by Sarina Bowen
Ugh. I need a pizza and a beer immediately. And maybe a massage.
But first a shower.
By the time I’ve put on my suit and tie again, it’s ten thirty. “Who’s up for Grimaldi’s?” I ask.
“Always,” Silas says. “But seriously, what’s with the pink suitcase?” He’s already wearing his suit, but he’s got one foot parked on the bench, where he’s stretching his hamstrings like a good little goalie.
“It’s Heidi’s,” I grunt. “Holding it for her.” I don’t even know why I made the impulsive offer to help. I need to get Heidi out of my brain, not see her after the game to give her luggage back.
“Let’s find her,” he says. “Then pizza.”
“Cool.”
“I think she said something about moving into her own place? Maybe today’s the day.”
When we exit the locker room, she’s right outside in the hallway. And I swear to God, this girl is like my personal Kryptonite. Even in a dumpy polyester uniform she makes my blood quicken. She’s biting her lip when I spot her, which makes me want to bite it, too.
“Omigod, thank you!” she says as soon as she spots the suitcase behind me. “I didn’t know what else to do!”
“No problem,” I murmur. “Here you go.” I reach down and grasp the handle to move it around my body. But that fucker is heavy. “What do you have in here? Your collection of encyclopedias?”
“It’s just everything I can’t live without.” She sighs. “Well, I’m off to Bleecker Street.”
“Hey, nice address,” Silas says.
“It’s the, uh, Bleecker Street in Bushwick. Wish me luck.”
I open my mouth to say goodbye. But there’s something very wrong about that statement. “Bushwick? What’s a nice girl like you doing there?”
“Moving in. There are some very nice parts of Bushwick.”
“Is your new place in one of them?”
Heidi wrinkles up that cute little nose. “Not exactly.” She grabs the handle of her suitcase. “See you later. Thanks for the help.” She turns and rolls it down the hallway, which isn’t easy because there are people in the way and that bag is enormous.
“How do you think she’s getting that thing to Bushwick?” Silas asks, echoing the question in my own mind.
“No idea. Yo!” I call out as Silas and I head for the same exit. “Hot Pepper! You call a car?”
“It’s handled,” she says over her shoulder.
We follow her out, though, because Silas and I are leaving, too. And damn if she doesn’t head right for the subway entrance. At the top of the steps she tugs on the handle of her giant suitcase, barely clearing the ground before she yanks it down a stair.
All I can picture is Heidi squashed like a bug under its weight at the bottom of the stairs.
“Wait up!” Silas and I both yell at the same moment and then run for it.
Heidi jerks her chin over her shoulder. That’s when her bag topples against her and she grabs wildly for the handrail. I see her start to tip just as my hand closes around her wrist. And Silas grabs the bag at the same moment.
None of us goes flying down the stairs, thankfully.
“That bag is too heavy,” I wheeze. All the cells in my body are hungering for nourishment. Or for Heidi. It’s hard to tell at close range, where I can smell her perfume.
“I noticed,” she says quietly.
“Let’s put you in an Uber,” Silas suggests, dragging her bag onto the level pavement again.
“Okay, thanks.” She lifts her eyes up toward the dark sky as if praying for patience.
Silas unlocks his phone and starts tapping on the screen. “Two minutes,” he says.
“Where’d you find this new apartment, anyway?” I ask as we step out of the foot traffic on the sidewalk.
“Craigslist,” she says.
“What? That’s danger—”
She cuts me off with a glare and by getting into my face, at least as well as someone who’s eight inches shorter than me can do. “Thanks, but my daddy already gave me that speech. He just wants to keep me under his thumb.”
“Well, this isn’t Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. I just want you to stay in one piece.”
“Why do you care?” she demands from four inches away.
“Because…” There are too many dead girls in my life already. But I’m not going there. And I’m a little distracted, anyway. Her pink lips are right there.
Silas clears his throat. “The car is here.” He rolls the suitcase toward the vehicle at the curb. When the trunk opens, he makes the grunting noise of an Olympic weightlifter and heaves the bag inside. “Jesus.” He closes the trunk. “Does your new place have an elevator?”
Slowly, the hottest, most maddening girl I know shakes her head.
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Silas opens the rear door and slides into the car. “Come on, guys. Time’s a wasting.”
And there goes pizza and beer.
10
Heidi
Bleecker Street in Bushwick is farther out than I remember. I only came to see this place once, a few days ago. As the car takes us farther and farther into Brooklyn, I try not to panic. The buildings shrink, but the street traffic is still lively at this hour of the night. That’s not a bad sign, right?
Maybe I’ve been too impulsive.
I wanted to smack Jason when he said we weren’t in Bryn Mawr anymore. But the truth is that I’ve never lived in a big city alone. Okay—any city. Last spring doesn’t count because I was staying in Daddy’s condo. His driver took me to work some mornings.
Holy hell—I’m truly the pampered little shit that everyone thinks I am. Although that’s not entirely my fault. It’s not like I’ve ever been allowed to make choices for myself.
These are my depressing thoughts as I sit pressed up against Jason. He’s wearing a spicy cologne I can’t identify, but it’s driving me a little bonkers. I swear he hasn’t said three words to me since the night he kissed the stuffing out of me in the carwash.
And now here we are, three across in the back seat. So cozy, and so unsatisfying.
“You got kinda snappish at that reporter,” Silas is saying. “Miranda what’s-her-name.”
“Because she’s a bitch,” Jason says.
“Miranda Wager?” I gasp. “I love her. She’s so sharp.”
Jason growls, and Silas laughs. “He didn’t used to hate her,” Silas says. “Last year she kept calling him an overnight sensation. But last week she wrote that Coach didn’t know what to do with him. Which is—let’s be honest—hardly the worst thing that’s ever been written about an athlete.”
Since I’m mad at Jason for being hot and bossy and also unwilling to give me more of those kisses, I’m totally willing to wade into this disagreement. “Think of how hard her job is,” I point out. “She’s a terrific sports analyst. Yet every time she goes into a locker room, some Neanderthal tries to embarrass her.” I totally read a story about this. “And no matter how well she covers hockey, her Twitter DMs are full of unsolicited dick pics.”
“Well, I’m not guilty of any of that,” Jason points out. “And I still don’t have to like her.”
“He just gets hangry,” Silas explains. “Most game nights he’d be halfway through a large pizza by now.”
Well, crud. “I’m sorry you’re in a car to Bushwick instead.”
“Maybe there’s food here,” Jason grumps, ducking his head to see out my window. “Hey! That’s a Caribbean joint. Sally Root’s. Looks open.”
My stomach growls. I ate a really meager hotdog during my ridiculously short dinner break five hours ago. I’m afraid to spend much money until I finally get a paycheck. My bank account is down to almost nothing.
“Which corner?” the driver says from the front seat.
“Anywhere,” I say, because all the buildings look alike and I can’t see which building is 415. “You guys can just make the return trip, okay? I’ll be fine.”
“No, you don’t,” Jason
says with a sigh. “We’re not just dumping a helpless—”
I elbow him for using the world “helpless.”
“Ow!”
“Sorry, reflex,” I say quickly, hopping out of the car.
Silas cackles. “Didn’t you just play the Rangers?”
“I had pads!” Jason complains as he extracts his long legs from the car.
I run back to the trunk, but of course I can’t get my suitcase out, and Silas has to rescue me. So much for my independence. It’s not going that well. And things go even more poorly when I identify number 415 and march inside.
“At least there’s a doorman,” Jason mutters.
Although the man in question looks to be about ninety years old. “Help you, señorita?” he asks.
“I’m here for apartment 212. Bobby said he’d hand over the keys tonight.”
“Bobby?” The frail doorman adjusts his blue cap. “We don’t have a Bobby.”
“The superintendent?” I ask, my voice rising in alarm. “Big fellow? Earrings in lots of places?”
“Dios mio.” The old man shakes his head. “He have a scar right here?” He traces an invisible line above his eye. “And he advertise on Craigslist?”
“Yes! That’s him. Can you ring him?”
The old man shakes his head. “He don’t work here no more. Hasn’t for years. But he still has the keys. Sometimes he come back and rent out the places that don’t need renting out.”
“Wait, what?”
“He show you a place with somebody else’s stuff in it, right?”
My heart drops. “Yes. He said they were moving out the next day.”
“Señorita.” The geezer’s face turns sad. “He always say that. 212 brought home a pizza two hours ago. They up there right now.”
“Can she check?” Jason asks. “Just in case there’s been some misunderstanding.”
He shrugs. “I suppose it can’t hurt nothing. Let me guess—you don’t have a lease with his signature on it.”
“We had a handshake deal,” I say in a quavering voice. “He said we’d sign it tonight.”
In stereo, both Jason and Silas make noises of dismay. And I have never felt like a bigger idiot.
“You just knock,” the elderly man says. “And if 212 answers, you tell ’em they need to have their locks changed. Tomorrow you call the precinct and report your money stolen. But he done this three other times and they haven’t found him yet. He bring you in the basement door, right?”
“Yes,” I croak. My throat is dry and tight and my eyes are burning.
A big hand lands on my shoulder. “Don’t panic,” Jason says. “Can you cancel the check you wrote him?”
My embarrassment is complete. “He said it had to be—”
“—cash,” Jason finishes on a sigh. “Oh, little buddy. Okay—listen. We’re going to get some Caribbean food and sort this out.”
Twenty minutes later I’m watching Jason and Silas devour braised oxtail and jerk chicken. And still trying not to cry. The food looks great and my stomach is empty. But I didn’t order anything.
Neither did Jason and Silas, come to think of it. The moment we walked in the hostess’s eyes lit up. “Good game, guys! And you’re here with us tonight? This is amazing! Sit sit sit. You need food?”
“So badly,” Jason had said.
The hostess—Clara—put a hand to her heart. “Let me just dash into the kitchen to tell them they’re not done yet. I’ll be right back to take your drink order!”
That was fifteen minutes ago. Since then, Clara and the wait staff have made a dozen trips to our table, bringing all manner of small plates and beverages. “And what will the lady have to drink?” a server asked at one point.
“I’m not drinking,” I’d said quickly.
They brought me a homemade soda made with cucumber, lime, and strawberry. I’m sipping on it balefully right now and questioning all my life choices.
“Okay,” Castro says, putting down a chicken bone. “That took the edge off. Now I can think.”
“This food is really over the top,” Silas agrees. “We need to come here again.”
“No problem,” I grumble. “The next time I’m swindled like a fool we’ll just drop by.”
Jason clucks his tongue. “You need some of this chicken,” he says. “It’ll change your mood.” He grabs a meaty piece off the platter and puts it on my empty plate. “Don’t do that dainty girl thing and pass up this food. And here—some tostones. Fried plantains.”
“It’s not a dainty girl thing,” I argue. “Jeez.” I pick up the chicken and take a bite. The skin is crispy and spicy, and the meat is juicy. I let out a little moan.
“None of that,” Jason says. “Now tell us what the hell happened back there.”
“Just a minute. I’m communing with this chicken.” Silas chuckles while I take another bite, and then eat a plantain. I’m stalling, because I really don’t know what I’m going to do. “I didn’t know how to find a place that I can afford,” I say eventually, wiping my fingers with the napkin Jason hands me. “So I took a chance on Craigslist. And now I don’t even have my deposit.”
I want to cry all over again.
“Weren’t you staying with your dad in Manhattan?” Silas asks.
“Yes. But he’s made a big point of teaching me a lesson. I can’t stay with that man.” Although I don’t really see any alternatives.
“You can stay with us for bit,” Silas says. “Right, Castro?”
Jason’s cocktail glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“She can have the couch,” Silas says, grinning. “We’re leaving on a road trip in two nights, anyway.”
“My couch?” Jason asks. He gives me the side-eye.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“It’s no problem,” Silas says cheerfully. “Right, bro?”
“Sure,” he grunts.
Oh dear. I don’t know what to do. Nice girls don’t impose. On the other hand, being a nice girl isn’t working so well for me. And I really, really don’t want to run home to Daddy.
Still, though. Jason doesn’t want me on his sofa.
“Guys, it might be three weeks until I can earn back what I lost. I earn almost nothing, and they hold onto my pay forever.”
Jason closes his eyes. It’s a long beat before he opens them again. “Don’t worry, okay? Just eat the chicken and take a breath and then you can stay on the couch.”
He doesn’t look thrilled about it. But I feel a rush of gratitude, anyway. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” I lean in and hug him. I’d hug Silas, too, but he’s on the other side of Jason and I don’t have gorilla arms.
The hug doesn’t last long, though, because Jason makes a growly sound. I guess he’s not in the mood for a hug from a freeloader like me.
“Good deal,” Silas says. “Let’s get the check, shall we? It’s getting late.”
“I might need another one of these rum drinks first,” Jason grumbles. “Heidi, eat that food.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
He gives me a dark, unsettling look.
But that’s okay. I have excellent food and a couch to sleep on. I won’t have to admit defeat just yet.
11
Jason
“You are a pain in my ass,” I hiss at Silas. “You know that?”
We’re in his room, and Heidi is currently singing to herself in my shower. Silas is propped up in bed, cackling to himself while I glower at him from the doorway.
“I should be forgetting my troubles, hooking up with a hockey fan right now,” I complain. “Not hosting a sleepover!”
“Were you going to throw the girl out on the street? I bet you couldn’t do it.”
He’s right, of course. I’d never leave Heidi in danger. “Her daddy has a penthouse on the Upper East Side,” I point out. “Let’s not pretend she was going to end up sleeping in a cardboard box under the bridge.”
“My bad,” he says with an arrogant grin.
“What is your goal here?” I demand.
“Entertainment.” He tucks his hands behind his head. “When she’s around, you’re not a broody cat. You’re more like a slobbering dog.”
“I’m not here to entertain you!” Jesus. I used to think of him as a good roommate.
“Someone should,” he says with a sigh. “And entertain you, too. We were such grinds last season. And look where it got us.”
“It got me twenty-seven goals and you a one-way contract.” Last season was epic.
Maddeningly, Silas just shrugs. “Success is nice. But we don’t have anyone to share it with except each other. And you’re not into dudes, so…” He shrugs again.
“You think you can set me up with…” I jerk a thumb toward the other room.
In the silence, we hear the commissioner’s daughter singing about hills that are alive with the sound of music.
“She likes show tunes. You’re a showboat. I think it’s a sign,” Silas says with another irritating grin that makes me want to choke him.
Getting nowhere, I stomp off to find the sheets and blankets for the fold-out couch. It takes me fifteen minutes to get that sucker set up. I’m just fluffing the pillow when Heidi emerges from my room wearing a tiny sleeveless T-shirt and shorts that could get a girl jailed in several countries.
I need to stop noticing her. But the outline of her nipples against the soft fabric taunts me. And the smooth skin of her legs goes on for miles…
“Everything okay there?” she asks. “You look a little woozy.”
“Fine,” I grunt and force myself to look away. “You’re all set up here.”
Her expression softens. “Thank you. I would have done that.”
“S’okay.” She turns me into a caveman. One word at a time is all I can manage. As she slips past me, I get a whiff of citrus and honey.
She sits on the edge of the sofa bed and tests the mattress with her hand. “Wow, nice. I appreciate you letting me stay here.”
“No problem.” I shut off the lamp. Then I sit down beside her. I tell myself it’s because I’m trying to be less grumpy and more friendly. But it’s really because I’m drawn to things that are bad for me. “My parents are the only ones who ever use this sofa bed.”
