Overnight Sensation

by Sarina Bowen

  Must be nice.

  Silas and I ride the elevator in silence and then trudge toward our door. He unlocks it.

  “Every traveler has a home of his own, and he learns to appreciate it the more from his wandering,” I say as we drop our luggage on the floor like always.

  “Shakespeare?” Silas asks.

  “Dickens,” I say. “Maybe I jinxed myself quoting Dickens during training camp. Like—now my whole season is going to be like Oliver Twist. ‘Please, sir. May I have a goal?’”

  Silas snorts. Then he lifts his nose and sniffs the air. “Do you smell that? It’s like…”

  I take a deep breath. “Yeah. Our place smells like lemons instead of feet.”

  “Wow. Huh. I like it.” Silas walks toward the refuge of his bedroom with a happy sigh.

  I linger a moment in our living room. I’d been trying not to think about Heidi staying in our apartment, because I have enough distractions right now. But there’s her suitcase, tucked against the wall.

  There aren’t any other signs of her, though. The sofa bed has been put away, and every surface is tidier than it usually is. The stack of Sports Illustrated magazines is straight, and there aren’t any abandoned water bottles lurking on the coffee table.

  Heidi has been here even though there’s no sign of her.

  I grab my travel bag, hoist it onto my shoulder, and trudge toward my bedroom where a nice hot shower awaits. I’m mentally turning on the faucet when I happen to glance down at the bed.

  Holy fuck. Heidi has face-planted onto my mattress. She’s lying the wrong way across the foot of the bed, on top of the quilt, asleep. She’s even snoring gently.

  One glance is all it takes, and I’m already feeling an unwelcome flash of lust. A split second is all I need to admire the golden skin of her arms as they stretch overhead, and the round shape of her perfect ass in those jeans.

  White jeans. And it’s way past Labor Day. Someone’s been naughty. I want to kneel on the bed and peel those off her body…

  Fuck. I drop my bag on the floor again and remove my suit jacket, which I drop onto the bag. Then I make a beeline for my bathroom. I lock the door and shed the rest of my clothing and climb under the warm spray.

  I will not jack off to the commissioner’s daughter.

  Just kill me already.

  Ten minutes later I emerge, freshly shaved and wearing a towel. Because it’s my damn house, and I don’t own a bathrobe. Not only have I made tons of noise, but I can hear the chick music blaring from Silas’s room already. We’re not quiet people.

  But wouldn’t you know? There’s still a sleeping, off-limits princess sprawled on my bed.

  This time she hears me, though. Heidi’s eyes fly open when I open my underwear drawer. “Oh my goodness!” She sits up fast. The stitching pattern of the quilt my mother made for me is carved into her pink cheek. “Sorry! I just meant to sit down for a minute.” She scrambles to her feet and takes a deep breath. “Welcome home.”

  “Thanks. Glad to be back.” I wait for her to leave.

  She still has that half-conscious look of the recently awakened. As I watch, her big blue eyes travel slowly as she looks me up and down. I can feel her gaze like a caress as she takes in my bare chest and abs. “Wow,” she says, her voice full of appreciation.

  “Unless you want to see even more, you might want to step out,” I grumble.

  She doesn’t move. Instead, her eyes go a little soft, and she sighs dreamily.

  Holy shit. That’s probably how she looks right after she’s been well-fu—

  Argh! “Out you go,” I snap, turning to face my dresser.

  “Sorry,” she whispers and then sprints on out of my room, closing the door behind her.

  But the damage is already done. My body feels tight and ready for sex. And the room smells lightly of citrus and honey. Hell, my bed probably smells like her.

  I stomp around the room, getting dressed, hanging up my suit and unpacking. I’m tired, my hockey game is in the shitter, and I need pizza, beer, and sexual release.

  But only the pizza and beer are forthcoming, damn it.

  When I finally venture into the kitchen, Silas is there with Heidi. He’s happily munching his favorite snack—avocado slices topped with fresh salsa. “Heidi shopped for everybody who lives in the Million Dollar Dorm!” he says. “It’s really nice to come home to groceries.”

  “Oh, cool.” I’d given her a list, too. “That’s great. Thanks for that.”

  “My pleasure,” she says with a smile.

  I step up to the cabinet and open it, looking for some chips. Hmm. “Where are you hiding the Doritos?”

  “Oh,” she says. “You got those instead.” She points.

  I grab the bag off the shelf. But these chips are green. “These are made of…kale?”

  “Yes,” she says. “They’re delicious. And for dip you got this.” She opens the fridge and pulls out a tub of organic hummus instead of the onion dip I like.

  This is a freaking disaster. “But that’s not the same! Are you telling me you changed the orders of six players to whatever you think is best?”

  “No way.” She tosses that silky hair and purses those kissable lips. “Just yours. Nobody else asked me to buy anything with yellow dye number five in it.”

  Silas laughs, that fucker. I tear open the bag with a scowl. And then I have a truly horrible thought. “But what about my sandwich? Did you get—”

  “Whole-wheat sandwich bread, creamy peanut butter, and strawberry jam?” she asks.

  “It has to be strawberry,” I thunder, sounding like a lunatic. Some things cannot be fucked with. Like fate.

  Heidi walks over to another cabinet and opens the door, revealing a loaf of bread, and jar of peanut butter. And a jar of Bonne Maman strawberry jam. “I’m not crazy enough to take on your superstitions,” she says.

  “Thank you.” I exhale in a mighty gust. “Did you save the receipt?” I’ll need to pay her back.

  “What do you take me for?” she yelps. “Tonight you’ll get a fully itemized invoice. And—by the way—I’m only billing you for the groceries. You two don’t pay for labor. Don’t tell anyone, though. I need to keep my market price on an upward trajectory.”

  “Got it,” Silas says with a smirk. “Thanks.”

  “No—you can charge me,” I argue. I get why she did that—we’re letting her stay here for free. But I don’t want to owe her anything. And the faster she earns the money, the faster she can stop torturing me with her tiny pajamas and that tight little body that I want to—

  Yeah. No.

  I’m so frustrated right now. So frustrated that I grab the kale chips and rip open the bag. Then I shove one in my mouth.

  It’s not awful.

  Hmm.

  “Let me know when it’s time to order pizza,” she says. “I’ll text your friends for their orders and then put everything in my spreadsheet.”

  “Don’t forget the beer!” Silas says cheerfully.

  “I won’t!” Heidi walks out of the kitchen, her ass swaying just enough to torture me.

  I shove a handful of kale chips in my mouth so I won’t say or do anything I’ll regret.

  14

  Jason

  The following week is a shit show. Practice is awful. My stats suck. Every coach in the organization has spent serious time trying to help me. I know that’s supposed to be a good thing. But there’s only so much advice a guy can absorb in a day.

  It’s only October, and this is already the longest hockey season of my life.

  To make matters worse, Heidi is still prancing around my apartment and prancing through my dreams. It’s torture. I’m full of pent-up frustration, and I can’t exorcise it the way I want to—by pushing her down into the sofa cushions and having my filthy way with her.

  Friday night it’s the same damn thing. We lose our home game to Buffalo, of all teams. And then when the team retreats to the Tavern afterward to lick our wounds, Heidi is there, too
, looking luscious in a tight-fitting sweater.

  “Hi Pete!” she greets the gray-haired bartender.

  “Hello, miss.” He gives her a big smile.

  “I’d like a shot of tequila with a whiskey chaser,” she says.

  Pete rolls his eyes. “You’re underage. We’ve been over this. Besides—nobody orders that. We have to work on your smack talk.”

  “What do I order if I want to make a statement?” she asks, pulling out a barstool and plunking her cute butt onto it.

  “A buttery nipple,” Pete suggests.

  “What if I’m avoiding dairy?”

  The bartender laughs so hard he practically has an aneurism. That’s the thing about Heidi. Once you’ve noticed her, it’s hard to stop noticing her.

  Or maybe that’s just me.

  “You could try a dirty martini,” Pete says after he regains control of his executive function. “Always a classic. Or a glass of bubbly, if you want something lighter.”

  “Good tip,” she says. “Oh, hey, Castro! Come here a sec. I have something to discuss with you.”

  That’s what I get for staring at her so subtly, I guess. I do as I’m told, and take a seat next to Heidi.

  “What non-alcoholic drink am I pouring you?” Pete asks.

  “Club soda with lime. Thanks. Now, Mr. Castro.” She turns to me. “Before I left the apartment tonight, someone left a message on the landline answering machine, and—”

  “Oh, that’s my—”

  Heidi holds up a hand, silencing me. “Do not interrupt a lady’s story. I did some excellent sleuthing, okay? She greeted you with a name I didn’t catch. But then she said something about how Mom isn’t coming to your game next week after all. The caller apologized for the change in plans, but she’s convinced your mom to come visit her instead of you and help out with your nephew’s birthday party.”

  “Oh, okay.” I can’t say I’m too upset that Mom isn’t coming next week. I’m in too much of a rut. If things go on like this, I won’t be in much of a mood to entertain her.

  Fuck. I feel glum just thinking about it. Last year when my parents visited, I had two goals in one game, and we all went out for dim sum the next day.

  “Which leads me to my next deduction.” Heidi snaps her fingers. “Stay with me, Jason.”

  “Lay it on me,” I say, although it’s unclear whether I’m referring to her message or Heidi’s body. She’s like a beam of sunshine. And my cloudy ass could really use some of that.

  Theoretically, anyway.

  “It was your sister calling, right? And you have a nephew who’s about to turn three?”

  “Yeah. My sister Jackie has… Oh, shit!” I forgot about his birthday. I’m the worst uncle ever. “Could you possibly help me—”

  “I’m a step ahead of you,” she says.

  Of course she is.

  Out of her very large bag she pulls a Brooklyn Bruisers toy hockey stick. “Every little boy needs a hockey stick.”

  “Good call, Heidi.”

  “There’s more.” She beams at me. “I hope you like it, because I talked them into doing a rush job. Tonight was my last shift in licensed apparel.” She pulls out a brown teddy bear wearing a Brooklyn jersey. It’s adorable. And when she turns it around, I see the bear has CASTRO and my jersey number on his back.

  “Holy crap,” I say, laughing. When she hands me the bear, his fur is soft and cuddly. “This is amazing. I think I need one for myself.”

  “No, you don’t.” Heidi snatches the bear back from me. “This is going in a FedEx box tomorrow. I just need your sister’s address. Oh—and I need to see a photo of your nephew.”

  “Why?”

  “Because toddlers are cute!” She rolls her eyes. “You’re in a mood.”

  I really am. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open up some photos. “Here he is.” The picture of my sister and her oldest makes me grin.

  “Aw!” Heidi coos. “Such an attractive family. I hope he turns out nicer than you.”

  “What?” I squawk.

  Heidi sips her soda. “That’s all the business I have for you,” she says, waving a hand at me. “You’re excused.”

  “Thank you.” I blink. “Did you just dismiss me?”

  “Yes, I did.” Yes, ah did. Her Southern accent is very subtle, but it softens her in a way that really gets to me.

  “If I stay here on this barstool, are you going to bill me in six-minute increments for your time?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I don’t bill you for services rendered and you already know that. But you’re cramping my style right now.”

  “How’s that?” This is a hockey bar. Our hockey bar. There’s not a woman in here that would chase me off. As a matter of fact, there’s two of them already giving me the fuck-me eyes.

  “Maybe I’m hoping a great guy will come along and chat me up,” Heidi says, stirring her soda with a straw. “He sees you sitting here, he’ll just move on.”

  “Which guy?” As a reflex, I look over one shoulder and then the other. The place is full of guys, of course. Half of them are my teammates. They won’t pick up Heidi.

  Will they?

  And here I thought I couldn’t get any grumpier.

  “Or—here’s a plan. You could take me home yourself,” she says. “It’s not like you don’t want to.”

  She’s right, of course. “You have a key to my home,” I point out.

  “That is not what we’re talking about, Mr. Castro,” she whispers. “I still want my chance.”

  I swallow hard. “You know that’s not going to happen.” Although the way we’re staring at each other right now, I’m feeling less sure than I should be, damn it. So I force myself to look away.

  “Right.” Heidi clears her throat. “So get lost, then.”

  And I’m speechless.

  “Hey, Jason?” Pete asks. “Do me a favor and bring this over to your pals in the back corner? I’m short-handed.” He sets down a platter of chicken wings.

  “Um, sure,” I grumble. I grab the wings and a stack of napkins, and carry the whole thing away before I say something to Heidi that will get me in trouble.

  Growing up with two sisters taught me a thing or two about keeping my trap shut. Although if she thinks she’s going home with some random stranger, she’s got another thing coming.

  I take the chicken to my pals and help myself to a couple of wings. Swear to God, it only takes about ninety seconds until some college guy wearing a backward baseball cap takes the barstool I’ve just vacated, and starts chatting up Heidi.

  “Your girl is making friends tonight,” Bayer says with a chuckle.

  “She’s not my girl,” I grunt.

  “Just keep telling yourself that,” Silas whispers.

  “Hey, Drake?” I say, snapping my fingers at the rookie. “I need a favor.”

  “Yeah?” The kid wipes buffalo sauce off his mouth. “What is it?”

  “Go order us a pitcher of beer. And say hello to Heidi while you’re waiting.”

  The rookie looks over at the bar and then chuckles. “You don’t like that guy?”

  “I don’t know that guy,” I correct. “And our little friend has a way of getting herself into situations. She’s kinda sheltered.”

  “But they’re just talking,” Bayer points out. “How much trouble could he be?”

  “He’s a frat boy,” I grumble.

  “So were you,” Silas says gleefully.

  “Exactly! I know how they think. Drake—you don’t have to chase him off. Just let him know that Heidi has friends in the bar.”

  The rookie shakes his head. But since he knows he has no choice, he takes our empty pitcher of beer and lumbers toward the bar. He puts one hand on Heidi’s shoulder as he reaches over to hand the pitcher to Pete.

  Heidi pats his hand, greets him, and then shoos him away.

  But I don’t miss it when the college boy glances in our direction with widening eyes.

  About two minutes after Drake
returns with the beer, the frat boy shakes Heidi’s hand and then gets the heck out of there. He exits the bar through the front door, leaving Heidi by herself.

  She looks down into her soda glass and sighs. Nobody else sits on the vacant bar stool, and my rusty conscience gives a little burp of discomfort. But then, as I watch, Heidi straightens her spine. She shoulders her bag and gets up.

  Then she walks straight towards me.

  “Uh-oh,” O’Doul says under his breath. “Incoming.”

  “You think that’s funny?” Heidi squeaks as she arrives at our table. “I can’t have a conversation in a bar without you interfering? You can’t mind your own business for a few minutes?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I won’t do it again.”

  “Too late now!” she yells. “I know I’m funny to you. My dad has made sure of that. Rich kid with a shitty job and no money. Couch surfing and feeling like I’m underfoot all the time. So if you could kindly avoid ruining my fun for one evening, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sit with us,” Bayer says. “Drake, get the girl a chair.”

  “No, thank you! I can’t, anyway. Someone will take a picture and write that I’m boinking the whole team.” She turns on her heel and goes back to her barstool.

  Now I’ve really fucked up, so I follow her to apologize. “Hey,” I say, chasing her. “I’m sorry.”

  Heidi ignores me. “Pete, I’d like a glass of champagne, please.”

  The older man puts both hands on the bar and shakes his head. “We’ve been over this. How about a virgin margarita?”

  She tosses something on the bar. It’s a driver’s license.

  Pete picks it up and squints. Then he checks his watch. “Miss Heidi Jo Pepper of Tennessee! Let me be the first to say happy birthday. And your first legal glass of champagne is on me.”

  “Wait. It’s your birthday?” My voice rises and breaks, like an adolescent’s.

  “It is now,” she says as Pete pops the cork out of a bottle of Krug.

  “Pour two,” I tell him. “And one for yourself.”

  “I usually say no.” Pete chuckles, lining up three champagne glasses on the counter. “But this is a great bottle.”