by Meghan Quinn
“Little Debbie snack?” Emma asks, offering up two different boxes. Racer and his freaking treats. He’s ridiculous.
“I’m good. Beer and sweets don’t mix well in my stomach.” I pat my belly just as Racer and Hayden join the circle on the opposite side from me.
Nudging my shoulder, Emma says, “Did you meet the hockey player? Tucker says he’s really good.”
At that moment, Tucker takes a second to lean forward and say, “Really good. His puck-handling skills are some of the best I’ve seen, and he just finished his rookie season. The guy has a huge future in front of him.”
“Oh, sounds like he’s an all-star. You should go talk to him.” Emma is practically bouncing up and down, beyond excited, poking my leg to get me moving.
“Stop being obvious.” I swat her hand away.
“You really should go talk to him.” Tucker nods with his head toward Hayden who’s intently talking to a drunk Racer.
“And say what? Heard you’re good at hockey, want to show me your stick?”
Emma nods. “That’s a great line.”
“It would get my attention,” Tucker adds.
“I’m not saying that.”
“Why not?” Emma asks as Racer gets up and makes his way to the house, taking Aaron with him as more of a support so he doesn’t fall over, leaving Hayden alone. “Oh, he’s free, go talk to him.”
Emma shoves me right off my seat and into the grass.
“What the fu—”
“Are you okay?” Hayden asks, moving to my side to help me up.
Glaring at a very happy Emma, I say, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Helping me up by the arm, Hayden towers over me, and I’m a little awed how the light of the fire flickers across his face.
“Tucker, will you help me get some more snacks? I’m hungry,” Emma loudly announces, probably pulling the attention of all surrounding neighbors.
“Wha—” Emma gives him a stern look and recognition lights up in Tucker’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, snacks. Boy, I could really use some more.” Rubbing his belly, he stands and takes Emma’s hand. Leaving me alone with Hayden.
That wasn’t obvious at all.
I could kill them.
Looking behind at the retreating couple, Hayden asks, “How long have they been together?”
“Seems like forever,” I sigh and take a seat on one of the logs surrounding the fire. Without invitation, Hayden joins me.
“I feel like we started off on the wrong foot.”
“Well, you were snooping.”
“Yeah.” He pulls on the back of his neck, and I take that moment to observe him.
Strong, thick thighs stretch the denim of his jeans. Pulsing, sinew-filled forearms, biceps like boulders straining the sleeves of his T-shirt, and a set of the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen, making me feel incredibly small and fragile. His jawline is sharp, caressed in a light brown stubble. And his eyes, shades of brown and gold hooded by dark brown eyebrows and a thick head of styled hair. He’s rough and untamed with his scruff, but styled and sophisticated when it comes to his hair.
In fascination, I watch his large hand move back and forth along his neck. Does he have calluses on his hands from holding a hockey stick a good portion of his life? Does he enjoy the scrape of his fingers along his skin?
And his ears, they stick out barely more than others, giving him a boyish charm that warms my heart.
“I’m worried about him,” Hayden says, pulling me from my reverie. “His house used to be fully decorated, fully furnished, and he has all those overdue bills. I didn’t mean to snoop, I just . . . is he doing okay?”
“He’s making things work,” I answer honestly, knowing a little bit about Racer’s financial struggle from Emma, who heard it from Tucker.
“I would offer to help him, but knowing Racer, he would never accept any kind of help.”
“Never.”
“So how do you know Racer? You guys seem pretty close.” Chuckling, he adds, “Really close. Told me you were off limits.”
My eyebrow rises, my head tilting to the side. “That man is infuriating. We’re just friends if that’s what you’re getting at. I met him through Tucker and Emma, and for some reason, he thinks it’s his job to protect me from any and all men.”
“It’s good to have a friend like that, you know, with all the psychos out there. You can never trust just anyone.”
“Especially hockey players, right?”
“Oh no.” Hayden shakes his head. “Hockey players are very trustworthy. Upstanding citizens. Some of the best people you will ever meet.”
“Is that right?” I turn on the log to face him, straddling the wood. Insert your perverted thoughts right here, I know you’re having them. “What brings you to Binghamton? Don’t you live in Philadelphia?”
Propping his thigh on the log, turning as well, he says, “Needed a little breather. It was a long season, the Brawler fans are ruthless, so I didn’t feel like walking around the city being heckled every turn of the corner.”
“They do that?”
He nods slowly. “At the beginning of the season, when I was still getting my feet wet, we lost against our rivals. It was a tough loss and wasn’t taken very well by the fans. The next day, I couldn’t walk ten feet in the city without being booed. They are ruthless.”
“Seriously? Wow, I had no idea grown men could be such babies.”
“Grown men, women, and children.” He chuckles. “So you can understand wanting to get away.”
“Makes sense. I’m wondering why Binghamton out of all places. If I were you, I would have gone to some exotic location.”
“Thought about it, but I have obligations in the city, sponsorships and whatnot. Figured this would be easier. And I’m staying in a killer cottage up on a hill that looks over the city. It’s peaceful, just what I need.”
“Sounds relaxing. What I wouldn’t do for a little break right about now, which sounds ridiculous because I’m new to the workforce, but still . . .” I shake my head, hating that I have an early shift tomorrow. Seven to seven. It’s better than a late night shift, but it’s still tiring.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a nurse. It’s a challenging job, and the hours are brutal. I work in a hospital so I see a lot of things that weigh heavily on me.”
He’s silent for a second before saying, “I can’t imagine. The medical field is a tough one.”
“It is. For the longest time I thought I was going to be a teacher, but somewhere along the way, I switched, deciding to be a nurse. Kind of wish I was grading spelling tests right about now.”
Chuckling, he says, “More than assisting with removing forks from eyes and resetting broken legs?”
“Pretty much.” I smile softly, studying him. He’s engaged, interested with the way his body language points toward me, the lean in of his shoulders, the way his eyes are so intent on mine. He’s different from other men I’ve talked to. Genuine. Real. I like that. And even though Racer can be one of the craziest people I know—regularly—he’s also one of the most decent. It doesn’t surprise me this man, who expressed instant concern for Racer’s well-being, has been a friend for years. How he noticed straight away things weren’t all sunshine and roses in Racer’s world. That sort of friend is rare, and I think I’ve discovered a rare gem.
“What’s going on over here?” Racer asks, stumbling into our little conversation. “What did I tell you, man? She’s off limits. Right, Addie Girl?”
“I think you’ve hit your beer and sugar intake for the night.” I pat his rock-hard stomach. How he’s able to maintain his physique when downing a box of Little Debbie snacks a day is beyond me. He’s one of those annoying people.
“Are you and Aaron in cahoots? He said the same thing.” Racer sits behind me and places his chin on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist.
Drunk Racer is turning into touchy-feely Racer. Happens every time.
I pat his arms and say,
“Yes, we’re in cahoots.”
Striking a glance at Hayden, I notice his eyes fixed on Racer’s arms intimately wrapped around me. He stiffly smiles and shakes his bottle and says, “I’m going to get a refill.”
When he steps away, I elbow Racer in the gut.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you being so possessive over me right now?”
“Possessive? I’m not being possessive.”
“Racer, you’re practically peeing a circle around me, warding off any guy who comes within ten feet of me.”
“I’m not peeing a circle, but I can if you want me to. Just let me drink one more beer—”
“You’re done with drinking beer tonight.” I shake him off me. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
His eyes are glassed over but I can still see a little bit of common sense floating around in that fogged-up head of his.
“I don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m a big girl, Racer, and I can take care of myself.”
“Then how come you let Logan hurt you?”
I let out a heavy sigh and sit on the log next to Racer.
“Logan was a mistake, and I got over that quickly. We’re friends now. That’s it. Crossing that line with him was stupid.”
“Yeah, he sure as hell let you know his opinion on the matter. Who was the one there for you? Whose shoulder did you cry on? Mine, which now gives me the right to be super protective over you, because I don’t ever want to see you that upset again, especially over a guy.”
There is a time in everyone’s life where they look back at a decision they made and think, yeah, I probably shouldn’t have done that. Logan was my bad decision.
We were the three musketeers; Emma, Logan, and me. We somehow survived nursing school together and found jobs right out of college. When Emma started becoming serious with Tucker, we saw less of her and more of each other. Dinners led to late nights, which led to a stupid, yet passionate night.
Want to talk about the most awkward morning after ever? It was . . . torture. We sat there, sheets up around our chests, staring at the wall in front of us, wondering what we did, and when Logan’s first words were, “That was a mistake,” it was hard not to take it personally. That’s when I went to Racer and cried it out. I guess you could call that mistake number two, because after a few good cries, we fooled around a little.
I know, I know.
Why is this girl a hussy? That’s what you’re thinking, right? And to tell you the truth, I don’t know why; it’s in my blood I guess. I like comfort and seek it from the wrong people. A therapist could have a field day with me.
And now Racer is super protective. And no, we don’t like each other like that. We both came to the mutual agreement that we’re better off as friends.
So basically, if you’re noticing a pattern here, I’m friend-zone material. Maybe it’s because I’ve never really been in a serious relationship. When I was in high school, dating anyone wasn’t close to a possibility, having seven brothers. Yes, you read that right, seven brothers. I wasn’t allowed to look at a boy without one of my brothers giving me a lecture about how boys only want is sex at that age, it won’t be enjoyable, so I best wait until the little squids understand how to please a woman properly.
Which brought me to college. Nursing school is stressful. So much studying, so many late nights, so many parties to help you wind down.
See where this is going?
Without the protection of my brothers, I kind of . . . let loose. That’s the nice way of putting it.
College was one giant whirlwind of studying, clinicals, and random one-night stands. If I had a good time, then some one-night stands turned into two- or three-night stands, but that was where it ended.
So I have no idea what it takes to be a good girlfriend, what it means to communicate effectively with another human being when it comes to love, and compromise? Sheesh, what’s that?
If I were a guy, I would be that bachelor with the fancy apartment who’s completely clueless when it comes to a girlfriend’s needs.
Basically, I’m a total catch . . .
I lean in to Racer and press my head against his shoulder. “I appreciate you trying to prevent pain, Racer, but I’m a big girl and can handle whatever comes my way.”
“Can you?” Even in his drunk state, I can see some clarity in his eyes. “Because do you see that guy over there?” Racer nods toward the back door to his house. Hayden is walking toward us, his eyes trained on me. “That guy right there has a look in his eyes, a look that says you’re in for one hell of a ride if you choose to take the ride. But I don’t want you to hop on, because you will get hurt.” Having briefly seen him interact with others and particularly from his concern for Racer, yeah, I’m intrigued. Until this moment. What surprises me is Racer’s reasoning. What am I missing?
“Have you actually thought maybe I’m not interested?”
“Pfft.” Racer scoffs. “Please. The man is not only a professional hockey player with a bank account to put us all to shame, but he’s good-looking, has a heart of gold, and believe me when I say this, he has a big penis.”
“What?” I cough, choking on my saliva. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve known the guy forever. We went to school together, shared a gym class, and you’re bound to see each other’s junk.” He carelessly shrugs. “Just happens. So knowing all of that, you can’t tell me you aren’t interested. The man is a goddamn catch.”
“So if he’s a catch, how come you don’t want me going out with him?”
“Because, despite him being one of the best guys I know, his schedule, his lifestyle, it’s not what you want. You want to slow down, you want to switch to a general practitioner office, and you want a quiet life. That’s not what you’d get with him. Guarantee it.”
Hayden smiles sweetly and takes a seat near Aaron, striking up a conversation. I study him from a distance. He isn’t animated like Racer, but he isn’t shy either. He’s relaxed, confident. There is an air about him that makes him approachable and fascinating all at the same time.
“Adalyn, I’m fucking serious.” Racer’s voice drops, seriousness dripping from his tongue. “Don’t even think about it.” He has a heart of gold, is extremely good-looking, is smart and confident. And, thanks to my friend, I know he is packing serious meat.
How could I not?
Chapter Four
HAYDEN
I don’t normally do this, which I’m sure guilty people say all the time, but I’m being completely honest.
I REALLY don’t do this.
But after a few days of having dreams about Adalyn every night, I’m desperate. I want to get to know her better, you know, as friends.
At least that’s what I’m going to tell Racer if he catches us. That’s if I can find her.
She seems like a great friend, someone I want on my side, a confidant I not only need in my life but also want in my life. How can Racer be mad about that kind of response?
He can’t.
And it’s not like I want to take her back to the cottage, bend her over the couch, and fuck her till morning. I mean, that would be amazing, but right now, I just want to get to know her better. I barely spoke with her at the get together the other night. I felt cheated of an opportunity.
That’s why I’m visiting my second hospital in the area, hoping to find Adalyn working.
I told you, I’m desperate.
Locking my car, I stroll into the main entrance of the hospital. There’s a gift shop to the left chock-full of every occasional greeting card, balloon, and candy bar you can think of. To the right is a small waiting room with two people bent over, scrolling through their phones. It’s quiet with a sterile feeling floating through the air. I can see why Adalyn wished she had a different job.
Walls coated in brown and mauve hues, floors off-white, speckled with multiple colors, the entire entryway depressing, the only bright color in the space is the red lipsti
ck on the receptionist sitting at the front desk.
Making my way to the front, I pull her attention away from a crossword puzzle and clear my throat. “Hi, I was wondering if, uh, Adalyn was working today.”
“Adalyn?” The girl looks me up and down, suspicion oozing from her. “Adalyn . . . who?”
Shit. I’m pretty sure saying Adalyn with the brown hair and killer legs will not go over well.
I decide to go a different route.
“You don’t know Adalyn? The nurse with brown hair and, uh . . . long legs.” I wince. “Really sweet and has a friend named Racer.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Harassing employees is not tolerated.”
“I’m not harassing—” I wipe my hand over my face, my shoulders tensing, eyes closed for a brief moment. “I’m trying to find a friend, that’s all.”
“If you were friends, you’d know more about her than her hair color and leg length. So I’m going to ask you again to leave before I call security to remove you.”
“Is this how you treat all of your patrons? What if I needed Adalyn to assist me with a splinter in my hand? Or something like that.”
Help me with a splinter? I couldn’t have come up with something a little more interesting than that? Something that doesn’t affect every five-year-old out there.
“If you do have a splinter that for some off-chance you can’t take care of yourself, you are more than welcome to sit in the emergency room for hours only to pay a hefty bill for a nurse to pull it out with tweezers you can get from a drug store for two dollars.”
“You know what?” I ask, pointing at her.
“What?”
“You . . . you have an attitude, and it’s not a pretty one.”
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Stoic, brewing, I’m sure preparing herself for an all-out tongue-lashing on my end. I don’t know what’s come over me, picking on receptionists because they don’t happen to know a nurse by the name of Adalyn in a giant hospital.