The phone ringing makes me look at the bed where I tossed it when I sent him the text, not even thinking he would be by his phone. I pick it up, and my heart starts to speed up a touch—okay, a lot—and I finally press the green connect button.
“Hello,” I say to him, trying to get my voice to sound as calm as possible, but it so doesn’t.
“Zara,” he says. I sit on the bed, listening to his gruff and deep voice. I’m not going to lie; I spent the whole drive home googling him. I can’t say that I was surprised he was good looking, but he’s honestly the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. His face has a scruff that I like—no, scratch that, that I love. His hair is cut short on the side and long on top, and I could see running my hand through it. When I looked into his brown eyes, and it looked like he was actually looking at me, I knew I was way out of my league with this guy. I mean, the man had a hundred Pinterest boards already dedicated to him. So I might have flipped through them. Okay, I did.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”
He chuckles, and I swear my stomach flips. “Not much really,” he says, and I hear the ruffling of sheets and wonder if he’s at home or on the road. “Just getting into bed.”
I look at the clock and see it’s nine p.m. my time, so I ask him. “What time is it there?”
“Just after eight,” he says, taking a deep breath.
“Is it almost your bedtime?” I joke with him.
“Gotta save my energy for you,” he jokes. “Did you have a good day?”
I shake my head and chuckle. “Oh, you know, the normal. Found out my ex is engaged four months after breaking up with me so he can focus on work.” I get into bed and sink down on the pillows and look up at the ceiling. “When if I found out, I kind of went ballistic and flew off the handle.”
“Is that so?” he says, and I swear I could picture him smiling. A smile I’ve looked at for an hour now. Fucking Pinterest.
“I mean, I usually fly off the handle, but this one was a bit more than anything else.” I laugh. “It didn’t help that I had two shots of tequila in me, and it was nine a.m.”
“So you drunk tweeted me?” He laughs now. “Interesting.”
The way he says that word makes me sit up. “Why is that interesting?”
“It’s just if you didn’t have the tequila in you, you wouldn’t have tweeted me?” he asks me, and I lie back down, thinking.
“Probably,” I tell him the truth. “He loves you so hard. At first, I thought he did it just to get a rise out of Matthew and Max when he used to throw out your stats, but …”
“Yeah, your brother isn’t my biggest fan, especially now,” he tells me, and I turn over in the bed.
“Jesus, did he call you?” I ask him, holding my breath. This is so embarrassing.
“Yeah, he did,” he says. “I mean, the conversation lasted maybe five seconds, and he said maybe four words. I heard Max in the background throwing clout.” He chuckles. “But—”
I stop him from talking. “I am so sorry you got dragged into this. I totally understand if you don’t want to come with me.”
“I’ve never crashed a wedding before, but it’s on my bucket list.” I laugh now when he says that. “Do you even know when he’s getting married?”
“According to his latest Instagram post, he can’t wait to make her his wife, and he said beginning of June,” I tell him. I don’t tell him that after that happened, I had a couple more shots of tequila, but everyone held my phone hostage. They also hid their own phones.
“If you can get me the date, I can check my schedule and see if I’m available,” he tells me. “It should be the playoffs by that point,” he says.
“I didn’t even think,” I say, and I turn over again. “Listen, Evan, I get that you probably think this is the stupidest thing that has ever been done, but if you knew me, you would know it’s probably not, and I’ll probably do something to top this.” He laughs. “But I don’t want to blow up your life.”
“I got a thousand phone numbers today,” he tells me. “My DMs were blowing up.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why? It’s not every day a gorgeous woman takes a stand for herself and, in return, asks me out.”
“We’ve never even met,” I tell him, waiting for him to answer.
“No, we haven’t,” he starts telling me, and his voice goes softer, “but after I agreed to be your wedding crasher date, I checked out your picture on Twitter.” My heart starts picking up, and I put him on speakerphone while I go on Twitter and check the picture. It was taken on the beach when our family went to St. Barts.
“Do you know that you have hundreds of Pinterest boards dedicated to you?” I tell him. He laughs now but not just a small chuckle like he did before. This one is deep, and I can picture him leaning over and laughing. “What? It’s true.”
“You were checking me out,” he says between the fits of laughter.
“Well, I knew what you looked like. Sort of,” I tell him. “I mean with a helmet on and a visor.”
I have seen him play before.
“Where do you live?” he asks me when he finally stops laughing.
“New York,” I tell him, and I know he lives in Dallas. He plays for Dallas.
“I leave tomorrow night for Jersey,” he says, and I literally hold my breath. “I’m there for two days.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Zara, can I take you out?” he asks me. “I mean, I think it’s good if we meet before we just crash a wedding.”
“You want to drive into the city and take me out?” I ask him in shock, not expecting this at all. I expected a couple of texts, and then we would just mutually show up at the wedding and pretend we like each other and then go our separate ways.
“Yeah, we actually have the whole day free. We are flying up at night so we can rest,” he tells me.
“I have a couple of appointments that day,” I tell him, “but I’m free late afternoon.” This is another bad idea.
“Well then,” he says heavily, “it’s a date.”
“So a date before a date.” I make sure I understand what’s going on. “Or is it a meeting before a date?”
“What?” He chuckles again. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“So a date is wine and dine,” I tell him, “and a meeting is sitting down and getting things on paper so there is no confusion on what is going to come.”
“Zara,” he says my name, and my stomach flips. “I’m coming into New York. I’m picking you up, and I’m taking you out for dinner.” He doesn’t stop there. “You can call it whatever you want to call it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I tell him, my hands getting clammy.
“Well then, I guess we’ll find out,” he says. “What is your favorite food?”
“Um …” I say, not sure I can put a sentence together. What is going on with me? I think the tequila was spiked. Fucking Justin probably put moonshine in there.
“I’ll surprise you,” he says, and I want to tell him I hate surprises. I loathe them. I would water board a person to know. “So can you text me your address?”
“I can meet you,” I tell him. “I mean, I’ll already be in the city at work,” I say.
“You can either give me your address, or I can call in a couple of favors and get it.” If he was sitting in front of me, I would glare at him. “Fine. Challenge accepted.”
“That wasn’t a challenge,” I tell him. “It was me thinking. Give a woman a second to think.”
“Sleep tight, Zara,” he says, ignoring me. “I’ll see you soon.” It’s the last thing he says before hanging up. I look down at the phone and see that it’s the screensaver of Zoe and me in Paris standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. When a text comes in, I see it’s from Evan.
Sweet Dreams, Zara.
I think about answering it, but I don’t. Tossing the phone on the bed, I get up and walk into the bathroom, flippi
ng on the light to the small en suite. Well, it’s big for New York but small for me. The huge deep white tub sits in front of the door next to the glass shower. The tiled floor cold on my feet as I walk toward the tub and turn on the water. I turn to the two hanging shelves that I had added when I moved in, lighting the four candles on each. I undress, turning off the light and taking in the glow of the candles. I get into the hot tub and lean back, closing my eyes. This usually relaxes me. I usually just let it wash over me, but all I can see are the different pictures of Evan going through my mind. The one with him in a Batman shirt. The one of him in a suit. The one without a shirt. My face starts to get hotter and hotter, and I give up on the bath. I get out, drying myself off, and l slip into bed.
The next day goes by so fast I don’t even notice the time, nor do I stop to eat. But when the door opens and slams shut, I get up from my desk and go to check.
“I’ve been trying to call you all day long.” I see Zoe kicking off her shoes and coming in with a brown bag. “Why haven’t you picked up?” she asks me, and I walk downstairs.
“I am going nuts,” I tell her. “Not only is there the gala for the Horton Foundation that everyone wants to get fitted for, but people are also starting to get ready for the NHL awards. Then there are two red carpet events coming up,” I say, reaching out and grabbing the bag from her. “Did you get me Chinese?” I ask hopeful, and she looks at me.
“Of course, I got you Chinese. Go set up in the living room, and I’ll get the plates,” she says, going to the kitchen while I walk into the living room. I haven’t really done anything to it since Karrie and Matthew lived here. It looks like it’s been in a magazine ad. I walk into the room, looking out the bay windows at the night sky. A hidden bench where I’ve curled up with a book more than once sits under the window. The room has one color, all white, but the couch is a huge U-shaped deep brown. A million throw pillows are placed all over, but what gets me is the fireplace right in front of the couch. It’s old school and hand-carved in white marble. A huge screen television sits on top of the fireplace. The coffee table is a huge square. I have a tray on there where I put all the remotes and glasses and stuff.
I turn on the television and find the Dallas game playing again. I don’t change the channel, and I sit, opening the bag to take the food out. “Oh, you got so much food,” I say over my shoulder as I take out the fried rice, lo mein, beef and broccoli, sweet and sour chicken, and kung pao shrimp. A bag of wonton and some egg rolls. “Jesus, how many people are we expecting?” I ask her when she comes into the room.
“I ordered when I was hungry,” she says, coming over and grabbing an egg roll to pop into her mouth. I open the containers and grab the spoons she brought and put them in each each one. “I swear I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry.”
“Did you not eat lunch?” I ask her, grabbing my own plate and putting food in it. “Did you work today?” I ask her, taking in her yoga pants and top. She’s always dressed up.
“Yeah, I had a meeting this morning but then worked from home,” she tells me, grabbing her own plate and then looking up at the television.
“Why are you watching this?” she asks me, and I just shrug. We don’t like hockey. It’s a known fact we go to the games for the food and to drink. We watch it only when forced to and only if our family is on the ice.
“I just turned it on, and it was this,” I tell her between bites. I look at the screen when I hear Evan’s last name. Seeing him skating on the ice, I follow him with my eyes as he skates over the blue line. It looks like it’s two on two. He passes over to the guy on the other side, and the goalie follows the puck sliding across. Except the guy just slaps it back to Evan. He is already winding up for a one timer, and the goalie doesn’t have enough time to get back before it sails past him.
“Whoa, that was a nice play,” I say and watch him skate to the board and point at his teammate with a huge smile on his face. My sister is looking at me with her mouth opened.
“What the fuck did you just say?” she asks me, almost whispering. “Were you watching hockey and liking it?” She puts her plate down, and I just smile. “Oh my God. What’s going on?” she says, getting up and looking around the room. “Am I being punked? Is that it?”
“I was just saying it was a good play.” I pick up the remote and turn it while he skates to the bench and high-fives his teammates. “What do you want to watch?”
“Have you spoken to him?” she asks me and puts her hands on her hips. I try to lie to her, or at least, I attempt to by just shaking my head. But she knows me because she is half of me. “Pinky?”
Since we were four, we always said pinky if we were telling the truth. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Zar. Have you spoken to him?” I put my plate down and turn to her.
“I called him yesterday, or he called me, actually,” I tell her the truth. “But it was to talk about the wedding.” It’s a half-truth, and she sees it because now her hands go from her hips to cross over her chest. At times like these, I really hate that she knows me so well. “He’s taking me out tomorrow.”
“What?” she shrieks. “Spill.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “There really isn’t anything to say. He said I’m going to Jersey, so let’s go out and talk about the wedding.”
“So it’s a date?” she asks me the same question I’ve been asking myself all day long.
“No,” I say, and my tongue almost feels heavier. “It’s a meeting!”
“Where are you meeting him?” she asks me, and I just shrug.
“I have no idea. I’m assuming he is going to text me tomorrow with the details.” I pick up my plate again.
“He’s driving in from Jersey to have dinner with you?” She comes back over. “What are you going to wear?”
“I have no idea,” I tell her honestly. “Can we just talk about something else?”
“For now,” she says, “but all bets are off tomorrow night.”
I don’t say anything. I just watch the television, and for the rest of the night, the only thing going through my head is this meeting/date I have tomorrow night.
Chapter Six
Evan
The buzzer rings, letting us know that the third period is over. I jump over the board from the bench and skate over to Jari to get in line to congratulate him on the victory.
“Good game.” I knock my helmet to his goalie one.
“Nice one timer,” he says, and I laugh and skate to the center ice, and the team raises their sticks to the applause of the fans who remain. I get off the ice, and the celebration is already underway when I sit down at my spot. Unsnapping my helmet, I take it off and set it next to me.
The door closes, and the coach comes in. “You guys did good out there,” he starts, and I am already taking off my skates and grabbing my slides. Everyone else is also undressing. “You guys are getting caught up in the neutral zone, and I don’t like it.” No one says anything because he’s right. “The bus leaves for the airport in one hour. We’ll land at two a.m. local time. Tomorrow is an off day, so rest up.” He nods to us and walks out of the room, leaving the door open and giving the journalists time to come in and ask questions.
I’m about to peel off my jersey when I see Scott, the reporter with SportsCenter, approach me.
“Hey there, Evan. Good game tonight,” he says. Taking out his phone, he presses the red button and takes out his little square notepad with questions. “Tonight’s goal is for sure going to end up as one of the best plays of the night,” he starts off saying, and I smile thinking about it. “Was that something you guys practiced?”
“No,” I say. “It is just the chemistry that we have with each other on the ice. We play very similar.”
“There were a couple of turnovers in the zone tonight. How crucial is it to stop that from happening?” he asks into his phone and then puts it in front of my mouth.
“I think we really have to tighten it up on our end. Mi
stakes happen and it’s just part of the game. We learn from it and move on.”
“You were trending on Twitter last night,” he starts, and I force myself not to smile. “Zara Stone reached out to you for a date.” He looks at me, raising his eyebrows. The reporters standing around us hear the question and look over with interest. “Is that date going to happen?”
I laugh now. “Come on, Scott. A gentleman never kisses and tells,” I say then nod at him. “Thanks for the questions.” I walk away from him and go into the shower area where I know they can’t follow us. I wait there for ten minutes until I hear the music start playing, which means the reporters have left. I walk back out, stripping off my jersey and tossing it in the big bin. I find my skates and helmet packed away for our trip. I take off my pants and hang them on the hook. The sound of the Velcro echoes in the room once I take off my chest protector and also hang that. The only thing that comes on the road with me is my helmet and skates. Other than that, I have one I travel with and another that stays here. I’m one of the last ones in the shower, and when I finally slip on my black suit jacket, it’s almost time to go.
I grab my overnight bag and head out to the waiting bus. I sit at the front of the bus since I’m one of the last ones on, and when Coach finally gets on, you hear the hiss of the bus as it finally pulls out of the parking garage. I grab my phone and go through my messages. I have a couple from my mother about my game tonight.
My father also sends me a couple, but his are harsher. He points out every single mistake I made, which are on point, and he isn’t wrong. I guess that’s why he’s going for a head coach job next year.
The last one is from Candace.
Me: Good news is you’re still trending on Twitter. This time because of that goal and not the stupid date.
I roll my eyes at the last comment and then go on Instagram. I scroll through the stories and, then I search Zara Stone. She is private, so I request to follow her. I see that she has her name and a website, so I click it and it takes me to Zara’a Closet.
This Is Crazy Page 4