Delivery Girl (Minnesota Ice #1)

by Lily Kate

  I pull the pillow over my head out of habit. I’m a college student—resisting mornings is what we do.

  “Babe, my flight leaves in just over an hour, I’ve really gotta run.”

  The urgency in Ryan’s voice draws me out from under the pillow. The most emotion I can manage on my face is a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

  He laughs, even though I’m not trying to be funny. I’m simply not a morning person. Apparently I’m especially not a morning person after a night—and morning—of fooling around in bed.

  It didn’t help that we slipped in one last go-round before the sunlight came up, a new record for me. Turns out I like setting new records, I just don’t like returning to real life afterward.

  “No…” I moan. “Stay.”

  I’ve never felt so exhausted. I feel like I’ve been hit with a sack of bricks—a big, beautiful sack of brick abs attached to Ryan Pierce.

  “Babe—”

  “Oh, flight!” It finally registers. He’s leaving for Minnesota today, and I’m holding him up. “I am so sorry. I forgot!”

  I fumble with the sheets, which is less than productive. My feet tangle, and I’m a hot mess as I fall out of bed and land in an oddly contorted yoga pose on the floor.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Not a morning person.”

  “Wouldn’t have guessed,” he says, reaching over to scoop me up. Once he plants me on my feet, he kisses my forehead. “I promise I didn’t plan things this way; I really, really wish I could stay.”

  “It’s fine. We’re friends with benefits.” I rise up onto my tiptoes to kiss him back. “Breakfast not required.”

  “Breakfast is desired, however.”

  While I’m standing there with hair that appears to have been electrocuted, he apparently wakes up looking ready for a media interview. If I’m not mistaken, he’s showered again—his hair is damp and curly, falling in soft loops onto his forehead. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater that make him look like a cross between a Ralph Lauren model and the hockey player he is.

  I look down in horror. Apparently I never found that shirt of Ryan’s, or if I did, it ended up on the floor with the rest of my clothes. I dive for my underwear first, shimmy into those, and then begin the search for my bra.

  After a moment, I look up from examining the underbelly of Ryan’s bed to find it dangling from his fingers.

  “Looking for this?” he asks. “Come and get it.”

  “I thought you had to leave…urgently.”

  “I do, which is why I was about to tell you to take your time, but then you bent over and I got all distracted. Don’t blame me.”

  “My car!” I exclaim. “It’s in the parking lot on Hollywood Boulevard.”

  “It’s fine there,” he says. “Boxer will take you up to retrieve it.”

  “Boxer?”

  “Big guy, missing a tooth—”

  “I know who he is,” I say. “But why is he bringing me to my car?”

  “Because I called him and told him to get his ass over here because I don’t want you paying for an Uber when it was my ass who dragged your ass back here.”

  “I didn’t mind the dragging,” I say with a shrug. “Fair’s fair. I can Uber.”

  “He’s waiting outside. Just leave the keys on the table when you’re ready to go, and Lawrence will lock up—”

  “I’m ready,” I say, one leg still outside of my jeans. “Or I’m almost ready.”

  “I’ll just leave you the keys—”

  “Nope, I’m good!” In all honesty, I don’t want to be trusted with the keys to Ryan’s apartment, even for a short time. Too much could go wrong—I could lose them, break something, decide I love his bed and shower more than mine and never actually leave this place… “Let’s go.”

  He clears his throat.

  I glance down, realizing that I put my arm through the head hole of my shirt and things are all off balance. I make the necessary adjustments, ignore the fact that my hair looks like a bird’s nest, and march out of the room.

  Ryan locks the door, and I see a huge SUV on the street—Boxer, I’m guessing.

  “Is he here for both of us?” I ask.

  “No, I have someone picking me up. They’ll be here in a second.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go with Boxer? I swear I can get a ride.”

  “It’s fine,” he says. “Really. I’d love to see you longer—I mean, you can ride with me to the airport if you want, but I figured you have things to do.”

  “Right,” I say, even though I don’t really have things to do. It feels too clingy to say otherwise. Even so, I have no classes, nothing until three this afternoon when I have to report to Peretti’s for work. “Well, have a safe flight.”

  “Andi…” He pauses. “I had a really nice time last night.”

  “Me too.”

  He takes my hand in his, looking at the back of it as if there’s a message written there. Apparently he sees nothing because he sighs and brings his eyes to mine. “You’re coming to the wedding, right? Without a doubt?”

  “Of course,” I say. “I owe it to your Ferrari.”

  At first he looks dismayed, then he must realize that I’m joking because he smiles. “Whatever the reason, I’ll take it.”

  There’s a moment of silence, a heavy moment in which both of us try to decide if there’s something else to say—at least, that’s what I’m doing. Do I tell him I’ll miss him? It’s the truth, but I’m not sure what the protocol is for our agreement.

  “I’ll miss you,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”

  I let out a breath. “I’ll miss you too. I mean, after last night…I’ll definitely miss you. Let me just say, I had no clue what I was going to be missing.”

  He looks proud of himself, and for good reason, too.

  I follow his eyes as he watches my face, trails his gaze down to my lips, and then opens his mouth to say something else.

  “Don’t worry,” I say before he reminds me that we’re just friends again. “I’m not attached or whatever. I just meant I had a good time.”

  “Just friends?” He frowns, his grip on my hand growing tighter and tighter until he’s squeezing me so hard there’s a red mark from his fingers. “Andi, I—”

  I hold my breath and wait for whatever he’s about to say, whatever is so difficult he’s having a hard time getting it out, but the words never come.

  Behind me comes the honk of a horn, and I turn to find a sleek black Porsche pulling up to the curb. Behind the wheel is a slim blonde; she’s gorgeous in an ice queen sort of way. She’s dressed in an outfit that I’m sure was more expensive than what I pay in a month’s rent, and she looks pissed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, backing away, confused. “Is that your…ride?”

  “Andi, no,” he says, seeing the look on my face. “It’s nothing like that. She’s the agent I’m hoping to sign with, and she’s ticked because we’re late going to the airport. It’s not your fault though, it’s mine. I called her last minute for a ride so I could send Boxer with you.”

  “She’s going with you to Minnesota?”

  “We have a meeting this afternoon with my coach. She’ll fly back out afterward,” he says. “And if you’re wondering, no—there is nothing, has never been anything, and will never be anything between her and me.”

  “Did I look that desperate?”

  “Not desperate,” he says with a flustered look over my shoulder. “But I didn’t want you to wonder, or worry, because—”

  “Friends with benefits,” I finish. “I get it, and I appreciate it. Look, have a great flight and enjoy your time. I hope you get whatever it is you want the most out of all this.”

  “The most?”

  “Minnesota, LA, the Stars, the Lightning, anything else that I don’t understand in your little hockey world. I hope it all works out for you.”

  “My little hockey world,” he repeats with a ghosted smile. “I’ll miss you. Call me sometime
.”

  He leans in, brushes a kiss against my cheek, and then he’s gone.

  I watch as he climbs into the car. His potential agent pulls away from the curb with tires squealing. She looks pissed at me, pissed at him, pissed at the world. Yikes. That woman is wound tight enough to pop a vertebra when she sneezes.

  “Hey, you ready to go, Andi?” Boxer calls from the car. “Pierce told me to bring you to your car, but there’s a problem: I don’t know where he put your car.”

  Big, lovable Boxer, I think as I make my way to the car and give him directions. As we take off into the horrible traffic, I can’t help but watch the cars around me and think that of all people in Los Angeles, Ryan Pierce has chosen me to miss.

  We might never be able to make things work in any sort of permanent way, but at least for now, I can enjoy the little moments we have together.

  CHAPTER 31

  Andi

  My phone rings just before we turn onto the highway that’ll lead us to Hollywood Boulevard, Phil, and my car. I look down, my heart racing with all sorts of insane thoughts going through my head.

  In the split second before I glance at the screen, I wonder if it’s Ryan calling to tell me he changed his mind and wants to stay here for just a little while longer. Friends, I mutter to myself. We’re friends.

  “Friends?” Boxer looks over. “We’re friends?”

  “Sure,” I tell Boxer as I answer the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hello,” Boxer says.

  The man on the other end of the phone clears his throat. “Hello, may I speak to Andi?”

  “This is Andi,” I say, and Boxer looks over, finally putting the puzzle pieces together. “Whom am I speaking with?”

  “This is Nick Bennett,” he says. “I’m a friend of the Pierce family.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Are you looking for Ryan? He’s not here.”

  He laughs, a soft sound. “Ryan didn’t tell you I’d be calling?”

  “Um…”

  “Let me start this over,” Nick says. “I’m an agent for VWA, and I represent stars such as Andrew Flemming, Adam Thomson, Lila Montenapoleone, and—”

  “I know who you are,” I say stiffly. I’d recognized the name when he’d first said it, but for some reason, the dots didn’t connect. “I sent you headshots about three years ago.”

  “Yes, I remember,” he says. “You were young. Twenty?”

  “Good memory,” I say, trying to remain calm. Nick Bennett is the best of the best—he’s gotten at least three comics their own shows in the last year alone. Signing with Nick is like receiving Willy Wonka’s golden ticket in the world of comedy. “I’m older now, more experienced.”

  Just as I’m about to smack my head into the car-seat in front of me for sounding so stupid, he laughs again. “I’ve been following your career closely, and it seems like you’ve built up a solid resume.”

  “I’ve tried,” I say. “Sorry, did you mention Ryan asking you to call? You really don’t have to—”

  “No, you’ve misunderstood,” Nick interrupts. “Ryan didn’t tell me to call. I asked for your information when I realized y’all were dating.”

  “Oh, well, we’re not dating.”

  “Right,” he says, sounding unconvinced. “Well, Lawrence is one of my closest friends. I was at his bachelor party the other night, not realizing we’d kick the whole thing off with a comedy show.”

  “You and me both,” I say. “I didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Lucky me, it was the best show I’ve seen all month.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I hounded Ryan all show to get your number. He finally broke down after asking you if it’d be okay.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Sorry?”

  “He didn’t put you up to this, did he? You’re not doing him any favors by calling me?”

  “No, absolutely not. Ryan seemed hesitant to share your info, if anything.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now that we’ve cleared up that matter, I have to say, Andi, I loved your stuff.” He moves the conversation along, for which I am grateful. “I’m calling because I may have an opportunity for you. How soon can you get to Studio City?”

  “An hour?”

  “I’ll see you then. Do you need the address to VWA headquarters?”

  “I’m not…” I look in the mirror at my sex hair, about to tell him I’m not ready for a meeting, not ready for my career to get a break, not ready for the pressure.

  Then I realize…I’ll never be ready.

  “Problem?”

  This might be my only chance in the world to get a meeting with Nick Bennett. I straighten my shoulders, tilt my chin a little bit to the sky, and force a smile on my face. “Absolutely not. See you soon.”

  No sooner do I disconnect than my phone beeps with a text. It’s from Ryan.

  Ryan: I forgot to tell you—I hope you don’t mind that I gave your phone number to Nick Bennett. He’s been a pain in my ass about it ever since he heard you at the show. If you don’t want him to call you, let me know. I’ll take care of it.

  Me: I just got off the phone with him.

  Ryan: And?

  Me: Are you sure you didn’t force him to call me? If you’re lying, I’ll find out and hunt you down.

  Ryan: I promise. He asked me.

  Me: Pinky swear?

  Ryan: On my life.

  Me: Well, I’m on my way to see him now.

  Ryan: Lucky bastard. If he hits on you, I’m going to be upset.

  Me: Jealous?

  Ryan: I wouldn’t say jealous.

  Me: What would you say?

  Ryan: Possessive.

  Me: Same thing.

  Ryan: I don’t care what you call it, the fact is, I want to see you again. Can I book your tickets for the wedding?

  Me: You don’t have to pay. I’ll book them. Payment for the car, or the meeting with Nick.

  Ryan: Absolutely not. I’ll send you the confirmation information in a few minutes. Two days around the wedding sound good? I know you’ll have to be back for work.

  Me: I’ve asked my boss for some time off.

  Ryan: Is it too much to say that I miss you?

  Me: No…I miss you too.

  Ryan: Good luck with Nick today, but you don’t need it. If he doesn’t sign you on first sight, he’s an idiot.

  Ryan: I’m going through security, going to turn phone off soon. Call me after?

  Me: Safe flight!

  I almost catch myself typing Love you without thinking about it, but not because it means anything. I say those words to Lisa all the time, and she says them to me too—even if she’s a little more crass and adds a few curse words in there just out of habit.

  While thinking about Lisa, I text her the news about my meeting with Mr. Bennett.

  She responds immediately.

  Lisa: No way! Good luck! I love you, bitch!!! You’ll do great. Call me after—drinks, my bed, tonight.

  CHAPTER 32

  Andi

  “So? How did it go?” Lisa’s voice sounds through the speaker. “I’ve been on pins and needles over here.”

  I’m making my way out of VWA agency headquarters, still spinning from the interview with Nick. My sex hair has been somewhat tamed, and I’m lucky that the comedy business is casual by nature. My black tank top and jeans worked great with the leather jacket and high heels stashed in my trunk.

  “He asked me to do a five-minute bit,” I say, my breath coming in gasps. “I think I nailed it. We didn’t agree to sign anything yet, but he’s interested. He’s sending in the footage for some new show.”

  “One of those Last Comic Standing type things?”

  “Yeah, but a brand new Netflix edition,” I say. “They have their male roster set but needed a few females. He’s going to call you next!”

  “Shit, you’re kidding.”

  “He loved our show!”

  “Shit.”

  “Stop cussing! This is e
xciting!”

  “Damn.”

  “That’s a curse word, Lisa. Say something else.”

  “Bitch, I don’t know what to say!”

  “Okay, well, at least we’re getting somewhere.” I reach my car, unlock it, and slide inside. “Plans for tonight?”

  “My house at nine.”

  “I have to work.”

  “Well, I’ll order a pizza,” she threatens. “And make you come over.”

  “Lisa, I really have to work.”

  “Ryan got to hang out with you when he ordered pizzas!”

  “Ryan ordered twenty pizzas.”

  She blew out a breath. “Come over when you’re done. I’ll be waiting, but I can’t guarantee there will be any wine left.”

  “I’ll bring a bottle.”

  “Good girl,” she says. “Bye.”

  As I pull away from the parking lot, I debate calling Ryan to tell him about the meeting. It truly felt like it was a success. Nick Bennett listened, explained in no uncertain terms that he thought both Lisa and I had potential, and offered to put our footage in front of producers.

  Even if they didn’t opt to take us for the show, he thought the two of us had potential for a joint show at a big, local theater. I am positively buzzing with excitement, and of their own accord, my fingers dial Ryan.

  When he answers, his voice is quiet. “We’re about to take off,” he whispers. “How’d it go?”

  “Success!” I shout. A driver looks over at me from the next lane, and I realize my windows are cracked. “Success,” I say more quietly. “At least, I think so. Too early to tell, really.”

  “I didn’t have a doubt in my mind,” he says, and in the background an airline attendant tells him to shut off his phone.

  “I’ll hang up,” I say, “I just…well, I wanted to share the good news with you.”

  “So glad you did,” he says. “Congratulations.”

  “Ryan.” This time it’s a closer female voice, clipped and short, and I am willing to bet big money it belongs to the ice queen who picked Ryan up from his house. “Didn’t you hear the attendant? We’re taking off.”

  “I’ve gotta go,” he says. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye,” I say, hearing the click of the ended call almost instantaneously.