Girl Next Door: Puck Buddies Series

by Brown, Tara

  “Holy shit!” Sukii rushes to the French doors and opens them, bringing the city in with her. The balcony is huge.

  My HGTV obsession whispers at me to be excited but my rational brain is in the way.

  The kitchen is open, overlooking the living room, with a dining room off to the right, opposite the hallway where the entrance is. Sukii is running around like a crazy person, shouting out obvious things like where the bathrooms are and which of the two bedrooms is bigger.

  I run my hands over the white granite counters and stop at the white full-sized fridge.

  It has double doors on top and a large freezer drawer below, like my father and Judith’s. It’s an adult fridge. I open the doors slowly, scowling when I see a bottle of champagne and a large blue box. It’s Tiffany’s.

  “Oh my God, I’m moving in!” Sukii shouts as she comes into the kitchen and grabs the bottle and box that I’m stuck staring at. “Jesus, this is like a four-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne. Are you and Stan fucking?”

  Her comment draws my eyes and I realize how bad this looks. “Oh my God, everyone is going to think that, aren’t they?”

  She laughs. “No. Dude, it was a joke. Besides I don’t think this is from him.” She opens the Tiffany’s box and tilts her head at the two flutes with a small card lying on top of them. She hands me the card and my already tense stomach does a flip.

  “Congrats on the new apartment, neighbor. Dinner?” I read it aloud and lift my gaze to hers, but her eyes are stuck on the other side of the card.

  “Lawrence?” She gasps and I flip it over to see his name with his cell phone number. “Oh my God, you fucked him!” Her eyes flash surprise and then anger. “Wait. You got so shitty with me over Cap—”

  “Because he’s married—”

  “He’s getting divorced!”

  “I didn’t know that and I didn’t want you to be his side dish. I know how these guys are.” It’s weak and all I have.

  She lifts the champagne flute. “Yes, clearly they’re all womanizing assholes who just want to have sex and never call again. Or do you think you’re the only one who could possibly land a good one?”

  “No, what? I didn’t want to land anyone! I don’t want to—” I grab the glass from her and hug her. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have judged. You were right. Cap is a nice guy. I shouldn’t have generalized them all that way. It was mean.” My fingers bite in and I start to cry. I’m not sure why.

  I think it’s all too much.

  I’ve sold my soul, broken my promise never to sleep with pucks, ghosted my boyfriend.

  The entire week has me at my max capacity for crazy.

  And for some reason the flutes and champagne from Lawrence are the straw that break the camel’s back.

  But thankfully I’m not alone.

  20

  Unpacking for dummies

  Lori

  Needing to distract myself from the fact she hasn’t called or texted or even told me to go fuck myself in the four hours since she got home, I take a run on the treadmill and stare out at the city. I spend half the run convincing myself that seeing her is a bad idea. But the other half, my dick makes all the decisions, and I’m confident that nothing bad can come from more time spent devouring Jenny. We’re clearly compatible and attracted to each other. And she’s cool. And not clingy. If anything, she’s the opposite which is killing me.

  Simon licks himself peacefully on the windowsill in the gym, ignoring me but staying in the same room so I know he isn’t happy that I vanished for the wedding right after being away for hockey.

  “Lori?” Brady shouts from the hallway.

  “Yeah?” I stop the treadmill and grab my towel, walking out of the double-room gym on the far side of my apartment. We meet in the hallway by the elevator. “Hey,” I huff and wipe my face.

  “Tell me that is some sex sweat and not you running off your needs,” he says with a laugh.

  “I would look a lot happier if I was having sex, even if you interrupted,” I mutter and walk to the terrace off the bar to cool off. The view of the park is perfect from here on the southern side of the building. “Why aren’t you at home?”

  “Nat just wants to game. She ordered a pizza and is eating it alone, vegging out.” He rolls his eyes. “I think she might actually need to decompress from so much Sami time.” He laughs.

  “She was getting a bit heavy-handed there,” I say as Bev strolls out of the house onto the balcony, interrupting us.

  “Well, do we have a game plan?” she asks.

  “How are you here?” Why are they both here?

  “I sent Gran and Gramps home with Eddie and everyone else and decided to come help you. I feel bad that you accidentally fell for the one-night stand. But in my defense, I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t know Jenny was so awesome. Stan gushed about her, but I assumed he was being polite. I mean, how many PR reps have you met like her? None.”

  “Okay, while she is awesome and I won’t lie, I can’t stop thinking about her, I didn’t fall for her.” I scoff. “I don’t feel done yet.”

  “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, Lori, but I was there. I saw you. And at the time, I thought you’d chase after her golf cart and have some drunken sex.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, what is your plan? A girl like her comes along once in a lifetime, you need a solid idea.”

  “I googled what to send girls for a housewarming gift. It said to send her champagne and glasses. So I did, with a little note saying welcome to her new place and asked her for dinner.” I give Bev an annoyed look.

  “What’s happening right now?” Brady sounds lost.

  Bev ignores his question. “You sent champagne and asked her out for dinner the week—no the day—she moved? Why wouldn’t you go for bringing pizza to her house, rich boy? She’s probably got no food and a house filled with boxes, ya dumbass. What did Stan say?” Bev mocking me should feel like old hat but it still stings.

  “Just what you said, that she moved into her new apartment today. I thought dinner might be nice and would lead to more sex.”

  “Really?” Bev tilts her head. “Who’s gonna unpack her house while she wines and dines with your dumb ass at one of those annoyingly trendy restaurants you rich people take poor people to so you can pretend to be relatable? You think Stan’s over there unpacking her boxes? He sounded a hundred years old over the phone.”

  “Who the fuck is Stan and why didn’t I know you two were working on a plan to win Jenny over for real?” Brady folds his arms. “And what am I, chopped liver? You go to this thing for advice over me?” He points his thumb at Bev.

  “Well, he wasn’t looking for advice on how to ruin her dress in an alley and never call her again,” Bev shoots back.

  “I kinda was,” I defend myself.

  “Stan’s Jenny’s boss. He’s friends with Lori’s grandpa—”

  “Who isn’t friends with your grandpa?” It’s Brady’s turn to roll his eyes.

  “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like you,” I say with a weak laugh, earning my own scowl from Brady.

  “He loves me, so fuck you. And secondly, I scored Natalie-fucking-Banks. So my advice is better than Bev’s. Who has she scored? Geoff the camera guy who I’m not supposed to know she’s banging?” He nods at Bev.

  “Fuck you, Brady, that was a good one.” She lifts up a middle finger and walks inside to pour herself a scotch at my bar.

  “But she’s right.” Brady gives Bev a glare. “If Jenny just moved, that girl probably has no food. No booze. Her apartment is a mess. She’s not going to want to have sex. As the person who actually unpacked our place while Nat messed around in the gaming room, I will say having someone show up with pizza and beers was dope.”

  “Okay.” I fold my arms and stare out at the park. “You’re right, asking her out for dinner the night she moves was stupid. But isn’t going there and helping her unpack sort of intense?”

  “Depends on the situation. One day of knowi
ng Nat, and I would have walked through fire for her, regardless of how I fought my feelings. Do you like her? Like want to have dinner with her while unpacking and flirt and not have sex?”

  “No, yes, I don’t know,” I answer them all too quickly. It takes me a second before I can accurately answer and expose myself to Brady’s torment. “I think I like her. I think I would have dinner and not have sex.” The night on the dock, waiting for the meteor shower, flashes through my mind. Staring at her beautiful face as she told me her sad story is still a highlight. It was intimate and quiet, and if I’m honest with myself there’s a chance, a huge chance, I want more of that.

  “What’s not to like? She’s the coolest girl any of us has ever met. Plus, if your sleazy ass is sniffing around her boss and dropping the old grandpa card to get her number, I think we can both agree, the sex was something out of this world. Which I knew it would be. Her dance moves and fitness level—” He stops himself.

  “Anyway. What do I do now? Did I mess up with the dinner and champagne?”

  “Yeah, but that’s ‘cause you’re rich—you have no idea what the real world looks like.” Brady laughs. “You should have seen Matt and Sami’s faces when I explained we were moving ourselves. I don’t think Sami understands what moving is, like she shows up at the house and the gods just poof her shit there in exactly the place she would want it.”

  “I’m down-to-earth,” I defend myself.

  Brady bursts out laughing, doubling over.

  “What?” I’m insulted. “I am.”

  “What’d I miss?” Bev hands me a drink but holds on to Brady’s while he’s dying.

  “Nothing. I said I’m down-to-earth,” I reply flatly, not understanding the laughing.

  But Bev joins him, “Oh, honey.” She snickers. “You’re living in an apartment in the Plaza Hotel that is one whole floor. A whole hotel floor. You have a service elevator and a regular elevator. You live on Billionaires’ Row and by the way you talk, people think you’re living in a fifth-floor walk-up in Brooklyn.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have drivers or staff—”

  “Millie counts, even if you say she’s here for the cat, and you have a maid service and valet and driver with the apartment. You have room service. You live in a fucking hotel,” Bev says, pointing at the park. “On Central Park, where you have his and hers bathrooms to go with your matching his and hers closets.”

  “I don’t use those services very often and Millie is for Simon!” I point at Simon who watches us from his perch in the window. The expression on his face suggests he doesn’t entirely buy the line either. “And she makes killer sandwiches. And what snobby rich person loves sandwiches as much as me?”

  “Okay. Come on, man. This is getting embarrassing. Let’s get you a pizza so you can win over this girl.” Brady slings an arm around me and wipes his eyes, barely recovered.

  “I can order pizza on my own.” My tone remains a little snappy.

  “Sure ya can.” Bev links her arm with my other one and hands Brady his drink. “Have you ever ordered your own food without asking someone to do it for you?”

  “You two are gonna make me nuts.” I pull away and walk through the library to the master bedroom. In the shower, I decide they’re right; as much as I hate them both right now, asking her for dinner was stupid. She probably has a lot going on.

  The idea of showing up at her place is conflicting but seeing her again, even if it is so soon and uncool, has me hurrying to get dressed and finish off with some of that aftershave she seemed to like.

  I take one last glance in the mirror before I rush out to the living room.

  “Okay, I spoke to Cap. He says Sukii is there, helping out. They’re about halfway done with the boxes but the place is a shitshow. She says Jenny is a bit of a mess, which is to be expected. Nat finds moving crazy emotional.” Brady walks to me, talking and texting. “Cap’s gonna tell the doorman you’re coming over and then get Sukii to leave and clear the path for you to go there and help her with the unpacking. Unpacking only.”

  “Exactly, because Sukii also said Jenny’s fragile right now. She’s cried a couple of times already. So if you genuinely like this girl, be her friend not a fuckboy,” Bev points out. “Your pizza will be in the foyer downstairs in two minutes.” She walks with me to the elevator. “Try not to be a douche-bag hockey player and you’ll be fine.”

  “He’s already banged her, he knows how to act,” Brady defends me.

  “Yes, because fucking a girl at a wedding is a solid start to a relationship.” Bev finishes her drink and saunters over to the bar again.

  “Calm down, Bev. Lori just wants to date her casually until he’s ready and then nail her down.” Brady scoffs and waves her off and his words hit me. “There’s no rush.”

  He’s right.

  I do want something casual right now, we barely know each other.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “Bro, pizza, girl! Let’s go!” Brady claps his hands and jolts me out of my trance.

  I nod as if this is fine and not insane and walk into the elevator. “Feed Simon,” I say as the door closes.

  This is the worst idea.

  Why did I think talking to her the day after seeing her was a good idea?

  It makes me look desperate.

  I have a rule about that.

  My mind whispers that I haven’t stopped contemplating the moment I would see her again since she left the farm, and I am desperate. I’ve been stuck in pursuit mode from the moment she got away. Calling Stan, finding out about her move to a building a block from mine, happened before I gave any thought to how insane it looked. Getting someone to run over a housewarming gift with a note might have been too much.

  In the moment, it made sense that we would have dinner and have sex again maybe. I never got further than that. And now the reality lingers in the back of my mind, trying to hit me with something resembling common sense about it all.

  The elevator door opens and the concierge is waiting with my pizza in a proper delivery bag to keep it hot, and he also has a six pack of Canadian beer, obviously Brady’s idea of a joke. “Mr. Eckelston, the food you requested.”

  “Thanks, Seb.” I take it and offer my usual smile, faking all the confidence in the world. “Have a good night, man.”

  “I’m off in fifteen minutes. It’s about to be an amazing night.” He winks.

  I hurry through the front door, certain this is the biggest mistake of my life, but my feet don’t stop, even when I get to her building. I’m on autopilot.

  The doorman nods. “Mr. Eckelston, I was informed you would be joining us. They’re expecting you, 15C.” He presses the button in the elevator for me.

  “Thank you,” I say and step in, noticing the nerves in my stomach. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. It’s another sign I should go home, eat the pizza with Bev, and listen to Brady call me a pussy.

  Fuck it, I’m going home. This is crazy.

  But the door opens on the fifteenth floor and as I press the lobby button she’s there, standing at the elevator, waiting.

  There’s no glamor or glitz. No fancy clothes or makeup. In fact, whatever eye makeup she was wearing is staining her cheeks a little bit and her eyes are puffy like she’s tired but also crazy emotional. Her hair’s in a huge bun and for some reason, she no longer has eyebrows. She’s holding a bunch of flattened boxes.

  Her eyes meet mine and widen. “Oh shit.” She drops the boxes and steps back, horrified.

  Panicking, I say the first thing I think of, “I came to see if you needed help.” It’s a lie but now that I see her, I don’t want to leave.

  “Lawrence,” she whispers.

  “Here, you take the pizza and beers and I’ll bring these down.” I pass her dinner and pick up the boxes, keeping my foot in the door so it doesn’t close on me.

  “No, it’s fine, honestly—”

  “Just go, I’m sure you’re starving. I was an idiot to think you’d be done
unpacking in time to eat.” I step back into the elevator and smile, but she doesn’t offer one back which makes me second guess all my decisions.

  When the elevator doors open to the lobby, the concierge is hurrying over. “Here, thanks.” I hand him the boxes and a hundred dollars and step back into the elevator.

  The guy smiles wide, his eyes darting between me and the money. I offer back a polite nod.

  When I get upstairs the door to 15C is ajar for me.

  Inside, the apartment is a disaster. I see why she’s been crying all afternoon.

  “Sorry, it’s such a mess.” She tries to tidy up some of the counter space where she has placed the pizza, but she wobbles and staggers.

  “Hey, no worries, Red. I’ve seen much worse,” I lie and offer her the grin to get her fired up. But it doesn’t work at all. “It’s okay.” I walk to her with my arms open and pull her in, hugging her. “I’ll help you clean it all up. It won’t take any time at all.”

  God she smells good.

  She starts crying and I regret everything, particularly the champagne which I suspect, by how trashed she is, might be the one thing she’s eaten all day. She blubbers an apology, breaking my heart. It takes a lot for a girl like her to fall to pieces.

  “It’s okay. You’re just tired.” I lift her up in my arms, trying not to smell her like some kind of serial killer, but the lingering scent of cherries is killing me. Fortunately, the smell of champagne is also there and she’s blubbering into my dress shirt incoherently. Something about Ben or bending and cheating and being at work in the morning.

  I’m lost.

  I nod and continue through boxes, pacing and trying to choose which room is hers. There’s an unmade bed with clothes on one side and a huge quilt on the other. I place her on the armchair to sit while I spread out the quilt. She’s shaking her head, trying to argue that she’s not tired but I refuse it. I pull her to the bed and force her to lie down.

  “I have to work in the morning,” she says the first truly coherent thing since I came into the apartment.