must have been my boss. I added the photos to the company’s stock images.” His eyes widen as she screams his name and his picture flashes again. He’s shirtless and leaning forward, ready to slap the puck with his stick. He looks taut and fit and sexy, and all the cat ladies are appreciating him. “Go get your award.“ I give him a smug grin. He stands slowly as the room explodes. I’ve been able to block most of the nonsense out for the better part of the evening but this is insanity. He’s like their favorite human ever. He offers a wave and his boyish grin. It’s the naughty one. “Come on down, Brady!” The lady is waving and sucking in her stomach and standing taller. When he gets down there she hands him the award and then wraps her arms around him. He pats her on the back, not sure maybe if he’s supposed to hug back. I am dying. He’s being mauled by the people he just mocked. Several other women rush the stage to get a Brady hug. It’s minutes before he finally makes his way to the mic and leans in, offering us all the fuck-me eyes. “Good evening, ladies.” He smiles wider. “And gentlemen.” People are frothing, they’re so excited. Maybe because he’s Brady Coldwell, maybe because he’s sex on a stick, or maybe because he’s a fine cover model. I’d spent two whole days rifling through cover stock and was near hanging myself from a coworker’s tie when I decided on using him. He’s perfect. “I just need to thank Natalie Banks for doing such amazing art with the photos. So can we give Nat another quick applause?” Everyone claps again. They would do anything he asked. “And I also want to thank Natalie for the opportunity to add male modeling to my portfolio.” He winks and grins and half of the room swoons. I’m in that half. He hugs the ladies on the stage again and stalks off, holding his award very differently than how I held mine. The awards continue on but eyes land on us now. Women check him out and give me looks. Maybe they wonder if we’re completely together or not. After the way he treated me for

my birthday, I don't know that I’ll ever let him go. We haven’t had sex since the day in the rain. The day we stopped being roommates. We’ve made out and slept beside each other, but we haven’t had sex. He hasn’t even tried, not even last night. He’s respecting my wishes. “And that is the final award for the evening. Thank you everyone for coming out. We have drinks and tapas being served in the adjoining room. Please stay and enjoy.” She claps again, maybe for the tapas. I know that's what I’m clapping for. Brady too. He looks hungry. He keeps licking his lips and staring at the door behind us. I get up with the other people around us and grab his hand, dragging him through the crowd. “Ready to go?” he asks over the noise of everyone. “No, I’m starving. I want something to eat. They have food here.” “We can eat at the restaurant at the hotel.” “No. My birthday, I decide.” I look back, giving him a look. He laughs and shakes his head. “Yes, madam. Whatever the birthday girl wants.” He bows and I roll my eyes. When we get out into the cocktail party I walk straight for the buffet, grabbing a plate and a fork. “Are those crab cakes?” He sort of nudges me out of the way and puts some on his plate. He puts one on my plate too. “Don't do the hockey player eating thing, okay? I don't know that they planned on you coming.” He looks offended. “I don't eat a lot.” He can’t even say it without laughing. “I’m going to make this buffet pay for me not getting a steak.” He winks and starts his journey east, taking some of everything until his plate looks like we’re eating at Bob’s Big Bar. He stands over to the side, resting his plate on a large table and eating while standing. When I there I share the space with him. “Lunch was so long ago.” He moans. “Try the bacon-wrapped chicken. It’s amazing and it has a little sauce.” I take his advice and pop one in my mouth, making my cheeks puff out. He snorts. “I love that you don't even care that you’re wearing some designer dress and you just got mayonnaise on it.” I glance down. “Shit!” It doesn't really matter, but I don't like ruining Sami’s clothes, even if she’s worn this one and won’t ever wear it again. “Let me help you out there, pretty lady.” He reaches across with his napkin and wipes my breast, ensuring he gets my nipple a couple of times, I’m sure. “You’re a pervert.” “What? I was helping!” He pulls back and stuffs something else in his mouth. He loosens his tie a bit and sighs. “I’m feeling better.” He nods his head at the buffet. “That was actually not what I was expecting. I thought we might suffer through one of those parties with the servers and the trays. And here you have to essentially take the tray and hide in the corner and eat it.” “There’s too many of us and we’ve been here for three hours listening to awards. If they didn't drop some sort of awesome spread, I think there might have been a cat lady riot.” “Don't mock your people.” He laughs and scans the crowd. “I can’t believe you don't know anyone?” “No. And they clearly all know each other.” The room is an energetic ball of delight. They

are all doing the compliment each other on dresses and awards thing, but they have obviously met before. “Are you going to have to go to more of these?” “Maybe.” “Great. At least the food’s good.” He starts looking around again. “I’m going to get us a drink.” He doesn’t ask what I want, which is weird. A lady in a dark pantsuit walks to me, extending her hand straight away. “Hi, Natalie. I’m Jane Stuart, the editor at Penguin Random who commissioned the covers from you.” “Hi. Nice to meet you.” I smile wide, grateful I know one person now. “How are you?” “Great, thanks.” “I’ve been meaning to try to get over there to Hartford and see you, but it’s been an insane fall. How do you like doing the cover design and photography?” “I do, I like it. It’s like a fake job. I do something I love and get paid. Like wining the lottery.” A funny feeling tingles inside me as the words all rush out. Why would she be asking this? She doesn't work with my bosses. She contracts us out. She makes me nervous. She’s powerful or her suit is. Something about her screams intensity. She’s one of the few people here that have this going on for them. But the answer falls from her perfectly drawn lips. “Would you consider taking a job with us directly? No more contract work or living in Hartford? Working here in New York.” Her brightblue eyes widen, enticing me like a hypnotist. “I would.” Where the hell is my loyalty? I can’t believe I just answered that but it’s the truth. I would take a job here. “Excellent. Here’s my card. Send me an email and I will send you a contract, and you can have your lawyer peruse it. If you like it you could start here immediately.” She winks. “I wouldn't use your work email. If they knew I was snatching away the talent, they might hate me.” She touches my arm gently and nods. “Have a lovely evening.” “You too.” Everything tightens. It’s like a birthday present from God. I can barely breathe when Brady gets back. “Hey.” He looks flushed and weird. “Who was that?” “An editor in New York.” I don't tell him, I don't know why. I should but I can’t. I would be moving to New York and leaving him in Hartford, and we’ve been dating for a minute. We wouldn't make it, would we? It’s something I have to think about. “Did you see those ladies attack me?” He nods to the bar where several women are eyeing him up and laughing. “No.” A laugh slips from my lips as he hands me the drink he’s gotten for me—a red wine sangria and oddly enough it’s exactly what I’m in the mood for. “They started touching my arms and asking for photos and then one slid her hand across my ass and the other one tried—she tried to get a feel of my balls.” He looks flabbergasted but somehow it’s amusing. “Did you try to run away?” I hold back the giggles. “Stop mocking me. I was assaulted.” He scowls and looks back at the group of them now mauling another model. “I did not see that coming.” He drinks and shakes his head. “You just got a hand job in the line up at the bar, and you’re the one offended? You, who Clintons unsuspecting women?” I cock an eyebrow, still way too amused that some housewives

just touched my man. “No woman has ever been unsuspecting.” He pauses. “Okay, the first girl because it wasn’t my signature move until that moment. But every other chick after that one knew what was coming.” He loosens up again. “That had nothing to do with being Brady Coldwell and everything to do with being a male model. These ladies think we’re here to entertain them.” “Oh you are.” I nod my head at the young man with his shirt ripped open. Ladies are laughing and touching his chest for photos. “Can we go?” “Yup.” I link my arm in his and let him lead me out. “Never thought I’d see Brady Colwell meet a group of women he feared.” “Me either, Nate-Dog. Me either.” He walks us to the lobby and then down the stairs. The card in my hand and the secret it bears are burning a little, but I don't know how to tell him. Or my mother.

Chapter Thirty-Three Secrets Brady I wake with my arms around her and my dick buried right between her thighs. We’re both wearing pajamas but my cock has found its way out of the piss pocket in the front of mine. Her little cotton shorts are no match for what I am rocking. I pull back a little but it sends shivers up me. I’m ready to go. I’ve been drying humping her and am now ready to come. Oh my God. She stirs, moaning and moving a little bit, rubbing against my dick. Sweat and fear creep across my face as I chant Grandma Coldwell, but it doesn't change anything. I’m going to blow my wad all over her legs, and she’s going to think I’ve just sleep assaulted her. I pull back a little more, sliding my morning wood from her thighs and fighting the orgasm I am about to have. My balls are aching to Clinton her and when I pull back the covers, I groan seeing her shorts have ridden up and her ass is bare. There’s a seedy place inside me that's desperate for me to just grab one cheek. It’s not a place I’m proud of. But the other bits of me blame her. All this sleeping together and making out and maybe accidentally rubbing my dick but never fucking is going to kill me. I sneak off the king-sized bed and slip into the bathroom to start the shower. The moment I get into the hot water and give it three strokes I Clinton the shower curtain. It takes a minute for my body to stop shaking and twitching. Whatever I did to her poor thighs in my sleep was good. The orgasm is so strong I can barely stand. I soap up and try to splash water on the curtain, hoping she won’t notice when she takes a shower. Being her friend and “seeing” her is harder than I imagined it would be. I just want to screw the fucking hell out of her and make her scream my name. Then I want to cuddle and be pals and let her tell me about her weird dream. The shower and the soap don't change the fact I basically got off on rubbing between her thighs like a creeper, so when I get out and pull on my clothes, I don't feel clean. I feel dirty, perverted, disgusting. And I don't like the fact I don't want to tell her. I should tell her. In case she already knows and thinks I’m a pervert. I mean, what if she was lying there all terrified as I rubbed one out on her while I thought she was sleeping? Oh my God. I feel sick. She takes a deep breath, stirring even more and opening her eyes. Could she have slept through the entire thing? Doesn't matter. I’m not keeping this to myself. “Nat?” She lifts her head and smiles at me. “Why are you sitting in the corner?” “Something terrible happened. And I have to tell you.” Oh my God, she’s going to think I’m a pervert.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” She looks worried, like I’m the victim here. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—” I choke on the words, “—I woke up and my dick was out and I was rubbing it between your thighs, and I was close to coming. But I was asleep and I didn't know—” She starts laughing. “What?” “I was drying humping you in my sleep, and I woke up and—yeah.” Her eyes widen but the laughing and smiling doesn’t stop. “Gross, Brady. What the fuck?” “I think I’m just so pent up. We make out so much, and I am constantly getting hard and then I’m sleeping next to you this weekend. I can’t sleep next to you after we make out.” I’m making this her fault. “I’m sorry.” I stop myself from saying anything else. It’s only marginally her fault. The rest is mine. She gets up and walks to me. Her shorts are still tucked up, she is rocking a respectable amount of camel toe, and her tank top is so tight I can see her nipples clear as day. My dick twitches. She climbs into my lap and wraps her arms around me. “Brady, I am so sorry. I just thought that maybe we should take a couple of steps back but the reality is we’re adults. I’ve been in a relationship of sorts for three years. But it wasn't ever an adult relationship. And I want this to be adult. I just thought maybe we should get to know each other better first.” “You know me better than any girl ever has. Except my mom.” “I know and I guess if we want to have sex from the start of our relationship, then we should just have sex. I miss the feel of you.” She leans forward and brushes her lips against my ear lobe. “I have a confession too. It’s why we didn't just have sex last night. I hate that I kept it from you, but I don't know how I feel about it and you and everything.” I stiffen and pull back. “What?” My insides are on fire, and yet somehow my dick is still ready for the other party she spoke of. She bites her lip as her eyes get wide. She’s hesitating; it’s bad news. Fuck! “There was an editor from Penguin Random at the party and she gave me her card and offered me a job here, in New York.” I sigh and give her a look. “Jesus, Nat. You scared me.” I don't understand the apprehension. “So you’ll have a job in New York maybe?” “Yeah, I have a job. I’m taking it.” She looks sad. “Why are you upset? You shouldn't feel bad for the dudes in Hartford. They’ll find someone else. It’s no biggie. And the money in Manhattan is better.” “I feel bad for us. We’re just starting out, and I’m going to move away and we’ll be a longdistance relationship. I think that's why me and Will never worked out.” That makes me laugh and hold her tighter. “You and asshat never worked out because he’s a knob. Me and you could live in different countries and I would still want to try.” It’s the truth which maybe scares me more than her. “I don't want to blow this. I don't care if I have to drive to come and see you. It’s like two hours. I would drive as far as I could to come and see you.” Apparently, it’s the right thing to say. She wraps her arms around me, lowering her face to mine and grinding in my lap a little. She kisses my cheek, right next to my lips. Then a little farther back and a little farther back until she’s biting my earlobe and whispering, “Why don't you show me how you feel about the no-sex thing.” She smiles against my cheek and giggles. I get up, lifting her with me and carrying her to the bed.

When I lay her down, she looks up at me with her hair spread around her and her eyes wide and sparkling with humor and excitement. She looks like an angel, surrounded by the white bedding. I trail my fingers up her legs, starting at her calves and creep them right to the shorts that are outlining her camel toe perfectly. Dragging my thumb over the fabric and tracing the contour of her pussy lips makes her close her eyes and moan softly. I rub right where her clit is, thumbing softly until her breath takes a turn to ragged. Then I hook my fingers into the shorts and drag them down, baring her to me. She’s one of the few girls left in the world with some pubic hair, which I like. Bald pussy isn’t a thing for me, but I do enjoy a landing strip. Hers is light brown and trimmed perfectly. I spread her legs, dropping to my knees to do something I never do. But I’m good at it. I was taught by a woman in her thirties when I was seventeen. She’s open and glistening, ready for my cock. Instead, she gets soft kisses along her lips and on the inside of her thigh. She moans, not from pleasure but anticipation. I lift a finger, trailing it from the top of her expectant slit to the bottom where I twist and insert. She tightens around my finger as I lower my mouth to her clit and suck. She makes noises I’ve never heard from her as I flick and suck, swirling my tongue at the exact pace I should. My finger moves lazily in and out, caressing her G-spot. I increase the tempo of everything, sucking and finger fucking faster as she rotates her hips and grinds herself into my face. She tastes like honey until she comes all over my finger, clenching down and shuddering with her long fingers gripping to the white sheets. Her body jerks and spasms. I withdraw and sit back on my heels, taking in the beauty of a girl who is ready to be fucked hard. I grab a condom from my pocket as I pull my cock out, dragging my jeans to my knees. When I crawl up onto the bed, her eyes are still closed and her face is flushed. Her lips are parted, both sets, awaiting for the moment it will all continue. I drag my cock up and down her slit, pressing on her entrance after a moment. I push in, faster than she has ever taken me, but she’s ready. Thrusting slowly, I saw in and out, getting us both accustomed to the feel of each other. Lifting her legs so her feet are on my shoulders, I reach down and grab a handful of ass cheek and lift her so she’s meeting my cock exactly. She’s taking it all. She groans and grinds with her eyes open as she takes all of me a second time. There’s a bewildered look on her face. It’s so fucking sexy to see her mouth parted like that. I increase the speed, bouncing my balls off her ass crack, spanking her a bit with them. Her eyes are wild and almost look worried but she’s enjoying the ride, I can see it. I lean into her feet, making her push back against me, choosing the position my cock sits as I start to pound her with my thrusts. She cries out as she fingers her clit some. “Oh, fuck me, Brady!” Her head tilts and her ragged breaths own her as she shudders and clenches down on my cock, milking it. When she’s done, I pull out, flipping her on her stomach and lifting her ass in the air. I slide back in, not delicately at all. I thrust in, earning another cry of pleasure from her. My fingers dig in as I pull her ass back to meet me until I am so close to coming. Instinct or something kicks in and I pull out, ripping the condom off and jerking all over her beautiful ass cheeks.

As the last drop squirts from me, I shudder and realize what I’ve done. It makes me smile as she looks back and laughs. Her face is red and her lips are puffy. “Did you seriously just Clinton me?” “No. You need clothes to be Clintoned.” I smile back as I get it. I can have it both ways. I can fuck her dirty or I can make love to her. I can do everything with her. She’s not less from it and I don't feel less. Nothing can make her a puck fuck or a slut. No matter how we do it, she’s an angel. “You’re cleaning that off in the shower.” She crawls forward and climbs off the bed with a mess running down the back of her leg. “Okay.” I grin and follow her in.

Chapter Thirty-Four The Bad News Bears Natalie “How did the conversation with the bosses go?” Liz looks around the apartment and nods as I break the news to her. “Bad. Randy told me that he didn't think I would like the coldness and informality of New York, but if I wanted it, my job would be waiting for me. They both seemed really upset. They even offered me a raise. I feel bad.” And it's the truth. My stomach hurt all day. “I’m pumped for you that you’re going to work in New York, but I’m super sad you’re leaving me.” “Me too.” I lean in and hug her. “We better go if we’re going to watch the puck drop.” She wrinkles her nose and walks to the door, dragging me with her. “Is Brady upset that you’re leaving?” “No.” I lock up and walk to the elevator with her. “He’s pumped for me and doesn't even care if I’m in Hartford or not. He said it doesn't matter where we live.” The story makes me grin inside and out. “Awwwwww, cute and sweet. Who knew?” “Not me.” I laugh. When we get to the arena and take our seats, he offers me a wave from the warm-up. I wave back. I can’t stop thinking about the sex we’ve been having. My cheeks flush as the past week flashes in my mind. He’s basically moved back in. “So did you sign the contract and send it back?” Liz asks as she stares out at the game. I notice Mike waving at her, and I and wave back at him. But there’s a difference between my wave and Liz’s. And a difference between the look on her face and the one on mine. “I did. I got a signing bonus and I start in two weeks.” “Where are you going to live?” That makes me smile too. “With Sami.” Her eyes widen. “Did you tell your mom yet?” “No. I have to go home this weekend for an anniversary party. I’m going to tell her there.” She winces. “Right, that’s exactly the face I made when I realized I would have to tell her. She’s going to say no, and I’m going to say that I’m an adult and it’s free to live there and I’ll be fine. And then we’ll fight and my poor dad will have to get into the middle of it and then she’ll accept it or she’ll hate me.” “That’s exhausting.” She laughs and looks back at the ice. Her eyes follow Mike around the rink. “What is this?” I point at him and then her. “What?” She’s flushed. “What’s what?” “Oh my God, you guys are fucking?” The words burst from me. “No.” She scowls. “He took me out on a couple of dates. We have kissed a couple of times. That's it.” My jaw drops. “Oh my God. That's serious. Hockey players don't do the dating and not fucking thing. This is a thing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. It’s not a thing yet.” But her face is so cute. “I am hoping it becomes a thing.” I feel the same way for me and Brady. I really hope that this becomes a thing for us too. The ice clears and the music starts, getting everyone excited for the game. When they come back out onto the ice, they get ready for the face-off. The puck drops and the game starts. The Bears’ center wins the drop, flicking across the ice to the left winger who glides, passing back to the center and across to the right winger. One of their defensemen plays like Brady and comes forward. He plays intensely, elbowing and reaching in when the refs aren’t looking. The game starts aggressively One of our defensemen gets the puck and takes it behind the net to fling it out to the forwards. But the large defenseman from their team takes him into the boards, dropping him hard, and takes the puck. It’s a clean hit but our guy is hurt enough that it takes him a second to get up and skate for his sub. The sub is Brady. I guess the coach is going pound for pound with the Bears. Brady heads right for the puck, stealing it with a light check into the boards and a pass to one of the forwards. The big guy comes for Brady, but he doesn't have the agility Brady has so he misses and tries to play catch-up. “Brady doesn't have the puck. Why is that guy up his ass?” Liz shouts over the rabid fans. “I don't know.” I wish Sami were here. Maybe she would know. The forward who Brady passed to, shoots and scores and the stands burst with life. Everyone is patting and hugging before they get back into position. The puck drops and the Bears win it again. Their right winger heads straight for the net, maneuvering around the defensemen and shooting. Dean deflects it easily, letting Brady take it behind the net. But like this was the setup, the big guy is there. I don't know that any of us saw this coming. He slams into Brady, taking him down hard and jabbing him in the ribs a couple of times. Brady shoves him back, getting the puck that it looks like they are fighting to the death for. I can’t breath as the guy tries to punch Brady and the gloves come off as the sticks hit the ice Brady shoves him back again but the guy swings out, ripping Brady’s helmet off. Brady takes a fist to the right eye. He takes the hit without even pausing and shoves back, getting him to back off, but the guy swoops in and grabs him. They struggle and it looks like they’re hugging. The other guy goes down on the ice and the whistle blows. Both teams grab their player, pulling them away. The crowd is going nuts and both guys end up with a penalty. Brady avoids my stare as he heads for the box with a slightly bleeding eyebrow and a terrible look on his face. “That escalated quickly,” Liz mutters as she leans in. We both look at Brady, but he doesn't see anything but the game. When his minute is up, the Bears will be playing short. The guy he fought got a five-minute penalty. Brady is standing at the wall, ready to jump it the moment his penalty is up. He leaps over,

skating hard and fast for the puck as it’s shot to him. Once he gets going he’s like a freight train and there’s no stopping him. He maneuvers through two players, ends up on a breakaway, shooting for the top right-hand corner of the net and scoring. The crowd goes wild. Liz and I are screaming and acting like crazy people. It’s about the coolest thing I have ever seen a hockey player do. The game stays elevated and psychotic, and I am hoarse and exhausted when it’s over. We wait in the foyer for the guys. People passing us seem buzzed from the energy of the game. “That was the best game I’ve ever seen,” Liz beams. “Agreed. Except I think Brady’s going to have a black eye.” I wince. She shrugs. “Hockey players and black eyes are kind of common place.” “We go to my parents’ place Saturday.” She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, the engagement party is like in two days. I thought you meant next weekend.” “Two days.” She rolls her eyes. “Is boys will boys not a good enough excuse back home?” “No. Not even close. My mother is a teacher at an all-girls school. She doesn’t even like boys. My dad gets excused because he rarely argues or presents himself as a guy.” She laughs and nods. “Sounds like my dad. He’s pretty chill.” When the guys make their way down the hallway, I recoil at the horror of his eyebrow. It’s bruised and raw with a butterfly bandage sort of covering the really gross part. But he doesn’t even care. He scoops my up and kisses my neck. “Now that is how hockey is meant to be played.” He’s buzzing too. I suspect the sex later is going to be mind-boggling. Maybe he’ll be dirty again. That was sort of fun. He puts me down and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You ready to get a drink?” “Yeah. Vaughan’s?” “Yes, ma’am.” He kisses my hand and smiles. “Dude, that enforcer was a dick. I don't remember him from last time we played them.” Mitch nudges Brady who winces. “Enforcer?” I ask as I lift Brady’s shirt to reveal even more bruising. “Oh my God, what the fuck?” He pulls down the shirt. “All part of the game.” He sighs and kisses my head, taking a breath of me. “An enforcer is a meathead. Like a real one. He’s a guy who’s big and brawny and has some skill as a player, but mostly he’s there to terrorize the people with actual skill.” That makes sense. It’s essentially what the guy did. Liz scowls. “I don't think I like that role in hockey. It’s not fair. He’s just a big beast who intimidates people like a bully?” Mike laughs. “Their choice to sacrifice a skilled player for some meat on some bones. We beat them 7–1. Clearly the gamble didn't pay off.” “Clearly.” Liz still scowls and gives me the look. “I like golf and tennis. No big asshole to bruise you up because they have one thought process: me want puck!” I let Brady lead me to the pub down the road. “Me too. Or figure skating,” Liz teases.

“Oh, track and field,” I add. “Croquet.” She laughs. We earn a pile of sideways stares from the guys with no sense of humor. We walk into the pub and everyone starts to cheer. The whole bar is excited about the win and the team takes the applause well. Mitch’s server comes and seats us, offering Mitch a look like he’s getting a bit of something later. Mike gives me a look as we sit. “So, New York, huh?” “Yeah, I got a job offer I can’t pass up. I’ll miss you guys.” I smile back. Brady sits sideways on his chair and kisses my cheek. “She’s going to come and visit.” He smiles wider than he should which means trouble of the verbal sort. “I’ll withhold the loving for here in Hartford. If she doesn't come she doesn't co—” “No!” I slap my hand around his mouth. He laughs into my palm, but I don't move it like I did the first time. His seedy spit doesn't scare me anymore. “What?” He chuckles harder. Mike rolls his eyes. “Luckily, our team’s meathead has some hockey skill.” That makes me laugh. We all laugh, even Brady who nudges Mike in the ribs.

Chapter Thirty-Five Mommy Dearest Brady I have one eye on the road and one on her the entire drive. I can’t stop myself from staring at her. She’s too good to be true. The other weird thing about her is she is the antichrist of my finding other girls attractive. I see them, I register the fact there is a girl in front of me and she’s hot, but I don't really look. It’s a strange feeling, not needing to find my next piece of ass. I don't feel the same excitement I have for her when it comes to meeting her parents. Her dad sounds cool, but her mom sounds like some kind of sea witch. When we get to Greenwich I am immediately uncomfortable. The houses are large and each one on an acreage making them seem more like estates. Her house is in a smaller area, closer to the school, and nowhere near as fancy as the houses we’ve seen. In fact, it resembles my parents’ house—small and white with dark shutters on the three windows at the front of it and a tiny yard with no garage or any of the extras. The driveway just accommodates their truck and mine with what I assume is her mom’s car in the carport. It’s clean and small and obviously a homey house. “So this is it.” She gives me a look. “Disappointed?” She laughs. “Everyone hears Greenwich and they assume I live like the Fords or the Fairfields. But I live more like the help.” She laughs again. “My house is almost identical to this. Like I mean, the shutters are brown on my house not blue, but beyond that it’s the same. Two windows there for bedrooms and one there for the living room and the front door has almost no entrance, but we go in the side door from the carport anyway.” I point at the aspects we share. “Exactly.” She laughs and gives me one of her stares with her eyes sparkling. “Don't be nervous, okay? She’s not so bad. She means well. She just always wanted all of us to be more than we are.” I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “You are preaching to the choir of everyone expecting more from. I am the only more in my family. Everyone gambled on my success. My brother quit hockey when he was fifteen so I could play in the rep league instead of house. Mom could only get us to one place every week, so they chose my game and my success and now they’re all sitting back there waiting for that to cash in.” Her eyes narrow. “I know what you mean. At least you have a skill set and aren’t just pretty and expected to marry well and befriend the rich and worm your way in.” I keep my opinion on that to myself and say the one thing I think is true for her, “We make our own futures, Nat. We choose how this goes, and we don't owe anyone anything. Your mom might have sacrificed to get you here but that was her choice. How it pans out isn’t up to her.” I don't believe that for myself, but I do for her. I don't know why. She shrugs. “Let’s do this. We have two hours to get ready for the party and that shiner is going to need some makeup.” “What?” I pull back. “Bro, this is going to look the way it does now. I play sports—I get

hurt. It's the way it works. I’m so not wearing makeup.” I scoff and get out of the truck. She waits there, giving me a look. “What?” Her eyes dart to the door. “Oh.” I walk over and open the door for her. “Sorry.” “It’s okay.” She smiles wide. “Normally, I can get my own door. But not here, okay? Doors to buildings, doors to cars, hand on my lower back when we enter a room, and you introduce yourself first unless I know them. This is almost like the South, minus the cool accent.” She winks and jumps out, standing on her very tiptoes and planting a small kiss on my cheek. “Got it.” I almost roll my eyes the way she always does, but there’s no point. We have hit blue blood country and we must act accordingly. My hands are a bit sweaty when I grab her small bag from the back of the truck. Meeting her mom is terrifying. I suppose because the woman hates me and doesn't even know me. I wish my mom were here so her mom would see I’m not some dumb jock. Following her to the door in the carport, I’m taken aback by the fancy interior of the house. This is where it differs from mine. Beautiful carpentry greets us and surrounds us. The finishing work is masterful and indicative of a fancy hotel or mansion, only on the small scale. Granite and marble and moldings. She must see my shock because she giggles. “My dad is a carpenter. He’s a master finisher.” “Yes, he is.” I turn, surprised at how the space feels so open and roomy, compared to the way our house is laid out. “It’s like the tent on Harry Potter. So much bigger inside,” I mumble. She giggles more. “You watched Harry Potter?” “Of course.” I lower my gaze to hers. “I was a kid when it came out too. We’re the same age.” I pause. “Well, I’m still twenty-two. You’re twenty-three now, so you’re older I guess.” She swats me and walks into the stunning rec room as her father rounds the corner. His arms are almost as wide as his smile. He’s a large man, not what I expected for a whipped dad of a princess, but the moment he has her in his arms I see it. He sighs and breathes her in. I know that feeling, holding her and smelling. Inhaling her. She pulls back and holds her hand in my direction. “This is Brady Coldwell. Brady, this is my dad, Thomas.” “Hello, sir, nice to meet you.” I offer him my hand and let his grip be stronger. It is stronger, but I don't let the cock fight instinct win. “You too, Brady. I am a huge fan. That goal on Thursday out of the penalty box was some kind of amazing. Congratulations on the win.” “Thank you, sir.” “Tom. Just Tom, son. Sir makes me sound old and that's impossible.” He looks at Nat and winks. “Your mother is in the kitchen.” She smiles wide, but her eyes don't hide the fact she’s a bit concerned, or just plain old terrified. I’m not sure which. “Okay.” She walks away from us, leaving me with the good guy. “You want a drink?” Her dad strolls over to the small bar and nods at the mini fridge. “Sure, I’ll have a beer please.” He gets us both one. It makes me smile that he drinks Budweiser in Greenwich. “So you and my daughter, huh?” He hands me the beer. “Now, I don't want to go all high and mighty on you about how my daughter is an angel and it’s quite likely that you’re not.” My insides tighten, but I keep a straight face. I’ve never actually had this speech before.

“But I also don't want you to get confused about the girl you’re dating.” He cocks a darkgray eyebrow and gives me a steely stare down. “She’s an angel. Am I understood?” “Yes, sir—Tom. I understand.” And I do. If she was my daughter and she brought home me, I would have a shit fit. He lifts the beer and clinks it against mine. “Don't make me have to make you disappear. I know how to run the machinery needed to dig a hole thirty feet, son. That's all it takes to make someone disappear completely.” I swallow hard and nod again. “Yes, sir.” He winks. “Now, tell me about your plans for the Rangers. I heard they have some talk about bringing you up.” “I’ve heard the same rumors, which would be amazing. Then Nat and I could live in the same tow—” I stop and sip the beer. “It’s always been my goal to play NHL.” “Hold up a minute. You and Nat don't live in the same town now?” His eyes, which had warmed up seconds ago, become steely again. “Where the hell is my daughter living?” His grip on the bottle tightens. “She lives in Hartford. She just got a huge job offer and a massive promotion, but it’s in New York. I think she’s planning on taking it, but she wants to tell you the news herself.” His eyes widen and a smile cracks his hardened face. “That's my girl.” He chuckles. “I won’t rat you out for spoiling her big surprise.” He takes a swig and nods slowly. “Now back to the important stuff—how long do you think you’ll be able to stay AHL before you decide to find something else in the world?” “Five years is what I gave myself. If after five years I don't get called up, I would start thinking about what else I can do in life. I got my undergrad from Michigan so at least I have that. It’s a start.” “That’s a good plan. Five years is long enough to decide if hockey is everything or just a piece of the puzzle.” I don't tell him that his daughter has already worked that one out for me. She’s not more important than hockey, but she’s almost on an even scale with it, and considering how long it’s taken me to get to this place with hockey, that's pretty impressive. My end goal is to have both. He turns and sighs, looking at the hallway. “Well, guess we better go face the music. I’m sure she’s had enough time to tell her mom everything she needs to. We should rescue her by throwing you under the bus.” He laughs and strolls down the hall. There aren’t a lot of things I fear but for some reason, I desperately fear her mom. I think her fear has somehow seeped into me. The stairs feel like they’re a mile long and when we get up to the top I can tell her mom isn’t happy. She looks similar to Nat, or Nat looks similar to her, only she’s older. They have the same sapphire eyes. Nat’s are filled with tears and her mom’s are bearing down on me with pure icy-cold hate. “Darlene, this is Brady. Natalie’s boyfriend.” Her dad offers me up to the wolves. “Brady, this is Nat’s mom, and the light of my life, Darlene.” His smile is filled with all sorts of things I don't think I want to know about. “Nice to meet you,” she says after she looks me up and down, appraisingly. “You as well, ma’am. You have a very lovely home.” Her eyes narrow, but she darts to Natalie to exact her cruelty. “You’ve come with very little time to get ready. I suggest you show Brady to the guestroom and get dressed. We have

to be there in an hour.” “You said seven.” “Six. Honestly, Natalie, how do you expect to impress people in New York if you’re tardy in Greenwich?” She sniffs, like in the movies, and stalks from the room. Nat’s dad rolls his eyes, exactly the same way Natalie does. He turns and follows her, obviously going to smooth things over. I’ve seen behavior like this before. The high-maintenance housewives where I billeted acted like this. It was like Real Housewives, but unscripted. Nat stares after her. Her lips are pressed into a tight line. I walk to her, wrapping my entire body around hers and breathing her in. “It doesn't matter what they think. I get that they've been hands-on for twenty-three years, but now you have to choose for you.” Her eyes dart to mine, filled with the same icy hatred. “Could you do the same? Walk away from hockey and disappoint them?” “I’m not playing for them. I’m playing for me and the love of the game. Can you honestly say you love the game here?” I’m trying desperately to keep my voice down. “No. I hate it. I don't want to marry well or even think about that. Look at Sami. She has all the money in the world and she’s miserable. She’ll never admit she’s in love with Matt. She won’t ever. She’ll ruin this.” “Or he will,” I add, cocking my head to the side in doubt. “Right, but they won’t ever move past seeing each other and maybe some other people. They’re the wrong people for each other. He’s not quite rich enough for her family and he’s new money. She’s a bit too wild for his family.” I cup her face and nod. “Exactly.” She blinks and sighs, losing some of whatever the feeling is she’s holding back. Whatever it is, it’s making her vibrate a little. This is going to be a ridiculous night.

Chapter Thirty-Six Insight and foreplay Natalie Squeezing his hand as we enter the mansion overlooking the golf course is the only thing that gets me by. Sami comes strolling across the foyer, greeting me with a hug and two kisses. She does the same to Brady. “I am so glad you guys decided to come.” “Did you bring Matt?” He sounds hopeful as his dark eyes scan the room. “No.” She scoffs and gives me a look like I should be snickering with her. “How did Mommy Dearest take the news?” She bats her lashes. “Worse than you can imagine.” My insides are raw from the acid eating at my spine. I should have eaten more before I told my mom. “What did you say? I want full details.” Sami links her arm in mine and Brady’s and leads us to the great room. “I walked upstairs and she spat her greeting, telling me wasn’t happy I brought Brady after dating him for only two weeks.” “Sound advice.” Sami winks and earns a look from Brady. “Then I told her I had taken the job and was moving in with you at your dad’s penthouse because it’s stupid big, and you won’t even know I’m there. I told her I was going to be able to save mad amounts of money and be successful and focus on my career.” “All sounds reasonable and responsible. Darlene should approve of all those things.” She laughs. “I know my parents got ridiculously excited when I told them you were moving home. Dad said ‘Finally, the prodigal daughter returns home.’ He said I better not waste my opportunity to learn how to be reliable and something about fiscal blah, blah, blah.” “That's exciting.” I laugh but it makes me feel better. Her parents are officially the worst at actual parenting. She is one-hundred percent a product of her environment. But they are awesome people who care about Sami and want her to succeed. They just don't have the skills to teach her. “Anyway, so then Mom asked why I couldn't give William another chance. He really was sorry and he loved me. She actually said that boys will be boys, and he was only sewing oats. Those girls meant nothing to him. So I said, over twenty girls means he has a problem, and I wouldn't let him clean dog shit off my shoe.” “Nice. So then what did she say?” She hands me a champagne flute and one to Brady. We both smile at the dainty glass in his huge hands with the black eye. He looks bored as hell, likely because he’s already heard this ghastly story as I was getting ready. He suffered through my being emotional. “She said she was disgusted at what I had become in so few months. She said I have proven what kind of a person I am and she can no longer support me in the decisions I make.” “What a fucking bitch. I mean, she’s your mom so I shouldn't say that, but what the actual fuck? I can’t even.” Sami pauses and Brady looks pissed again. “I don't know what it means to can’t even, but I can’t even either.” Brady shakes his head. “If she wants to disown you then that’s her loss. Your dad still loves you.”

I glance their way, earning avoidance from my mom and a soft smile from my dad. “Yeah. I just need to let her digest it and realize she can’t emotionally blackmail me into kowtowing and doing the things she wants and not what I want.” Those are Brady’s words. “Exactly. Let’s get pissed.” She drags me to the far side of the room. A friendly face and a wide smile welcome me. Rich, William’s younger brother, comes to greet me. “The wicked witch of scandalized women everywhere. How are you?” His eyes dart to Brady, drawing into a scowl. “What in the gods happened to your eye?” He sort of laughs as he says it. Brady nudges his head toward me. Rich laughs. “Yes, you must tow the line with this one. She’s feisty.” “I’m learning.” Brady smiles wide and offers a hand. “Brady Coldwell.” “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Rich Fairfield, this is my boyfriend who is a hockey player, Brady Coldwell. The eye is from a game.” “Fairfield?” Brady’s eyes narrow. “The better half of the bloodline. I’m afraid the gene pool is so shallow from inbreeding, only one of us could get a personality and one of us could have looks. As you can see William is the handsomer of the two of us.” He winks. He’s not wrong, but his personality points make him a higher hottie score than William is. He hugs me one more time. “I just want to say that the group text was the highlight of my fall.” “I felt sick for days. I still can’t believe I did it.” “Karen’s here. She’s lurking about sheepishly in case you attack I think.” He chuckles even louder. “Oh God.” I cover my eyes. “I am a monster.” “Well, I don't think you’ll ever be mistaken for the Beauty to his Beast. Finding a flaw in this one must be difficult.” Rich laughs and winks at Brady. “Now excuse me. I must go find my mother and ensure she’s not taking her special pills with her drinks.” He waves at Brady and struts off. “Really gay, right?” Brady looks lost. “Exceptionally.” “I thought rich people hated gays.” Sami cocks an eyebrow. “Not to encourage bigot hour but no. Rich people don't dislike gays. That's a religious situation. Besides, his parents have Sir William to provide them an heir to the throne.” She laughs and turns. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Dread slams into me as I turn and sigh, seeing William walking in with a beautiful redhead on his arm. “He hates the Vandervalks. Why is he here?” “Not a clue. Nice to see he brought a little party favor.” Sami snorts. “Isn’t that the model who was just on Victoria Secret’s angel commercial?” “Helena Varney.” Brady’s face is beet red. He turns and gives me a look. Even the black eye can’t hide the fact he’s banged that girl. Sami winces. “I hate how small the world has become.” “Me too.” But the whole thing makes me smile, like a crazy person. Most likely because I am emotionally tapped and can’t possibly cope with another bad thing. William and Helena walk straight for us. She’s wearing a silky black slip-styled dress with the skirt designed in handkerchief layers so it flows and moves like the wind is walking with her. Her red hair is in soft curls down to her tiny waist and though she has no bra on, her breasts

are still very round and perky. Her gray eyes don't move from Brady as they get to us. “Hello, ladies.” William offers us a smug grin. “This is Helena. She’s a model.” He is loving himself so much it’s almost unbearable. I don't know how I ever missed what a fucking dickhead he is. His whole face is caught up in the laugh he isn’t releasing. Like he’s stifling it but laughing on the inside freely. “Helena, this is Sami, Natalie, and of course you probably know Brady. Everyone knows Brady.” He bites his lip. She smiles at us and nods. “Brady, the famous hockey player on TV, of course.” She of course has an accent to go with her perfect face and body. Brady nods at William, ignoring the girl completely. “Eye looks a little worse for wear. Piss someone else off?” William smirks. “I need a drink. It’s nice to meet you, Helena.” I smile at the redhead and stroll away with my drink in my hand, dragging Brady away by his clenching hand. “Let’s avoid that, shall we?” I glance up at his stormy face. Something about his moods makes me find him more attractive. I don't need him to fight to know he would protect me. That's strangely seductive. Looking across the room I realize that I always felt like I had to fight for William. I fought for his attention. I stayed calm when I should have gotten upset so he wouldn't think I was one of those girls. I was the thing he wanted me to be because my mom convinced me I wanted it too. But I haven’t been any of those things with Brady. He was my friend, my hot roommate who I acted like me in front of. I zoned out, I wore sweats, I burped, and I said inappropriate things. I never let him win like I did William. I was just me, no more and no less, and none of the things my mom needed me to be. William is all the things a young blue-blooded male should be. He’s funny, handsome, polite when it matters, part of good society, and from a great family. He’s smart and one day he will be incredibly successful. But he has never stood out in the rain and told me that he liked me and that he wanted to date me. He has never made me feel like he would fight for me. And he certainly never gave me a birthday surprise like that. I squeeze Brady’s hand and give him a look. “I am completely pissed you screwed that Victoria’s Secret model. It’s irrational, I know.” His jaw drops but I shake my head. “I just want you to know, I’m not cool. I am that girl. I’m jealous and annoyed and kind of grossed out.” His eyebrows lift as he slowly loses the worry on his face. “Jealous of a crazy model?” He leans forward, brushing his lips softly along my cheek. “You should be trying to look as happy as you can. There’s no way William brought that particular model to this particular party without knowing she and I knew each other one time at a PF party.” “Gross.” “You’re missing the point.” He kisses my cheek again. “He brought her here to get between us. He’s still jealous.” “Oh, good call.” My eyes light up as my mouth curls into a wry grin. “Look at you being all brainy and shit.” “How long do we have to stay?” He looks so out of place it’s almost funny. “We don't have to. I’ll go and say happy anniversary and we can go.”

He grins. “Can we have sex in your bed at your mom’s? I don't normally want to disrespect moms, but I think that might make me feel better.” “Oh my God, gross.” I laugh and roll my eyes, leaving him at the bar and walking to where the Vandervalks are standing so I can wish them happy anniversary.

Chapter Thirty-Seven Mr. Clinton, how are you? Brady Leaning against the bar, I give the bartender a nod. “Got any beer?” He smiles wide. “Naw, man. Are you Brady Coldwell?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah.” “Bro, what are you doing here? These people are as dry as a popcorn fart.” We both chuckle quietly. His eyes widen and he straightens up. In his dark eyes I see the reflection of fiery red hair. My whole body cringes, but I force myself to turn and look at her. “What’s shaking?” She offers a sumptuous smile. “Hello, Mr. Clinton.” She bites her lip and the whole night with her flashes before my eyes. “Monica.” I grin back, boldly. “Tell me, did William know about us when he brought you here to distract me? Or was he guessing I had a type? ‘Cause red isn’t my favorite.” I wince. “Sorry.” Her eyes dart to the left but the smile stays the same. “You know how you like it, Mr. Clinton.” Following where her stare goes, I sigh. “Pathetic attempt.” William is standing with Nat, too close for my comfort. They’re laughing and looking like one of those Barbie couples except Nat glares at William every chance she gets. He tries to touch her hand, but she folds her arms. “Ya see, it doesn't matter what he tries with her. He’s screwed up already. And this is not the week to try to mend fences with her.” When I glance back at Helena her green eyes are stuck on me. She bats her lashes, reaching for my chest, but I lift a hand. “See ya around, Monica.” I nod at the bartender. “Good luck.” He grins but his eyes barely leave Helena. Instead of walking to my girl, I walk to Sami and lean against the wall, earning disapproving stares from pretty much everyone. “You are not popular, my friend.” “Story of my life.” I give her a sideways glance. “If I come up there and play for the Rangers, you think Nat would move in with me?” Her jaw drops. “Oh my God, who are you?” “Seriously?” “Of course she would. She does enjoy the thrill of imprudent decisions even though she avoids them, and I suspect making her mother angry is at the very top of her priority list right now.” “Cool.” A silly grin owns my face. “You have been watching the ‘just let me explain’ Olympics going on over there, right?” She giggles. “I have. If looks could kill.” I glance at Helena schmoozing the bartender and nod. “I Clintoned that model. He brought her here, for sure hoping to cause a rift.” “He’s a douche. There’s not even a nice way of saying it.”

“Yup.” Sami folds her arms and gives me a zesty look. “Don't fuck this up, Coldwell. At all. You break her heart and I hire people to make you disappear.” A smug grin crosses my lips as I glance at her dad. “You don't have to hire anyone. I suspect Mr. Banks is hands-on.” She giggles at him and nods. “He will fuck you up. And he likes you enormously. Her mom, on the other hand, hates you. Like full hatred. She’s rooting for number eight of the ‘let’s get back togethers.’ She isn’t over the whole Fairfields thing.” “What is her problem? Why does she want to be one of these terrible people?” I say it before I think. Sami lifts her middle finger. “She went to Greenwich Academy and made all the right friends and dated the right boy, and just as things were heating up with a certain millionaire, like the one whose house we’re in, she blows it and falls in love with the gardener.” That makes me smile. “Mr. Banks was the gardener?” “He was. He owned his own house. It was a shit shack just out of town, and he was working on his apprenticeship to become a builder, but he had to garden to pay the bills. I guess being an apprentice in the eighties was like some kind of slave labor.” “Okay.” I laugh but refrain from telling her it’s still sort of like being an indentured servant. “So anyway, they dated and got married and had a great life until Nat came along. Then her mom saw it as a second chance at happiness for the family. Marry wealthy and they would be in. Their daughter would be one of us terrible people and their grandkids would be the start.” “That's scary. Like maybe the scariest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s like a marriage manifesto.” Sami rolls her eyes. “It’s crazy. Nat is one of us. She can’t even escape it. She doesn't need to marry anyone for anything. She could ask my dad for a house and he’d give it to her. A couple million, no prob. He likes her better than me, loves the whole poor-person work ethic. Nat never needed to be anything but herself and everyone loved her. I think it’s weird when she’s being all fake and shit for her mom.” For a shallow girl I feel like she has gone to a depth she might never have reached before. But then she gives me an unimpressed look and sighs. “I need to get out of here. You guys want to go to New York?” I shake my head. “No. Thanks.” “Tell Nat I had to bail. This is boring as shit. I’ll text her later.” She waves and walks off. I’m alone a second before Nat walks over, looking so pretty I can barely remember what we were talking about. Her cheeks are flushed and she has a glint in her eyes. She reaches for me, taking my hands and squeezing. “I am free to go. But we have to sneak out the side, so let’s pretend I am showing you the art.” She links her arm in mine and pulls me to a side room. We stroll, passing people doing the same thing, until we get to a door she opens and slips into, dragging me into a garage. “There’s a side entrance.” We hurry out it, both cringing when the cold air of fall hits us. She walks us to a tree and pulls out her cell phone. “I need a new picture.” She holds it so we are both in it, under a magnificent tree. She looks at it and smiles at me. “There. That's better.” “Sami told me about your mom and how this could have been her house.” I turn and look at the expansive mansion.

“She would have hated it. She loves my dad. She just gets crazy sometimes.” She rolls her eyes and leads me to the truck she tried to convince me not to bring. But after her mom’s hate speech I couldn't ride in the same car as her. Now, I’m glad I didn't. When we get to the truck, I walk her to her side and open the door but stick my arm in the way so her back is against the open door. “Move in with me.” Her eyebrows furrow. “What?” “When I get to New York, move in with me.” “No, Brady, you need to focus and play and be part of the team and be crazy. You won’t even have time to see me. I don't want to obligate you to that.” I reach down and cup her angelic face, searching her bright eyes for a moment. “I want you there. You can be there when I’m gone and have the place to yourself, but when I’m home I want you all to myself.” She thinks for a second, and I can see the doubt in her eyes but she nods. “Okay. If you come to New York, I’ll live with you.” Her eyes widen and she looks like she might squeal, but she saves me from that experience and pulls my face down farther so she can kiss me. My chest is fluttering and I swear I’m going crazy, but it’s the best feeling ever. And just like my brother said it would, it’s happened to me. I pull back, hold her face in my hands and smile. “I know.” She looks confused, but she doesn't have to understand. I do.

Chapter Thirty-Eight Practical Magic Natalie Moving the last of my things into Sami’s was exhausting. Thankfully, two brawny hockey players did most of the work. As I unpack the few things I need to live with her and put the rest of the boxes in the corner of the giant bedroom, she comes in. “What should we watch tonight?” She’s already in pajamas and holding the Apple TV remote. “Whatever you want. I’m bagged.” “Okay, I pick Practical Magic.” She saunters in and looks at the mess. “So Mike, Mitch, and Brady are all going to share your old apartment?” She sits on the edge of the king-sized bed. “No. Just Mike and Brady. Mitch is moving in with some girl.” “Not the waitress?” Sami wrinkles her nose. “The very one.” “Oh boy.” She rolls her eyes and taps the remote against her palm. “Did Brady ask you to move in with him yet?” “He did. You knew?” I stop changing into my pajamas and stare at the guilty look on her face. “He mentioned it, like passing it by me. I told him no and that he was crazy.” She sticks her tongue out. “It is. I can’t believe he thinks we should move in together so soon. Especially, since we just lived together.” I drag on my sweater over my tank top and walk to the doorway with her following me. “Why not? You and William spent years not actually progressing and that relationship was bullshit. You and Brady hit it off straight away. Why does there have to be a set of rules everyone follows to make relationships work? Everyone is going too fast or too slow or not at all.” Her voice drops a bit at the end, and I know she’s talking about her and Matt. They’ve been bedmates for a while and sort of seeing each other, but it does seem like it’s not going anywhere. “You should be excited you’re with a guy who knows he wants to be with you. And that's where you are. You don't have to go any further ahead or behind. He wants you and you want him and that's that.” Sometimes she gets it right. “Yeah, you’re right. Who cares if we live together or don't. He might not even go to the Rangers. We might long-distance date from here to Hartford for the whole five years he plays there.” She cocks an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t count on that.” She knows something she isn’t supposed to say. As much as I want to make her tell me, I’d rather he tell me his news. “Has your mom called yet?” The sudden subject change tells me she wants to tell me too but won’t. “No. Dad called to say he loves me, and she loves me and sometimes she’s an asshole. The usual stuff.” I laugh because Brady has helped me see how ridiculous it all is. When we get to the theatre room, she starts the movie she already had picked out. It’s not the same as when we were kids and we watched movies with clear minds. She

sits and stews, not laughing as hard as she could and checking her texts a few times. I want to tell her to walk away from Matt. He’s another William. He wants what he wants but that's short term because before too long he wants other things too. He’s a player. He might always be a player. And I have a bad feeing Brady has given her reason to hope Matt might change, seeing that Brady did. And my mind isn’t clear either. I’m stressed about starting my new job. I don't like the fact I’ve got to start all over again. I only did three months at my first job. I was just getting comfortable. We finish the movie and go to bed, me hoping to sleep and her hoping to hear from Matt. My slutty friend, who has always been the one to call the shots and choose how the story is going to play out, has finally met her equal. It’s a bit painful to watch her and the highs and lows of it all. I barely sleep, and when I get up in the morning, I don’t know that I’m ready for it. I don't feel ready. I get dressed the same way I did in Hartford. But now, instead of walking across the park, I catch a cab to the office on Broadway, which is a massive skyscraper on a busy street. It’s not the quiet of Hartford with its small hustle and bustle. This is the big time, and it’s not even a dream I ever had. I never imagined this would be how my career would play out. When I get inside, I feel like a country bumpkin, and I’m not. But this is intimidating. But then my phone buzzes and there’s a text. Good luck today, beautiful. Call me on your lunch break. I sigh and lose some of the stress and tension. For the first time ever, a boy makes all of that better. He doesn't cause it, unless he’s playing hockey. Then I’m a ball of stress. When I lift my head, Jane Stuart is there, waiting for me. She smiles and waves. “Natalie, how are you?” “Very well, thank you.” “Excellent.” Her eyes sparkle with delight. “You ready?” I feel like we might enter Narnia, but we just go into the elevator. She uses her card and scans like in a hotel. “You will be with the design team when we get upstairs. They will show you the ropes, get you situated, and help you start on the first of many projects you will have.” She takes a long breath. “Just relax, Natalie. This is going to be the best first day and you will love it here.” “Thank you.” The day goes fast with meeting people, forgetting names, and finding my desk. By the time I have a cover project it’s lunch and the HR lady has just left me alone. No one goes together to eat. There’s no joking or laughing or making fun of one another. It’s professional and the atmosphere isn’t tense, but it’s not relaxed like in Hartford. I prefer that type of office, but I know this is what’s best. Sitting back in my small space, I dial Brady and close my eyes. “Hey, how’s it going? “Good.” “What’s wrong?” He lowers his voice. I open my eyes and look around at the large space. “It’s not that there’s something wrong. It’s just not the same, you know?” “How?” He sounds out of breath a bit, like he might be working out. He’s so fit he’s probably jogging and still talking to me.

“Like, I just miss the weird office where everyone knew each other. This is intense, and I bet most of the people in the other departments don't know each other. I bet I won’t really know anyone outside of design.” He sighs. “I know what you mean. Leaving behind a small team and going to a big one is the same. You are comfortable and everyone is there because this is what they love doing. But in the big leagues they've lost some of that love and a lot of it is work and competition and demand. But the bigger paycheck and the recognition and being at the top of your field come with a price. You have to decide if this is what you want.” “Did you have to make that choice?” “Many times over. Most recently last night.” My stomach drops. “What?” His voice changes so I can tell he’s smiling when he speaks, “Yeah, I got the big call. They’ve got an injury and a couple of problems and they want me. I play my first game with them in a week, and I am coming there tomorrow to train with them and practice.” “Did they sign you?” “Yup. I went from a two-way contract to a full mid-season contract. I can finish out the year with them and then I’ll be a free agent. But I suspect if I play well they’ll offer me something amazing.” “Holy shit!” My heart is racing and my stomach is tense. “Congratulations!” I realize he never told me about it last night. “Why didn't you tell me last night during all your bedtime chatter?” “I didn't want to be the big star of the day. You’re starting a new job—” “Are you insane? I didn't even want this job when I got it. This hasn't been a dream of mine since I was a tiny kid. My dad didn't die wishing this for me. Your news is the best in the world. Did you call your mom?” I am standing and my hand is lodged in my hair, and I want to run around the building screaming but again, this isn’t Hartford. “Yeah, she cried. It was pretty awesome. She and my brother are coming to the game next week. You can meet them then. She’s really excited to meet you.” Again my stomach burns. “Okay.” I fear his mom the way I fear mine. He loves her and respects her. I have to assume she has some sort of ballbusting way about her to command that sort of loyalty. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I was thinking I’ll just stay with Matt until I find a place.” “No, stay with me. Sami won’t care. And her parents are in France. They do this whole autumn in Europe thing to avoid the sucky storms here.” “No. I’ll stay with Matt. I’m not going to stay at her parents’ house. That's disrespectful and my mom would kill me.” He laughs. “But back to the important stuff—do you think you will like it there?” “I hardly know. It’s new and we’ll see. But your news is the important stuff. Mine is nothing in comparison. In fact, I feel terrible that you let me go on and on about how nervous I was and how this was such a big step. I feel like a dick.” “No, you distracted me from the craziness of it all. And my big step doesn't make yours smaller.” I close my eyes and sink back into my chair blindly, not telling him that his does overshadow mine, like a tree over a blade of grass. I don't want him to think he’s made mine small. Mine is small and I’m okay with that. “I am so proud of you.”

“Thanks, baby. You’re my lucky charm.” It makes me smile and after a moment I realize there are tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. It’s not mere tears; it’s something else. Something I thought I might have felt a few times, but now I see I didn't. I have never felt this way about another person, ever. “I love you, Brady. I shouldn't be saying it on the phone like a coward, or this soon into the relationship, but I feel like I have to say it or I’ll explode. I love you and I am so proud of you.” The words tumble from my parted lips. “I—” “Don't say anything. I just want this to be a moment of me loving you and being proud of you.” I can’t believe I’ve said that. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I nod like he can see me. “Okay. Bye.” I hang up and realize how much I just gave away. I don't even care though. I love him. I love that he’s kind and gentle and sweet, and he doesn't show that to anyone but me. All the other girls see that slimy grin and hear the Clinton stories, and I have the real version of him. The soft and sweet boy who loves his mom and makes everyone else bigger than himself.

Chapter Thirty-Nine Dry Toast Brady The trainer has us running bleachers with burpees at the top and push-ups at the bottom. I’ve already picked out Matt as the hardest working Ranger on the team so I am kicking his ass in speed and agility. We are all near throwing up when he blows the whistle and tells us to hit the showers. Matt saunters over, heaving his breaths and grinning. “Well, well. Nothing like seeing the rookie prove how he got the chance to come up.” I lift my middle finger as I bend forward and struggle for air. “Come on, man. Let’s shower and get some food. I’m dying.” He slaps me on the ass and starts limping to the showers. I force myself to follow him, regardless of the fact my body is begging me to stop and lie down. Maybe call a doctor. The trainer here is just a little meaner than the one in Hartford. Just enough that you know you’re almost in organ failure. But it’s good. The New York Rangers are known for being fit. The hot water feels incredible, but the nausea isn’t going anywhere, thanks to the steam. “Hey, Brady!” one of the guys in the back shouts over the shower. I turn and nod. “Yeah?” “It true you Clintoned the team nurse in Hartford?” A disgusting grin creeps along my face. “What? I wouldn't ever do something so despicable.” He laughs and shouts. “You know it’s the same nurse here, right?” My grin drops off. Matt points and shouts, “You dirty bastard. She’s almost forty.” He gives a couple of the older guys a wry grin. “Which is still totally young.” He earns a couple of middle fingers and several fuck yous. The whole thing makes me laugh, even if I have no desire to see that nurse again. My cock begs to differ, but my heart is running the show. Natalie told me she loves me a week ago. That's the big stuff. “You ready for the game tomorrow night, rookie? We’re playing the Canadiens.” “Yup.” I don't even look at who is asking, I just nod and smile. “I’m ready.” And that's the truth. I am ready to play hard, love hard, work hard, and live hard. When we leave the arena, I head for Broadway. It’s almost five and Natalie should be off. I’ve only seen her twice in the last week since she said those four words: I love you, Brady. They have been everything all week. My phone rings as I’m standing on the street outside the massive Penguin Random building. It’s my brother. “Hey.” “Hey, rookie, what’s going on?” He chuckles. “Nothing. Just waiting for Nat to get off work. What are you doing?” “Patrols. We’re just cruising around the shore looking for a bunch of kids who have been smashing windows in some of the cottages.” He makes me smile. “You’re doing patrols and talking on the phone?”

“It’s not like I’m going to give myself shit, Blow Job.” He chuckles. “Now, tell me more about this girl. Mom is over the moon but I’m worried. You actually sound a little bit into her. This is your first time. Have you gone stage-four clinger on her?” “No, fuckhead. She’s awesome. You’re going to meet her and be sorry you even mocked this.” “How’s it feel?” “What?” I suspect he’s about to make some serious fun of me. “Having your balls drop?” He laughs. “Good.” I laugh too, but we both know he was right. Same girl-itis goes away. “Yeah, it does. How’s that same piece of dry toast tasting now, ya little shit?” “Fucking good, okay? I like it. I like the same dry toast every goddamned day.” I turn and wince, seeing Natalie staring at me from the entrance. She cocks an eyebrow. “I better go. The toast just got here.” “Fuck you and see you tomorrow!” “You too.” It’s like I love you, but not as girlie. She opens her mouth but pauses before muttering, “Same dry toast every day?” Her eyes show the wheels turning. “Let me guess, I am the same dry toast?” “Yeah.” I groan. “My brother has been with this girl, Lacey, since he was nineteen. They got together and got married a year ago and now they’re having a kid and he’s like twenty-four. And I made fun of him every day for the last five years, saying how he’s got the same piece of dry toast to look forward to. And now—” “You have this dry toast too?” She looks offended. “Right, but the point is that I like having the same dry toast.” “Dry toast?” “It’s like a metaphor for no variety. Which I assumed was a bad thing when I was younger. I was only seventeen when they got together. And my brother was the biggest player. So he went from a different breakfast every day to—” “You should stop. This isn’t fixing it.” I cringe. “I am trying to say, I don't think of you or Lacey as dry toast any more.” “But you did think of me that way?” “No. Not ever. Once I met you I realized the dry toast analogy was way off and the same girl was different than lots of different girls.” “Okay, let’s just agree that you will never bring any of this up again,” she snaps and takes my hand. “You’re being weird.” I don't say anything else. There’s not much else to say. I’ve literally fit my whole foot in my mouth. “Wanna go for dinner?” I test the water after a minute. She sighs and gives me a look, stopping us both in the middle of the street during the busiest time of day. I drag her to the side of the building we are next to and hold her tight. “No. I want you to come to our place for dinner. I’m tired and I want to put on something grungy and maybe force you to watch something girlie.” “Okay.” I wrinkle my nose. “Rough week?” “No. Just tired because it’s new, and I’m still lost and I miss Hartford and all the people and how fun it was. But I’m catching on and a girl named Linna was nice to me today. She sat with me at lunch and we talked. She’s from Providence too. She said you guys were in seventh

grade together, but you probably won’t remember her. Dark hair and blue eyes and really pretty.” My insides clench. “Linna Mackenzie?” “Yeah!” Her eyes are wide and then they dull. “Really?” She reads my face like a book. “You are why I can’t have nice things.” I bend down and kiss her cheek. “You are my nice thing.” How the fuck is it possible she works with a girl I fucked when I was fifteen? Fuck! “You are everything.” She makes duck lips and looks off to the right. Her sour mood is going strong tonight, and I suspect I am the cause of it all. “Do you want to go back to Hartford?” I run my hands along her neck and cheek. She’s cold. Her bright eyes widen as she lifts her face to mine and shrugs. “I don't know. I need to give this more of a chance, I think.” I bend and kiss her softly. “Whatever you want to do, I’m with you on it. I already told you that.” She melts into me and lets me hold her. “And I’m sorry about Linna. I was fifteen.” She laughs against my lips. “You should trade out West.” I shake my head. “That won’t help.” She pulls back and rolls her eyes. “Gross.” I let her lead me back to her place.

Chapter Forty Meet the folks Natalie Our seat is close to the penalty box so if he goes in I might actually see him. I don't want him to go in though. Not his first week as a Ranger. Even if he looks sexy in the white, red, and blue and I want a close up. The stands start filling as the game gets closer to start time and I am insanely nervous. Not just for him but also for the fact his family couldn't come right away, they got delayed by something and now I’m stuck introducing myself in the seats when they arrive. “Why are you twitching?” “Dude, it’s his mom, brother, and sister in law plus it’s Brady’s first game. I’m a mess.” I give Sami a look. She wrinkles her nose. “He’s going to rock. And they’re going to love you. Everyone does.” “It’s a lot for one night.” Nervously I glance about, sipping my cocoa and waiting. I know them the moment I see them. “Oh fuck, that's them.” There’s a guy who looks just like Brady and a pregnant lady. With them is a small woman with dark hair. They stop when they see me and then start waving. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. His mom even hurries. “Yeah it is.” Sami sounds scared now too. “You must be Natalie!” His mom rushes to me and wraps her arms around me. She hugs tightly and I detect a subtle hint of cookie on her. When she pulls back she inspects me. “You are prettier than he could have described.” She pulls me back in. The other two offer a simple wave, both smiling like this whole mauling thing is something we all get used to. “I’m Andy and this is my wife, Lacey.” The Brady look-alike and the beautiful, but very pregnant blonde both smile. “I’m Natalie. This is my bestie, Sami.” I mutter through his mother’s dark hair. “It’s nice to meet you.” Sami waves and grins at me and the mom-mauling. Brady’s mom pulls back finally and offers me to them. His sister in law hugs, awkwardly, like she’s trying not to get the belly all over me. And his brother offers me his hand. “The girl who tamed the beast. It’s nice to finally meet.” Andy laughs. I can tell by the sparkle in his eyes he knows exactly what his brother is like. “Come on, let's sit and get ready.” Their mom sits and drags me with her. “How did BJ seem today? He gets tense sometimes when it’s game day. Was he tense?” She’s tense but I get it. This is a lifetime of work coming to a head. The culmination of a family full of dreams all coming true in one moment. Sami sits next to me, doing her indifferent face. It’s weird being with them and being with my family. The life was the same and then completely opposite. His parents wanted what was best for him, same as mine, and they had a dream for him, same as mine, but they let him choose the dream, in the end. My dad did that

for me, but my mom didn't. I wish she could see and feel what this moment is like. I wish I could have been the kid who made her dreams come true for her. But my dreams have only started forming in the last little while. And they are attached to the guy about to skate out onto the ice. I spent so long living the dream I was told I wanted that I didn't know I had other dreams. Now I want someone else’s dreams, but I want them for the right reason. Brady loves hockey. He plays better than anyone I’ve seen. And he has fought for this moment harder than I have seen anyone fight. I turn and glance at his mom, pressing my lips together when I see the thin line her lips are pressed into and the way her eyes are sparkling with pride and love and maybe even a little fear. I reach over and take her hand in mine, squeezing and looking back out at the ice. “He’s going to be amazing.” She nods as the teams both come out, music and announcements and anthems fill the cool air around us. Her other hand covers her mouth when she sees him. It stays there for the anthem and doesn't budge when they skate over to the benches. The arena is loud and vibrating, but I would swear it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Her fear becomes some of mine and my heart starts to pick up the pace, building in my chest. I can’t breathe even when they finally get onto the ice, ready to face off. Brady isn’t on but when the puck drops we lose sight of who the players are focus on the game. I don't know if Brady goes on. I’m not watching for his number. I’m keeping up with the game and the craziness of it all. Someone goes into the boards, taking a dirty hit. There are several shots on net from both teams. The tension builds, the crowd goes wild. Every movement becomes something the crowd gets upset about. The Canadiens have heaps of fans in the crowd, which is weird for me. “Are the Canadiens a hard team to beat?” I lean in and ask Sami. “Yeah, the goalie is one of the best in the world. Some say the best. This season he’s been one goal against average, it's impressive. They’re very hard to beat.” I’m not entirely sure what she just said but I get the gist of it. The one week Brady had here to train didn't give him much time to discuss the amazing career of the team he would play against. He just said there was a bit of a rivalry between the two teams over injuring the goalie a couple of years ago. I see that now. The Ranger’s goalie stops six shots on net, almost the same number as the Canadiens’ does. We all scream and cheer as they fight for a goal. The first period ends with nothing but all of us on the edge of our seats. Brady’s mom gives me a look as she takes her seat again. “I hope Brady get’s to play.” “He will.” When the Zamboni is done and the teams get back onto the ice, she squeezes my arm and points at the defenseman in the back on the right. I squint and nod. “That's him!” The puck drops and he skates back, not forward, not following the puck. He hangs around the line, waiting for the puck to come back to their end. The goalie for the Canadiens stops another shot on goal and the forward for that team skates hard as a defenseman sends the

puck down. Brady and the other defenseman each stay wide, the puck comes down the side opposite Brady but gets shot across, he intercepts the puck, skating hard and fast forward. He passes to the right winger, but stays with them as the right passes to the center who passes to the left. The Canadiens pull out a thick defense but the center passes to Brady who skates, fakes a pass and shoots. The puck rebounds, but it’s like they knew the goalie would deflect it. The leftwinger is there, flicks the rebound in, just under the goalie’s mitt. The sirens go and the crowd goes wild. His mom is screaming and shaking me. His brother and his wife are mauling each other. And I am grinning like an idiot. I don't actually know if it counts as an assist if it goes off the goalie. The puck drops and the tension rises. Everyone is freaking out, offering their very best advice. And when the buzzer goes for the end of the second period, we are exhausted and yet still wired. “I can’t imagine playing at this level all the time. They must get exhausted.” Andy shakes his head. “They train for it and have routines. Like last night, did Brady sleep alone?” “Yeah.” I eye up his mom and nod. ”He might always do that before a game. They get a routine that works for the and they never stray form it.” “Weird.” I have never noticed Brady having a routine before. The Zamboni finishes and the teams come back out. Brady is on the ice again, again as a defenseman. The puck drops and it's the same thing. But this time Montreal wins the drop and the puck starts coming for the Ranger’s end, and fast. Brady doesn't go for the guy with the puck, he guesses the pass, again intercepting and passing up to the center. He skates forward with them again, leaving the one defenseman behind. Sami shouts about that. The center passes to the right, he passes to Brady, who passes it to the left. One of the Canadien’s takes the left-winger into the boards, stealing back the puck. Again Brady sees the pass and goes for it, catching it before it lands at the forward. He sends it to the right-winger just as someone takes Brady into the boards. His mom and I hold out breath as he gets up and skates back to defense as the puck is being wrestled over at centerline. The other defenseman does what Brady did and intercepts the pass, flicking the puck to Brady in a desperate move as he’s taken into the board. Brady fakes a pass to the center who skates hard at the same moment Brady does. Both men get a bit of a breakaway, passing back and forth. Center fakes his shot, a huge made up slap shot as he flicks the puck to Brady who takes the slap shot. The goalie has gone to the spot for the center and leaves the far left side open. Brady takes the shot, the puck sails past the best goalie in the world. The sirens go and Brady scores. He leaps into the air, hugging and being hugged and slapped by his teammates. His mom starts to cry. Her voice is so hoarse from shouting, I can barely hear her. His brother looks like he might cry, but he holds back. I’m fighting the tears. I want to save them for the moment I see Brady.

The pregnant sister is bawling. It’s a huge moment. The stands are going crazy as Brady’s face appears on the huge screen in the Garden. Sami shakes me just like Brady’s mom did. The game goes back into play with a line change, Montreal wins the puck drop, but the defensemen keep the puck out of their zone. They fight back and forth, again taking shots and trying to score but when the final buzzer goes, New York has won the game 2-0. Brady skates with his team for the centerline to shake hands. One of the refs skates to him and hands him something. He finishes shaking hands and is about to leave the ice with the team when he stops. He looks at where we are and skates over. He reaches overtop the Plexiglas and drops a puck over and points at his mom. His face is covered in sweat and emotion. She jumps down and grabs the puck, holding it close to her heart. He looks at us all through the glass and winks before he turns and skates away. His mom cries a little more, still softly to herself as she sniffles and lifts the battered puck up for us to see.

Epilogue Brady She smiles at me from the other side of the room where my brother is still nattering her poor ears off. I suspect she’s going to throat punch him any second and tell him that his job is boring as fuck. But she doesn't. She continues to listen to the monotone rendition of how my brother is the same as Magnum PI. Nat is a champ. Lacey looks miserable in the armchair. Her whole body has become swollen in the last couple of days before Christmas. Her feet make me gag and wince at the same time. Her mom and dad dote on her, getting her drinks of juice or water and checking on her constantly. I think they’re avoiding listening to Andy and the stories of the heinous crimes in Providence. Nat’s dad is like Nat, enduring my brother’s crazy story too. He sips his beer and nods at all the right times. I suspect this skill is what has gotten him through the years of marriage. In the kitchen the other saint, my mother, agonizes through Nat’s mom’s bossing her around. Mom doesn't say much, she just does her thing and lets Darlene go at it. Our families together are actually less insane than I imagined. Lacey’s parents are both nice people who come for Christmas every year. They are a bit portentous so adding them in with Darlene isn’t actually so bad. They have spent most of the day one upping each other on places they’ve vacationed. I slip into the tree and grab the small box I have under there for Nat. Her eyes dart to mine and I nod for her to come. She excuses herself and strolls over, looking confused. I take her hand in mine and pull her down the hallway to my bedroom. It’s small and filled with old posters and hockey medals and awards. She laughs when she sees the male model award. “Really?” She runs a finger along it. “It has to be with the rest.” I laugh and pull her into me. I bury in her neck, planting kisses and small licks. “Did I tell you yet how great you smell?” “Not today but I won’t take it personally.” She squeezes and melts into me. I pull back and give her the most intense and sincere face I can. “I don't want to give my present to you in front of everyone.” Her brow furrows. “Is it dirty?” “What? Not everything I do is dirty.” “Okay.” She rolls her eyes. Her and Linna at work have become quite the friends so some of my seedier stories have found their way to her. I had hoped she would go back to Hartford but she’s warmed to Penguin Random and is happier every time I talk to her about work. “Babe, seriously. I want to do this in here because it’s a really big question and a huge present and I don't want you to tell me to fuck my hat in front of the entire family. I’m already the family pussy for crying first with the first goal in the NHL.” She sighs and steps back. “You’re sort of ruining the gift right now.” I lift the small box for her to see. Her mouth drops, her eyes widen, and panic sets in. It’s the same face she had the day I

asked her if we could date and she freaked out. I’m dying and loving all of this. I wish I’d video taped it. Her fingers shake as she lifts them to the box, scared of something so small. She swallows hard and lifts the lid, wincing when she sees a tiny teal box. It’s Tiffany’s. I got them to get me a box. I explained what it was for and they agreed but I had to sign some serious autographs first. She shakes her head, giving me a look like she doesn’t know how to shoot me down nicely. I would take this one personally but I know when she sees it she’s going to flip her shit. She takes a breath and lifts the lid, sighing and scowling at the beautiful, shiny silver key in the box with the teal ribbon tied to it. “What the hell, Brady. I was having a heart attack.” “I know.” I snicker. “I just didn't want to ask you to move into our new apartment in front of your mom.” Her eyes widen and get all sparkly. “What? You found one?” “I did. And it’s perfect. Two bedrooms, a view of the park, and it has an island in the kitchen.” She snorts. “Two bedrooms? So the real question is, games room or guest room.” I cock an eyebrow and pull her in again. “Everyone we know lives close by. They get sleep on the couch if they get desperate.” “Games room it is.” “Yeah it is.” I nod and kiss her forehead, taking a deep inhale of her. I pull back and say the thing I have wanted to say for far too long. “I love you, Nat. I have loved you since probably the third day we moved in together.” Her eyes water and she shakes her head in small twitches. “Don't tell me when you fell in love with me. There are no rules for this one.” I kiss her forehead again and close my eyes. “The only reason I never said it sooner was because you said it and I didn't want you to think I was saying it back to you. I’m not. I’m saying it because it’s how I feel for the first time in my life.” She melts into me again and sighs. “I love you too, Brady. I don't think it was the third day but it was way sooner than it should have been.” “Someone once told me that you’ll know when it’s right. And the moment we got to know each other, I knew.” She looks up at me and smiles, her eyes are brilliant sapphires. For once there’s no iciness to them. They’re bright and yet somehow warm. I lower my face to hers, pressing our lips together and I know, nothing is ever going to be the same again.

The End