“Yeah. I haven’t done a lot of decorating.” He shrugs. “This is the en suite.”
I survey the bathroom and a huge walk-in closet. “This looks good.”
“Apparently there are a few units available. Mike can set something up for you to look at them if you think you’re interested.”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to him.” Maybe it would be better if I lived in a different building than Easton. Then again, I don’t really want to spend days looking at apartments and figuring out how to get everywhere. This is all fucking with my head. It’s pissing me off.
He shows me more storage and the laundry space, and we return to the living room. Otis has followed us everywhere, watching me with alert eyes. He’s a goofy-looking dog, with a face like he ran into a door and big ears.
“So what do you think?” Lilly asks brightly as we return to the living room.
“Looks great.”
“Would you like coffee?” she asks. “I’m so sorry, I should have offered sooner. Easton and I are both coffeeholics.”
I haven’t even taken my jacket off. “Uh, no thanks, that’s okay. I’ve got…um, stuff to do.”
Easton nods, his arms crossed, face impassive.
This sucks.
I don’t have the energy to deal with it right now. This whole situation is stressing me out and making me relive all the uncertainty and fear I had after the accident. I fucking hate feeling like this and I just need to survive so I can play hockey.
“Thanks for showing me your place. Appreciate the time.”
Lilly’s eyes flick between me and Easton, and I sense she wants to say more but she doesn’t.
“See you next week,” I say to Easton. “I’m looking forward to playing again.”
“Yeah. It’ll be good. Enjoy the rest of the break.”
I leave his apartment, my gut tight, my hands clenched. In the elevator, I slump against the wall and take a few breaths. Shit. Why is this so hard?
I push out onto the street and stand on the sidewalk, gulping in frigid air. Shit, it’s cold out here. I zip up my jacket, tugging the hood over my head, and pull my gloves out. For a moment I look around at what could be my new neighborhood. Lots of open area, paths for running and walking, the river nearby. Could be worse, I guess. I take a different route back to the subway station to check things out more.
I spend the rest of the break signing a lease on an apartment—I go for easy and rent one in Easton’s building. Mine is on the fifteenth floor and a different layout, but it will work fine for me. I arrange for the furniture I put in storage to be shipped. My car arrives, so that’s good, although I can already see that getting to the arena is going to be way easier by subway than driving.
When the break is over, I meet the guys again. Mike picks me up and drives me to the practice facility, where we get back on the ice. The guys on the team are great. Mostly. Easton avoids me, but I’m fine with that. Team captain Daniel Bergen, who everyone calls Bergie, shows me around the Apex Center. Alternate captain Nate Karmeinski is also really friendly and helpful, including me when we break for lunch. Coach has paired him and me up at practices, so maybe I’ll be playing with him.
“Hey, Josh,” Jay Bobak says to me. “Your dad was one of my favorite players growing up.”
I smile. I’ve heard this before. “Yeah?”
“Your uncle was my favorite,” James Michaud says. His dark auburn hair has earned him the nickname Red.
“Which uncle?” I grin. I have three uncles and they all played in the NHL. Talk about a hockey family.
“Jase. He had wicked silky mitts; man, could he dangle the puck.”
I nod. Not for the first time, I’m glad I play defense so people don’t compare me too much to my dad and my uncles. I still wonder if my name is what got me drafted, given that I’d barely played hockey in the year before the draft. If it was, I’ll take it; this was my goal, and being hurt and unable to play for so long was a huge obstacle, but I always knew I could do it. And I am.
I have to remember that and be grateful for what I’ve accomplished instead of being resentful about this huge change to my nicely settled life.
I’m eager to play my second game with the team on Thursday night. My first game got some of the nerves out but wasn’t my best work. This may not have been in my plan, but I want to contribute.
Chapter 4
Sara
I’m meeting Josh Heller at the studio where I record my podcasts. It’s a small place, all they do is podcasts, but I really like the guys that run it. I walk the three blocks from the 42nd Street subway stop and enter the nondescript office building then ride the tiny, ancient elevator to the eighth floor. They have the whole floor here, so I step out of the elevator into a waiting room with stylish couches and chairs and cool track lighting. One wall is lined with framed pictures of various podcast covers, including mine: Random Acts of Sara, with the hot-pink background and stylized image of my face.
They don’t have a receptionist, but I know Oliver will come and get me. I’m early because I’m always early. I unwrap my scarf, take off my jacket, and hang it in the small closet, then take a seat, pulling out my phone from my purse. I’m scrolling through Instagram when the door opens. I look up to see Josh Heller enter.
Now, I’ve done some research on him. My podcasts seem haphazard and off the top of my head, but I do plan what I’m going to talk about, so I need to know something about my guests. I already know Josh Heller has teeth. And he’s goddamn gorgeous.
My belly flutters as I jump to my feet to greet him. “Hi! Josh, right? I’m Sara.” I stick out my hand. But my palm feels sweaty. “Wait.” I rub it on the thigh of my jeans. “There.” I extend it again.
He blinks, lifts one eyebrow, and takes my hand without a smile. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”
His hand is big and warm and not sweaty. I like it.
He is big…I’m average height, five feet, six inches, and he’s got to be well over six feet. And did I mention he’s gorgeous? I don’t get how this is fair when he bashes people around for a living. He wears a layer of scruff that’s almost a beard. His thick eyebrows sit low over brown eyes and his lips…holy fuck cakes, his lips…they are the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen on a man.
He pulls off his knit hat to reveal thick dark hair that falls over his forehead. I want to reach out and gently push it back.
“Likewise,” I say. “Wow, I did not expect you to be so good-looking.” Which is stupid because I saw pictures of him, but in person, he has a magnetism that I can feel right between my legs.