The game ends with us winning by one point, and I honestly don’t care. I rush to the dressing room and am the first one in the shower. When I’m finally dressed in my suit, I walk out of the room and look for her. I spot Tristan talking to someone, and all he does is point at a room. I walk to the closed door, and I knock before opening it.
When the door finally opens, I see Zara sitting on a chair in front of a brown wooden desk. When she looks up from her phone and sees me, her whole face lights up. The baseball cap gone now leaving her hair in just a ponytail.
“There he is, the man of the hour,” she says, getting up, and I look around looking for Zoe.
“Where is your sister?” I ask her, walking into the room and closing the door.
“She went to the bathroom,” she says, using quotation marks. “I think she just wanted to give us privacy.”
“Did she now?” I say, the smile not leaving my face. “That color looks good on you.”
“Does it?” she asks, and she turns around. Seeing her wearing my jersey makes me want to go all hulk—rip off my shirt, puff out my chest, and roar. I put my hands in my pockets before I yank her to me. “Thank you,” she says, her voice going soft, “for the flowers and the fruit and the merchandise.”
“It’s the least I can do. That tweet put me in running for bachelor of the year.” She laughs, shaking her head, and covers her face with her hands. “Don’t do that.” I close the distance between us and reach out, pulling her hands away from her face. “Don’t hide your face from me.”
“This is crazy,” she says, and I turn to sit on the chair in front of her. “You live in Dallas.”
“You live in New York,” I tell her. The same thought was running through my mind all day long.
“You travel all over the place.” I look up at her.
“You do too,” I remind her, and I can’t sit any more while she tries to talk herself out of whatever this is. She stands there in front of me, and my hand reaches up to cup her face, my thumb rubbing her cheek. “Why don’t we play this day by day?” She looks up at me, her eyes a shade of crystal green with blue inside them. I hear the racket coming from the hallway and know that my team is getting ready to leave. “I can’t kiss you right now,” I tell her, and her mouth opens a touch. “And it’s not ’cause I don’t want to. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.” She looks down now and then up at me. “It’s because one kiss won’t be good enough. I know if I kiss you, I won’t stop kissing you.”
“Okay, people, time to load the bus,” someone shouts from the hallway.
“You have to go,” she says, and her hand comes out to hold the wrist cupping her cheek.
“Sweet Zara,” I say softly. “Sweet, sweet Zara,” I finally say and lean in and kiss her on the cheek. When I lift my face, I’m so close to her lips, so very close. I look into her eyes, and I swear it’s more dangerous than swimming in shark-infested waters.
There is a soft knock on the door, but I don’t move. I don’t drop my hand from her face. I do nothing but get lost in her. “Sorry to interrupt,” Zoe says, sticking her head in the door, “but …”
“You have to go,” she says again. My heart sinks while I nod my head because I know I won’t see her tomorrow. I know I won’t even see her the day after that. I let my hand drop from her face, and her own hand drops like lead to her side.
“Good job out there tonight,” Zoe says. “Great time on the ice,” she says, and I shake my head and laugh. How are these two so oblivious to hockey when their whole family is the face of hockey?
“Take care of her, Zoe,” I tell her, and she nods. I step out of the room, pick up my bag that I put down before I went in, and walk out of the arena, never once looking back.
Chapter Eleven
Zara
I watch him walk away from me. The black suit molding him with his leather backpack slung over his shoulder.
“I knew I shouldn’t have come tonight.” I look at Zoe once I can’t see him anymore, yet I can still feel his hand on my face. When he walked into the room, I knew I was fucked. And not even in a good way. His suit was on point, his hair still wet from the shower, and I know he just ran his fingers through it because you could see it. But then he smiled, and I literally forgot my own fucking name.
“There is nothing wrong with liking him,” Zoe says, and I grab the baseball hat and put it back on my head.
“I don’t like him. He’s just a friend,” I lie, and we walk out, making our way down to the underground parking garage where the driver waits for us. There is almost no one here. I see some of the players walking out with their wives or girlfriends, but we don’t make eye contact. The driver sees us and gets out of the car to open the door. I get in first and then Zoe.
“Want company tonight?” she asks me, and I just shake my head.
“No, I have to pack for Chicago,” I tell her, and I just look out the window. I don’t bother looking at my phone. My head is a fucking mess, and I just don’t get it. I look over at her.
“I’ve known him three fucking days,” I tell her, and she knows this is the how we work things out. I just do all the talking. “Three days. I can’t like him.” I shake my head. “It’s crazy. Three days. I have food in my fridge older than that.”
“Why?” she finally says. “If it’s in the fridge longer than two days, chuck that shit out. It starts to smell.” Her face grimaces.
“He lives in a different time zone.” I keep the list going. “In a different state.”
“It could never work,” she says and then looks at me. “I have a friend in Dallas. I could maybe play matchmaker.” I turn and glare at her. “Well, that answers that question.”
“How do I know he doesn’t have a chick waiting in Dallas?” I tell her. “Or puck bunnies all around the United States?”
“Don’t forget Canada,” she says. “United States and Canada.”
“Yeah, there too,” I point out.
“He’s got a great smile,” she says, and I look over at her. I don’t have to agree with her because it’s obvious. “He has great sense of style that he had before you.” I nod. “He opens your door for you.” I roll my eyes. “And sends you one hundred roses.”
“He lives five hours from here by plane,” I tell her.
“What if this was me?” she asks me. “What if I were in your situation? What would you tell me to do?”
I cross my arms over my chest, not answering. “Exactly. You would be like fucking YOLO, Zoe.”
“I would not say that,” I tell her.
“Really? What about that biker I dated?” she says. “Zoe, YOLO. Zoe, who cares that he has a warrant for his arrest. Pretend he’s Charlie Hunnam.”
“I didn’t tell you to marry him,” I point out. “And didn’t you have good sex?”
“I woke up to his old lady coming in with their kid,” she points out. “She didn’t even blink that I was naked in his bed.”
I shrug. “I mean, I guess it’s a win.”
“Why don’t you just stop overthinking it and just go with it? Call him, don’t call him. Answer his calls, text him when you feel like it,” she says. “Just don’t shut it down before it even starts. Worst case, you have a great story to tell your kids.”
I look out the window, and she doesn’t say anything when the car pulls up to my house. I kiss my sister and tell her I’ll call her tomorrow. I walk up the steps to the house and unlock the door. My phone rings, and it’s Matthew.
“Hello,” I say, looking at the clock and seeing it’s almost eleven.
“Hey,” he says, and then I hear Karrie in the background. “Don’t answer anything.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask him, thinking the worst.
“I don’t know. Did you go to a hockey game tonight?” he asks, and I stop mid step. “You see, my sister hates hockey. She hates hockey like I hate going shopping.”
“I don’t hate hockey,” I tell him and start walking up the steps. “I attend mos
t of your games.”
“So imagine my surprise when I turn on the game tonight and see a dipshit taking a penalty shot.” I try not to laugh at the nickname. “Then the camera zooms in on this woman who looks like my sister,” he says.
“Would you leave her alone, Matthew,” Karrie says in the background.
“Babe,” he hisses at her, “I’m talking to my sister.” Then he comes back to me. “I mean, she looks like my sister, but she’s wearing the ugliest green jersey of I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Now, I laugh. “Don’t laugh, Zara. What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing. I got tickets from a friend.”
“A friend?” he hisses. “You know he comes to town in three weeks, right?”
“And?” I ask him, turning on the light in my room and kicking off my shoes.
“And I’m going to kick his ass.”
“You will not,” Karrie hisses.
“Okay fine, I won’t, but I think Max needs to visit the penalty box.”
“Is this all you called for?” I ask him.
“No,” he says. “I also called to tell you that I don’t like him.”
“Duly noted.” I roll my lips.
“Rumors are going around that you two are dating,” he asks quietly.
“Don’t listen to rumors, Matthew,” I tell him. “Rumors were going around that you are too old to be on the ice.” I know he hates that rumor.
“I am not too old, dammit.” He raises his voice. “I don’t like him.”
“Why?” I ask him. “Why don’t you like him?”
“Because he’s sly, and he’s trying to date my sister,” he says, and I throw my head back and laugh. “Fuckers. I have to go. Karrie is winking at me.”
“Gross,” I say, and he disconnects. I look down at my phone, and I see that I’m tagged in a picture on Twitter. I click to open the app, and there it is.
Me standing clapping after his goal.
Caught @ZaraStone cheering on her man @EvanRichards.
I smile till I see what Evan commented on the post.
@ZaraStone thanks for coming. Maybe next time we can actually meet.
What the fuck? I’m so tempted to answer back not to flatter yourself, but I don’t. Instead, I do the grown-up thing and take a screenshot and send it to him via text. I don’t even know what to write, so I write nothing and just toss my phone aside.
I take off his jersey and toss it in the basket, making a mental note to add bleach to the wash that day. I take my luggage out of the hallway closet and start filling it. I will be in Chicago for three days, a max of four, so I pack and obviously overpack, thinking about all the places I’m going to go but knowing I’ll probably be curled up in a ball at the end of the night.
I’m on my way to Chicago to meet with Hollywood’s Princess Kellie. She releases a new album in a couple of months, and she wants me to work with her on her video shots and also to go over her interview outfits. I love working with her, and it helps that her husband is fine to look at.
I finish packing and have my bag ready by the door. She is sending her private plane for me, so there are no long lines. The car will be here at eight to get me, so I set my alarm for six thirty. I ignore all the tags from Twitter, and I put my phone on airplane mode so the notifications don’t keep me up.
I slide into bed once I wash off my makeup, and I turn off the light. The clock shows me it’s almost one a.m. Tomorrow is going to be a rough one.
“Welcome aboard, Ms. Stone. We will be taking off in about five minutes,” the flight attendant tells me once I walk up the five stairs to the plane. “You will have Wi-Fi on the plane, so you can go ahead and log on.”
“Perfect. Thank you,” I say to her, shrugging off my Burberry jacket and placing it on the seat beside me. Since I’m going straight to work after the plan lands, I dressed for it. I’m wearing tight white pants topped with a lace crocheted button-down beige short-sleeved shirt. I paired it with strappy Jimmy Choo gold high heels. I place the cream-colored Celine purse with my jacket and grab my phone out of my bag.
I fasten my seat belt and finally turn my phone back on. The phone doesn’t stop with the notifications coming in, and I see I have fifteen missed phone calls.
I see that Evan answered me back, and all he said is:
Evan: I’ll speak to you in the morning.
“Really,” I say to myself. “Or not,” I answer him and then check the messages from Zoe.
Zoe: Where the fuck are you?
Zoe: You need to call me back ASAP
I text her.
Me: I’m on the plane. Sorry, my phone was on airplane mode.
Not more than three seconds after I press send does the phone light up in my hands.
“What the fuck?” she hisses. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night and this morning.”
“Why?” I say and feel the plane moving.
“Um, have you not been on Twitter?” she asks me, and I put her on speakerphone and then go to Twitter. “People are going nuts.”
“Why?” I ask and go on Twitter.
I have over a hundred notification. “What is going on?”
“I’m not sure you caught the photo from last night because you didn’t comment on it and knowing you, you would have been ‘Bye, Felicia.’”
“I saw it, but I just texted him a picture of it,” I tell her.
“Well, the comment is gone, and in its place is a new one. I think he just threw down.” She snickers. I go back to the picture.
Doesn’t my girl @zarastone look great in my jersey?
“Oh my God,” I say and then see that it’s being retweeted over a hundred times.
“Yeah,” Zoe says. “Anyway, I have to go. I have a client on the phone, but call me.” She disconnects, and I go through the comments. One of them even tags Matthew and Max, and I have to put my hand over my mouth when I see Max’s response.
@EvanRichards, define your girl.
I text Allison.
Me: Is Max okay?
She answers me right away.
Allison: Matthew called him this morning. They are going over plays for when Evan comes to town. This is funny as shit.
Me: They aren’t really going to hurt him, right?
I have to ask her since I’m actually scared.
Allison: Good news is that they have a couple of games to calm down.
I scan the texts and finally open the ones from Evan.
Evan: Can you call me in the morning? I tried calling you, and I’m going straight to voicemail.
Evan: Sweet Zara, please call me.
Evan: I can’t sleep.
I’m about to call him when my phone rings, and I see it’s him.
“Hello,” I say, looking out the windows at the clouds.
“Hey,” he mumbles, and I can hear sleep in his voice. “I’ve been trying to call you all night.”
“I put my phone on airplane mode,” I tell him, and the phone sounds like it’s ringing. “Are you FaceTiming me?”
“Yes,” he says, and I accept the call. The little circle goes round and round, and then his face fills the screen, and I see he is in bed. He in on his stomach, and the phone is in front of him. I see his head. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, and I look down. “I don’t take care of my Twitter account.”
I look at him confused. “My sister Candace does, and she is the one who wrote that comment,” he says, and I hear barking, and then the phone flies out of his hand when the dog jumps on the bed. “Lilo, off,” he says and picks up the phone again. “Sorry, the dog jumped on the bed.”
I laugh, looking at the dog look at the camera his nose coming to the screen and sniffing it. “Go away, she’s mine.”
“Were you the one who wrote the comment about me being your girl?” I ask him. “Or was that your sister?”
“No,” he says, “she was sleeping. I deleted her comment and added my own.”
“You know that Max replied, righ
t?” I tell him, and he just smirks. “From what my sister-in-law said, he’s fired up.”
He just shrugs. “Whatever,” he says. “Where are you?”
“I’m on a plane going to Chicago,” I tell him. “I’ll be there for four days.”
“When are you going home?” he asks.
“Saturday and then I’m out again on Sunday to LA.” I look at him, and he looks so tired. “Why don’t you go back to bed and call me later?”
“I’m going to sleep better now knowing you’re okay,” he says and tries to hide his yawn. “I’ll talk to you later, sweet Zara.”
I smile at the nickname he keeps using. “Talk to you later.” I hang up the phone, and the flight attendant comes out with my breakfast. I smile at her, eating the fruit and going over the designs I’m going to show Kellie. My phone rings again, and I look down, seeing it’s from my mom.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, putting it on speaker while I put everything back together.
“Hi, princess, you are on speakerphone. I’m here with your father,” she says and then, “Cooper, you said you would behave.”
“Oh dear,” I say. “I haven’t even done anything.”
“Why the hell is Evan calling you his girl?” my father says, and I swear I could see him coming closer and closer to the phone while he asks that question. “And why were you wearing that jersey?”
“Oh that,” I say, and I hear my mother laugh. “He invited me to watch his game.”
“How many minutes in a game?” my father asks me.
“A lot?” I answer.
“Parker,” he hisses at my mother.
“Honey, your father just got off the phone with your brother, and they are a little bit worried.”
“That I went to a hockey game? I’ve survived before, so I’ll survive now.”
“This isn’t a joke, Zara,” my father says. “He said you were his. You know what that means.”
This Is Crazy Page 8
