Overnight Sensation

by Sarina Bowen

  Our opponents’ fans are giving up. It’s a beautiful sight.

  Even more beautiful was the assist I got during the second period. A quick pass to Drake, who shot a flying saucer into the upstairs corner of the net.

  No lie—I celebrated even harder than him. “Baby, I’m back!” I’d said to Silas who’d held the bench door open for me when I’d returned. “Don’t know why it’s working tonight, but it is.” Finally. I feel lighter and faster than I have since switching to right wing.

  Silas had given me a smirk. “Maybe it was the unexpected night of—”

  “Shut it,” I’d growled.

  But it’s clear that my teammates are relieved. They need me back in the saddle, because we’re down a veteran player. We had to leave Bayer behind in New York so he could have another knee surgery. I’m on a line tonight with the rookie Drake and with Bryce Campeau, a recent trade from Montreal.

  Trevi and his boys look good out there, though. They’re running Chicago up and down the ice, looking for another scoring opportunity against our opponent’s defense.

  In ten minutes we’re notching this game into the winner’s column. Or I’ll die trying.

  When coach puts his thumb on my shoulder blade to let me know I’m up next, I vault over the wall without hesitation. I don’t even hesitate in finding my new position on the right wall. Somehow it’s stopped feeling wrong. Not only that, but passing from a dominant arm that’s closer to center ice is finally starting to make sense.

  Campeau sends me the puck, and I flick it to Drake without having to cross my body first. And then—as the Chicago defenseman moves to get into Drake’s way—a beautiful opening presents itself. Drake sees it, too, and in the next microsecond he returns the puck to me.

  In less time than it takes to say “mine, suckers!” I snatch it off the ice and send it sailing toward the goalie’s five-hole. Right between his legs.

  Boom! The lamp lights for me.

  Thank you, Jesus. I pump my stick in the air and give a yell as the stadium DJ blasts “Crazy Train,” an upbeat riff meant to keep Chicago’s fans from making a mutual suicide pact.

  My relief is complete. We set up for the next faceoff, and even though I’ve been skating all night and every inch of my body is drenched in sweat, I feel light.

  Finally. I’ve proved it. I can still bring the magic. I only need to do it seventy-five more times this season. For the first time in a month, that seems possible.

  After the game, the locker room is a happy place. We blast our win song and argue about how we’re going to celebrate.

  “Ribs,” Drake demands.

  “Chicago-style pizza,” Trevi argues.

  “Nah, it’s overrated,” I complain as I towel off from the shower. “I’m with Drake. Let’s eat barbecue.”

  “Gotta let the night’s scorers decide,” Beacon says, pulling a shirt on. “Give these boys what they need. Plus, the ribs joint is closer to the hotel, so…”

  “Ladies,” says a snarky female voice. “Congratulations.”

  I look over my shoulder and spot Miranda Wager—my least favorite reporter. Funny how I don’t hate the sight of her quite so much after a win. “Be right with you,” I say, because my ass is bare, and I don’t want to be that rude athlete who waves his dick in her face like it’s a dare.

  “Take your time,” she says. “I was just hoping you’d comment on your comeback.”

  I pull on a pair of underwear and then my trousers. Only then do I turn around and dignify the question. “My comeback?”

  “It’s been weeks since you had any points.”

  I consider my response carefully. A particular awesome, sexy woman made my sandwich this morning… I smile, just picturing Heidi. But I still need to answer the question. “Obviously I just needed some ice time to figure out how to play right wing. You know the ten-thousand-hour rule? Mastering new skills is a lengthy process.”

  “I’m aware,” Miranda says. “But ten thousand hours? That would take four hundred and seventeen days, if you didn’t sleep.”

  My irritation flares at this handy demonstration of mental math. But I remind myself of what Heidi said—how everyone is hard on Miranda. And even though I don’t trust this reporter, I dial down my attitude. “I don’t know how many hours it’s been. But just think how unstoppable I’m gonna be after my ten-thousandth hour?”

  She actually rolls her eyes as she scribbles on her notebook. “Thank you for that humble quote.”

  “It’s entirely my pleasure.” I give her a big, friendly smile. We stare each other down for a second.

  She blinks first. “There’s a young woman in the hallway looking for you,” she says. “Have a nice night.” Then, thankfully, she turns away to sink her reporter’s talons into Beacon.

  Good riddance.

  I finish dressing quickly. A young woman waiting for me? I don’t know who that could be. As I tuck in my shirt, my traitorous subconscious leaps right to the place it shouldn’t. What if somehow it’s Heidi in the hallway? Yay!

  Thanks, brain. Or—let’s be honest—my brain isn’t the only body part that’s kept Heidi in mind all day. I can’t stop hearing her voice in my head. Specifically, her voice moaning, yes, yes, harder.

  Oh, the irony. I’d told Heidi we couldn’t sleep together because she’d only want more. And I’m the one who’s still hot and bothered, playing last night on replay. She’s gotten under my skin. The sex was spectacular.

  But also? I like her. The idea of her waiting for me outside is strangely appealing. A horrible idea, but appealing nonetheless.

  Either way, I owe her a phone call. In the first place, we’re friends. And friends don’t bang friends without a check-in afterwards. And I need to thank her for the sandwich. When the puck went into the net twenty minutes ago, my teammates all screamed my name. It had been a while since I’d heard them do that.

  I tie my shoes, grab my bag, and then head for the door to see who’s outside. Maybe there’s nobody there, and Miranda Wager was just fucking with me.

  Or maybe it’s somebody I hooked up with some other time in Chicago? That would be awkward. The reason I only have sex with randoms is that it avoids entanglement. That’s worked just fine for me for years.

  Yanking the locker room door open, I look right and left. “Jason!” somebody screeches. And I smile immediately, because I’d know that screech anywhere. I’ve been hearing it for most of my life.

  “Silli!” I yell, grabbing my little sister into a hug and lifting her off her feet. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “I didn’t know! Put me down, and I’ll explain.”

  When I set Silvia onto her feet, she punches me in the arm. “Ow! What’s that for?”

  “Making me look bad. Our nephew loves that bear you sent for his birthday. I bought him books.”

  “Serves you right. Come out for dinner—we’re all getting ribs. I’ll buy.”

  “In that case, I’m in,” Silvia says. “I spent sixty bucks on a ticket in the nosebleed section, and all because I can’t plan my life.”

  “You know I woulda got you a seat…”

  “I know,” she says, looping her arm in mine. “But I asked for the night off and I thought they turned me down, but I didn’t read the schedule closely enough.” Silvia works as a nurse in a Wisconsin hospital. She’s also getting a graduate degree in public health, because we’re a family of overachievers. “This afternoon when I realized I had the night off, I just got in my car and drove.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Parked at your hotel.”

  I laugh. “So that’s how it is, huh? Your plan is to get drunk and crash in my hotel room?”

  “There a problem with that?” she asks.

  “No. It’s great to see you,” I say, because it is. The shittiest thing about professional sports is that it keeps me on the road so many days a year. Dinners with my family are scarce.

  “You looked fantastic tonight,” she says. “
I’ve been worried.”

  I groan. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” If you can’t count on your family to point out your failures, who can you count on?

  “Look, I don’t care if you ever score another goal. But I know you care. And you’re a very grumpy bear when things aren’t going well.”

  “Things are fine,” I grumble.

  “I noticed. We all worry about you more in the fall, anyway.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I insist.

  She gives me the side-eye, implying that it’s not. “Mom and Dad are planning a surprise visit to Brooklyn, too. To check up on you.”

  “They’re visiting me? When?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t listen to the details. But you’ve been warned.”

  My family is great, but I don’t like them to worry about me. Although it’s true that autumn is not my favorite time of year. Ever since Lissa died on a clear November day, I’ve never been a fan of the season.

  And then it hits me like a six-foot-six defenseman. “Oh, shit.” I forgot all about the call from Jolene last night. “I’m such an asshole.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Ignoring her, I pull out my phone. I’m sure it’s possible to send the money via a website or an app. Except I can’t remember that number Jolene gave me identifying the right drugstore. It’s still on my coffee table, scrawled on a magazine…

  Oh. And now I know how I’m going to solve the problem. “Silli, I need a minute.” I push open the stadium door, finding the team bus ready with its door open.

  “Hi Silvia,” Jimbo says with a smile. “You guys need a car?” Jimbo asks me. Sisters aren’t allowed on the team bus.

  “We sure do. I’m heading to that ribs joint where we went last year. You in?”

  He checks me off on his tablet with a stylus. “Sure. I’ll be late, though.” The transport guys aren’t done for the night yet.

  “Come whenever. I’ll buy you dinner.”

  “Thanks, man. I’ll grab you a car. Prolly take three minutes.”

  “Awesome. I’ll be right over there.” I cross the asphalt to the stadium wall and then look up Heidi’s phone number. As it’s ringing, my sister sidles up beside me.

  “I need a minute.”

  “Yeah, but I like to eavesdrop.”

  “You’re a pain in the—”

  That’s when Heidi’s phone picks up. “Belle Pepper’s Delivery Service. How may I direct your call?”

  “Can I, uh, speak to Heidi?” I ask.

  “It’s me, genius!” She laughs. “Just playing with you. What do you need?”

  “In the first place, I just wanted to say hi.” My sister is staring at me, and it’s throwing me off my game. “How are you doing? I should have, uh, called you earlier but…”

  “You were busy beating Chicago! Nice goal, by the way. I was so excited.”

  “Well, thanks?” She sounds completely upbeat. And that’s terrific, right? I want her to feel cheerful. But her tone is so casual.

  But didn’t we have earth-shattering sex less than twenty-four hours ago? Did she not notice how amazing it was?

  “Just do that eighty more times, okay?” Heidi babbles. She’s still talking about the game, and I’m distracted by the way her voice vibrates through my soul. I can picture her tilting her head to the side and smiling. “Maybe Denver won’t stand a chance.”

  “Right. Okay. You’re worse than Coach.” I lift my eyes and find my sister hanging on every word. I shoo her away with a wave of my hand, and she moves maybe six inches.

  “Is there something you need?” Heidi chirps. “Because my bubble bath is waiting.”

  Bubble bath. An image of Heidi lying naked in my bathtub assaults me, and I close my eyes.

  “Hello?” she prompts.

  “Um…” My concentration is shot. “A favor. I was hoping you could help me with something I forgot. I wouldn’t ask but someone’s depending on me…”

  “Sure! Name it! While I’m still young, though.”

  My sister chuckles, and I step to the side to try to get away from her prying ears. “On the coffee table there’s a magazine, and I wrote something on the back of it—the store number for a drugstore in St. Paul.”

  “Minnesota? Um, okay. A phone number?”

  “No, it’s the store’s code number. I need to use Western Union to wire money to somebody who will pick it up at that store. Could you do this tomorrow? Find a Western Union and send sixteen hundred dollars cash?”

  “Sixteen hundred?” my sister gasps.

  “Sixteen hundred?” Heidi echoes in my ear. “Sure. Can you send me an email with all the details? And where am I getting this cash? If I had that kind of money, I wouldn’t still be couch surfing in your apartment.”

  I smile in spite of myself. “I keep a spare credit card in my bottom desk drawer, and the pin number is on a piece of paper that’s wrapped around it. I’ll put that in the email, too. I was supposed to do this today…”

  “Don’t worry. Consider it done. Just go beat Denver.”

  “Thank you,” I say, “thanks a ton, I really—”

  The line goes dead.

  “Who was that?” my sister hoots. “I haven’t seen that look on your face in a really long time. Ooh! Our car is here. You can tell me all about it on the way.”

  Silvia hooks her arm in mine and drags me toward the car. All of this happens before I can process the fact that Heidi just hung up on me.

  20

  Heidi

  Ladies and gentlemen! The academy award for indifference after a life-changing night of meaningless sex goes to…HEIDI JO PEPPER.

  After disconnecting the call, I set my phone down on the coffee table and then flop face-first onto the sofa cushions. I take a deep breath and exhale.

  Okay. Phew. I’ve been dreading my first interaction with Jason. And it was every bit as difficult as I expected. He was right that sex would make things weird. Or at least very tingly. From now until eternity, every time we chat about errands I’ll be undressing him in my mind.

  I have got to move out of this apartment. My game face isn’t sturdy enough to face him in the flesh. And what lovely flesh it is. Is it possible to leave smile marks on a couch? Just to be safe, I roll over and grin at the ceiling.

  By now I’ve had eighteen hours to process the experience, but I still can’t stop thinking about it. Hot loving with Jason Castro. It was so, so good. And not just because he knows his way around the female body. He was so invested. The smoldering look in his eye when he pushed me down on the bed? It will live in my memory forever.

  And the helpless groans? The whispered curses? Wow. Now I know how the other half lives. And it’s even better than I’d thought.

  Except now it’s over. My lips are still swollen from roughened kisses, but for how much longer? Lifting my fingertips to my mouth, I gently explore the abraded skin. But, heck. Touching my lips reminds me of his kisses. And if I relax into the sofa I can picture his hard body pressing me down again, pinning me to the bed with his pumping hips—

  Whoops. I could get seriously carried away with this train of thought.

  I sit up to try to clear my head. Two things are immediately clear. One: the happy glow is going to last a long time. Two: it’s going to leave behind a craving for more.

  He was right, darn it. Once isn’t going to be enough.

  The silence of the living room mocks me. I have three days to figure myself out. Jason won’t want me here anymore. He was very clear about his one-and-done policy. And who needs a permanent house guest who gives you a worshipful gaze every time you cross the room?

  Nobody, that’s who.

  I need an affordable apartment, and I need it now.

  Time to get to work.

  Unfortunately, the New York City housing market does not suddenly get cheaper just because I’ve made my life difficult. I still can’t afford to use a real estate broker to find an apartment. I’m not even close to having enough
money saved.

  My mother always says that word of mouth is the best kind of marketing. So I write emails to all the young women I went to private school with in Nashville. Hello from New York! If you know anyone here in the city looking for a roommate, please let me know. Etc.

  But then I run out of ideas.

  With no real estate miracles on the horizon, I turn my focus to earning money. By Tuesday morning I’m hard at work filling orders for Belle Pepper’s Delivery Services. I have requests from every player who lives in the neighborhood, except one.

  The shopping I did last time was so popular that I’ll be buying as many groceries this week. I might need two taxis just to transport it all. I don’t have an order for Bayer, though. So I shoot him a text, reminding him of the deadline.

  My phone rings about a minute later, and it’s him. “I’m not on the trip, Hot Pepper. I’m having knee surgery today instead.”

  “Oh no! That’s terrible!” Not only is surgery a drag, but it’s bad news for Brooklyn. The team needs him. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Well.” He chuckles. “Can I book a couple of hours of your time for something a little unusual?”

  “It depends? I don’t wash windows.”

  He laughs. “No, this is more like a babysitting job. I need someone to check me out of the hospital after my outpatient surgery this morning. I know it’s not on your menu of services…”

  “Goodness! Just tell me how I can help.”

  “Well, I’m waiting for them to call me in, and the surgery itself should only take an hour. So if you’re here by ten or eleven o’clock, that should work out. I’ll be free to go as soon as the anesthetic wears off. But they require me to have someone sign me out, and all my friends are on the road.”

  I can’t imagine going into surgery all alone. “I’ll be there. Don’t you worry.”

  “Thanks, Heidi Jo. I really appreciate it. I’m emailing you the details right now. Charge me overtime or whatever.”

  I would never do that, of course. Instead, I get to the hospital early, just in case he’s ready. But when I arrive, he’s still in the recovery room being fussed over by nurses.