“So, Stevie—”
“Hold up, we’re back to Rook’s little sister?”
“Who else would I be talking about?”
“I thought you said there isn’t anything going on between you, and now you’re taking her to some kind of work function? That’s not a favor; that’s a date. Does Rook know?”
“It’s none of his damn business.”
“I’m not sure he’ll see it that way.”
“Well, he doesn’t have control over her or what she does, or what I do.” I’m agitated now. “She’s not going to that thing alone. I don’t trust that ex of hers, and I don’t want her to end up in a situation she doesn’t like.”
Kingston tips his head to the side. “Dang.”
“What?”
“You like her.”
“Well, yeah, I like her.” What’s not to like? She’s gorgeous, there’s no bullshit with the PT rehab, and she’s funny and feisty; her body is rockin’; and she’s fun to be around, super chill, and genuinely selfless.
“Like you actually want to date her, though.”
I shrug, because what am I going to say? The answer to that is yes, I want to date her, but the timing needs to be right. “I don’t want the ex thinking he has another chance. He’s stupid as fuck and can’t take a hint.”
“You really love complicated situations, don’t you?”
“They just tend to find me, is all.”
“When’s this event you’re supposed to take her to?” King asks.
“Saturday.”
He frowns. “We get back at noon on Saturday.”
“It’s in the evening.”
“You better hope our flight isn’t delayed.”
I hadn’t considered a delay. The only reason that would happen is if the weather isn’t good. “It doesn’t start until five. I should have plenty of time to get home and throw a suit on.”
Kingston nods and taps restlessly on the edge of the pool. “So would you call this your first date?”
“We hang out all the time.”
“‘Hang out’ meaning what?”
“Other than PT sessions, we watch hockey, eat pizza, stuff like that.”
Kingston blinks several times in rapid succession. “That’s it?”
“I pick her up from work a lot.”
“Have you ever bought her flowers before? Brought her any gifts?”
“I brought her over an aloe plant once. But, like I said, it hasn’t been like that.” I don’t get why he’s so hung up on the flowers.
“Again, please try not to take offense, but are you sure you haven’t inadvertently put yourself in the friend zone?”
“How do I know if I’m in the friend zone?” I haven’t had a lot of friends who are girls. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend who’s a girl who isn’t related to me. And I only have two female cousins, whom I see a couple of times a year at family functions. They’re significantly younger than me, so mostly I avoid them.
It’s Kingston’s turn to blow out a long breath. “If you put your arm around her and she gets all snuggly but doesn’t try to take it any further, it could mean you’re in the friend zone.”
I don’t know what my expression must be, but the panic I feel inside quite possibly reaches my face.
Kingston holds up a hand. “Don’t freak out yet. I think this is a different kind of situation, and I’m speaking from my own experience.”
“You’ve been friend zoned?”
“Oh yeah. Lots of times. Especially in high school. I was like every girl’s best guy friend all of sophomore and junior year. One of the girls I hung out with a lot ended up dating one of my friends. She told me after the fact that she’d been hoping I’d ask her out, but after a certain point I still hadn’t done anything about it, so when he made the move, she said yes. Kind of put things into perspective, you know? Most of the time I was more focused on hockey than I was dating, but I solved the friend-zone problem in senior year.”
“What happened in senior year?”
“Someone spiked the punch at the winter semiformal, and the liquid courage gave me the balls to kiss my date. I mean, I asked first if it was okay for me to kiss her, and she said yes, which was good, because she told me if I hadn’t made a move that night, she was ready to throw in the towel. She thought I wasn’t interested and I only said yes to going with her to be nice.”
I feel like it should be obvious that I’m interested. A guy doesn’t spend endless hours with a gorgeous woman who combines weird pizza toppings for shits and giggles. But then again, I haven’t attempted to make a move on her since the almost-kiss and grind. And any conversation I’ve tried to have with her about it has been shut down. In fact, she wants to pretend it didn’t happen. I hadn’t considered that this might be because she actually didn’t want it to happen at all. She seemed just as into it as I was. Or maybe I’ve been misreading the whole thing. “If I’m in the friend zone, how the hell do I get out?”
“You can only get out of it if you talk to her and tell her where you’re at.”
“Right. I get that. So just come out and tell her, then?”
“Sure, but you can sort of pave the way with flowers and chocolate or something, unless she isn’t into either. After I was drafted and I had extra cash flow, I started sending Jessica to get her nails done before an event, or before I’d fly her out for a visit. Sometimes I’ll even have a dress sent to her place, but you’d have to know Stevie’s size and measurements for that. Not all women like to be pampered, but generally doing something nice or thoughtful is safe. She needs to know you’re thinking about her in a nonplatonic way.”
My constant semis and commentary on her nipples should be a pretty solid indicator that I’m not feeling all that platonic toward her, but I can see how stepping up my game would be a good idea. Maybe she thinks the almost-make-out-session was a fluke. Maybe she thinks I’ve lost interest, or maybe she’s lost interest. I hope not. If she wanted to just be friends, I could deal, but I definitely want more.
I’m way past wanting to claim the pussy. I want to claim the whole woman.
CHAPTER 21
STAND UP
Stevie
I’m in the middle of making myself a buffalo-chicken wrap when a knock startles me. Bishop isn’t scheduled to be home for two more days, so I check the peephole before I open the door. On the other side is a very pale, very clammy Nolan gripping the jambs.
“Hey, Nolan, everything okay?”
“Uh, really sorry to bother you, but, uh . . . I think I might need to go to urgent care,” he mumbles.
I take him by the elbow and guide him to the couch. “Did you misplace your insulin?”
“I checked all of Shippy’s usual hiding spots, but he must’ve put it somewhere different, and I can’t get ahold of him to find out where.” He runs his shaky hands over his thighs. “I’ve been looking for over an hour. You have keys to his car, right? If you can drop me off at urgent care, I’ll get home on my own.”
“I’m not dropping you off and leaving you there on your own.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Besides, Bishop left me with a couple of insulin doses for you just in case.”
“He did?”
“Yup, just take some deep breaths. I’ll be right back.” I leave him in the living room and rush to the kitchen, where I open the drawer with Nolan’s emergency doses. Bishop left them here weeks ago, right after Nolan interrupted the almost-kiss.
I prepare the needle, having done it for my dad plenty of times, and offer to administer it for him since his hands are so shaky. It takes about fifteen minutes before his color starts to come back and for Nolan’s shakes to stop. While we’re waiting, I assemble a sandwich, the kind I used to make for my dad when he’d get busy and forget to take his shot.
“Thanks, Stevie, I really appreciate this,” Nolan says before he takes a giant bite of his sandwich.
“I know you do. How are you feeling now?”
“Much better,”
he says through a mouthful of ham, swiss, and bread.
“I’m still going to take you to urgent care after you finish eating,” I tell him.
“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine.” He wipes away some mustard with a napkin.
“Fine or not, we’re going to urgent care to make sure. And we’re going to find your insulin case before we go and replace the dose we used so I have them on hand.” I arch a brow—an invitation to challenge me.
He blows out a breath. “I’ll find it eventually.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “Look, Nolan, I know living with this isn’t easy, but it’s not going to go away, and brushing this off like it’s nothing isn’t helpful either. Bishop worries about you a lot, and when you don’t take your own health seriously, it stresses him out.”
His expression shifts to annoyance. “It’s not his problem; it’s mine.”
“It might be yours to live with, but it affects him too. You’re his best friend. Do you know how hard it is for him when he’s away and he doesn’t know if you’re taking your medication, or if you’re out until whatever time in the morning? What you’re doing and how you treat your body is shortening the time you have here.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I’m fine.”
“Only because I was here and Bishop left me with doses. What if you couldn’t find the dose and you didn’t make it to urgent care tonight? What if you’d gone into shock, and that’s how he found you when he came home tomorrow night? Your lack of regard for your own health is actually really selfish. Bishop would be absolutely devastated if something happened to you while he was away.”
He drops his head, looking ashamed of himself. “I just want to be normal.”
“I get it, I really do, but you’re a diabetic, and that means you have to treat your body better, and it means that you can’t abuse it. My dad took such good care of himself, and we still lost him when he was in his fifties. It sucks that I don’t have a dad anymore. Don’t leave Bishop without a best friend or a brother because you’re reckless with your life.” I push up off the couch, worried I’m about to get emotional. “Once you’re finished eating, we’re going to check your apartment for your insulin, and then we’re going to urgent care. No arguments.”
“Okay.” Nolan finishes his sandwich and doesn’t put up a fight when I follow him back to his place. I manage to find his insulin pack—in the fridge. Apparently when he got home from his afternoon shift, he had a snack and took his shot, and that’s where the case ended up.
That mystery solved, I drive him to the closest urgent care and wait while the doctor checks him over. He’s fine, which is a relief. By the time we’re done, it’s after ten.
“Sorry if I ruined whatever plans you had this evening,” Nolan says once we’re back on the penthouse floor, heading for our respective apartments.
“I didn’t have any plans.” Apart from watching hockey and thinking about his brother.
Nolan pauses with his hand on the door. “Thanks for helping me out tonight. I’d ask you if you want to hang out, but I’m pretty sure Shippy would murder me.”
“Why would he murder you for hanging out with me?”
Nolan gives me a quizzical look, then shakes his head and laughs. “Have a good night, Stevie.”
He disappears into his apartment without answering my question. He’s kind of an odd guy, but then so is his brother.
I haven’t heard from Bishop since he messaged this morning to let me know the team’s return flight was delayed. I considered calling Lainey to find out when they’d be home, but that could have incited questions I didn’t want to answer, and messaging for an update would have seemed slightly desperate, so all I can do now is look at the weather and wait. Apparently there’s some stupid storm in the Midwest affecting flights.
It’s a quarter after five, and I’m here, at this gala fundraiser, currently dateless. Thanks to Pattie and Jules peer pressuring me out of something simple and black, I’m wearing a dress that conforms to all my curves and shows off a lot more skin than I’m used to beyond workout gear. It’s a dark purple to complement my lavender hair, which I dyed again this week in preparation for the event.
I’ve already been approached three times, by three different guys, two of whom attend the college and are on one team or another, and also by one of their coaches. He looked to be in his midforties, and as flattered as I am, he’s old enough to be my father, so that’s a hard nope for me. I might have daddy issues, but not those kind.
Joey apparently had a date lined up, but she came down with the flu or food poisoning—the story keeps changing—so he’s a lone wolf on the prowl. I hope I don’t become his target of choice since Bishop isn’t here. So far I’ve managed to avoid being cornered, but it’s only a matter of time before he tracks me down.
“Bishop better not stand me up,” I say to Pattie. She and Jules decided to be each other’s date because there are a lot of hot guys at these events.
“He’s not going to stand you up.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s way into you.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Ever since he picked up my suitcase and we had that conversation, things have been different. Sure, he’s been around more, picking me up all the time and hanging out at my place after sessions, but he doesn’t make passes at me like he used to, and he hasn’t tried to hump on me at all. It’s just been those freaking forehead or temple kisses. Maybe seeing me melt down over Joey made him reevaluate his position. Plus I told him to pretend the almost-kiss-hump-off didn’t happen. And I think he’s actually taken me seriously, but now it’s messing with my head. Which I realize is my fault.
Joey, being the opportunistic asshole he is, picks that very moment to interrupt our conversation. He slings an arm over my shoulder, having approached us from behind so we wouldn’t see him coming.
Last night I was here with Pattie and Jules until ten, putting up decorations. We had to watch the game on our cell phones, which was annoying. We came back early this morning to finish up. Joey conveniently “forgot” he was supposed to be part of the setup equation. On principle it frustrates me, but I have to say I was pretty grateful I didn’t have to deal with him last night.
He gives me what he thinks is his sexy smile and notches up the smarmy levels by staring at my chest for far too long. The dress dips low in the front. I don’t have particularly big boobs—a solid handful—but they’re perky enough that I can get away with going braless, which is important in this dress with the plunging neckline—again, Pattie’s and Jules’s influence.
He lets out a low whistle. “Wow, Stevie, love the dress.”
“Super glad it has your seal of approval.”
I try to slip out from under his arm, but he tightens his grip on my shoulder, keeping me glued to his side.
I pin him with an unimpressed sneer. “I wouldn’t do that unless you’re wearing a jockstrap or you’re not worried about compromising your ability to procreate.”
“Come on, Stevie, I’m just being friendly.”
“If by friendly you mean harass-y, then I totally agree.”
I’m about to give him a swift elbow to the ribs when a familiar deep voice makes my lady parts perk up, and Joey drops his arm like I’m made of acid and I’m burning the skin off his arm.
“Hey, Pattie, there you are. Have you seen Stevie? My flight was delayed, and I left my phone in Kingston’s car, so he had to drive it back over, and my brother wasn’t home so I couldn’t call—” He eyes Joey with contempt, and his gaze slides past me but quickly darts back. His eyebrows lift, and his mouth drops. “Holy shit. Stevie?”
“Hey.” I raise my hand in an awkward wave. I’m not sure how to take his reaction.
Bishop lets out a low whistle, but it’s appreciative, not smarmy. “Wow. You look”—he runs his hands down my bare arms, the touch electrifying my skin, and threads his fingers through mine—“fucking delicious.”
“I told you the dress was perfect,” Pattie says from my right.
I ogle Bishop like he’s a chocolate triple-layer fudge cake during period week. He’s dressed in a sharp black suit, probably custom tailored, based on the way it hugs every single one of his incredibly cut muscles.
His dark-brown hair is actually styled, rather than being the haphazard mess it typically is when I see him for sessions, as if he’s been running his fingers through it incessantly and forcing it to stand up in different directions. Tonight it’s parted to the side: a natural Superman wave that makes him look both like a badass and the kind of guy I’d want to take home to meet my mom. That he went to all this trouble for me, especially after traveling all day and having to rush here after a delayed flight, makes my stomach flutter.
“You look delicious too.” Obviously my ability to form words and sentences with unique descriptors has disappeared in the wake of his extreme hotness.
Bishop bows his head and grins, looking all shy boy-man instead of badass hockey player. He lifts my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles. The simple, mostly innocent gesture feels wildly intimate, probably because it sends a shock wave of desire firing through me, peaking my nipples and inciting a sweet ache between my thighs. I’m in so much trouble.
And that’s before he parts those soft, full lips of his and bites my knuckle. The shock wave becomes a torrent of lust as he steps in closer, the tip of his polished black shoe meeting the tip of my silver heels. He raises my hands, encouraging me to drape them over his shoulders.
One of his palms sweeps slowly along my arm and over my shoulder, following the thin strap of deep-purple satin. The gentle caress of his fingers is a contradiction to the hunger in his eyes, and a storm of excitement swirls low in my belly. His warm palm splays out as it moves down my back—which is bare because this dress is backless—until he reaches the dip in my spine. He pulls me against him, and I’m pretty sure I moan when the fronts of our bodies meet. “Damn well stunning.” He bows his head, and I shudder when his lips sweep along my jaw.
“Holy shit,” Pattie mumbles from my right.
A Favor for a Favor Page 20
