“Million?” I ask. Shocked, I look around, then back at her and see her sly smile.
“His living room was his bedroom. He had a murphy bed in the wall,” she tells me, doing something on her phone and then turning it to show me. “But look at his kitchen.”
“He slept in his living room,” I tell her, looking through her pictures. “That’s a no.”
“There is one.” She grabs her phone from my hands. Our fingers graze, but I ignore the tingly feeling that shoots up my arm. “Just came down in price. Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, three million. There is a little bit of a catch.”
I roll my eyes now. “My bed is in the kitchen?”
She laughs again. It’s so carefree that she must do it often. Her eyes turn a crystal blue when she does it, and I can’t help but want to make her laugh more. “No, it’s not a regular size apartment,” she finally says and pulls up the floor plan. “It’s long. You have the length, just not the width.”
“What in the world is going on back there?” Zara says, turning in her seat.
“I’m showing him houses in the neighborhood,” Zoe says. “Not everything is about sex.”
“I’m just making sure.” She smiles and then looks at Evan. “I’m starving.”
“We’re almost there.” He grabs her hand and brings it to his lips. I can see how much he loves Zara and worships the ground she walks on. I think about if I’ve ever had that, and I know I haven’t. I was too busy chasing the high to care about if I had someone beside me to love.
“There is an open house tomorrow,” Zoe says, and I blink my eyes and look back at her, getting out of my thoughts about Evan and his wife. “It’s a penthouse, and it’s nine million.” I’m about to say something, but she holds up her hand. “I just want you to see what you get for that price.”
“Fine,” I say gruffly, turning again to look outside at the street. He turns down this street, and I see bricks again and businesses for lease. I love how it goes from a two-story building to a six-story building and then again to a three story. It looks almost like Lego blocks. The car slows down, and he slips into a parking spot and shuts off the truck. We get out of the truck, and I’m waiting for Zoe and Zara to do the same, but they just sit there. Evan walks around the car and opens Zara’s door first and then Zoe’s. She looks at me while I watch.
“If he doesn’t open her door, she sits there and pouts like a child,” she says, smiling and then gets out. I close my own door and walk around the truck while he helps Zara out of the car. “He tried helping me out once.” She shakes her head.
“She tried to knee me in the balls,” Evan says while he links his fingers with Zara’s and shuts her door. “She missed, thank God.”
I take in the street, then the restaurant across the street with a red and white sign. “Cornelia Street Café,” I say out loud and see the white tables with red chairs outside.
“They have good coffee,” Zoe says from beside me. When I look down at our feet, we are walking in sync, and I see her long leg flash me each time she puts her right foot forward. “But you can get better coffee near the loft, and they also have fresh croissants.”
I stop walking when I see Evan hold the door open for Zara and look up at the yellow awnings hanging over the front windows. As soon as you walk in, you are immediately salivating from the aroma of spices. I see Evan wave to the girl behind the bar as we walk past it. Bottles are all lined up against the mirrored back wall. After passing a couple of tables, we step down into a back area with wooden tables. It looks like a garden, and when you look up, you see it’s all glass to stop the rain from coming in. We walk past the tables to the side and then walk up a flight of stairs. “Don’t worry,” Zoe says, looking over her shoulder. “We aren’t bringing you somewhere and chopping your body up.”
I shake my head. I’ve never seen a woman who can make jokes at the drop of a hat like that. When we finally make it up the stairs, I stop at the entrance. “Is this someone’s house?” I lean in to ask Zoe, the smell of her perfume filling my nose. Three windows let light into the room. Four bookcases fill in the walls to the windows. But it’s the huge square table with fourteen chairs around it in the middle of the room that makes me stop. On the back wall are stairs leading to another floor.
“This is the private area,” Zara says. “We came once and sat downstairs. This is a big hockey town and the fans are amazing, but it was a little bit over the top when Evan had to stop every two bites to talk and take pictures.”
“This way, we get to enjoy the food, and it’s quiet,” Evan says, walking over to the table and pulling out a chair for his wife to sit down. He looks at Zoe, who glares at him and walks to a chair and sits down, putting her purse on the empty chair on her right leaving the left chair open. “The table is huge, but we can all sit on one side.”
“Aha,” the woman from behind the bar says, walking into the room, her chest heaving at having climbed the steps. “The Richards and Signora Zoe,” she says. “You finally got a boyfriend,” she says, looking at me. I don’t know what to say, and I actually don’t have to say anything because all three of them shake their heads.
“No,” Zoe says, shaking her head. “He’s a hockey player.”
“What does that mean?” I look at her, and I’m surprised that I even care she said that. I shouldn’t care. She can call me whatever she wants to call me; it makes no difference.
“It’s mean that you play hockey.” She turns to look at me. “It also means I will never date you.”
“Because I play hockey?” I ask, confused, and now all eyes are on us as we go back and forth.
“Well, that’s strike one.” At least she’s honest about it. “Strike two, I work for you, and strike three—”
I hold up my hand. “I don’t care,” I say and then look back at the lady. “Can I have a water please?”
She tries to hide her wide eyes and smiles. “Sure thing. I get some water, and then I’ll bring some food, yeah?”
“Perfect,” Zara says, trying to cut through the tension we just created in the room.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Zoe says. “I was just trying to say”—she uses her hands to motion between Evan and me—“that you and Evan are co-workers.”
“It doesn’t really matter,” I repeat. I don’t even look at her. I can’t get involved with her, and this, right here, is another reason. She doesn’t want me anyway. I turn to look at Zara who sits beside Evan on the side of me. “What do you recommend?”
“Everything,” Zara says, and then I feel the chair next to me scoot back from the table.
“Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom,” Zoe says, and she gets up and walks back down the stairs.
“I don’t think she meant anything by that,” Zara says. I look at her, and then I look at Evan. I know that if I upset his wife, he’s probably going to deck me. “It was just taken out of context.” I just nod at her, and thankfully, the woman comes back with some water and then hands us the menu.
“I am starving,” Zoe says when she returns and pulls in her chair. “Do you think they’re bringing us some calamari?”
“Oh, God, I hope so,” Zara says, and just like that, the big elephant in the room and the tension from the talk before goes to the corner. Though it lingers. I want to ask her what exactly she meant. They teach you to talk your feelings out in therapy and not hold it in to where it festers inside you.
“I think I’m going to go with pasta tonight,” Zoe says. “What about everyone else?”
“I’m going meat,” Evan says.
“I might do meat and pasta,” Zara says, and I look up at her. “I’m eating for two.”
I look at Evan, who sits there beaming with pride as he puts his hand on her stomach. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you so much. We really aren’t telling anyone yet,” Zara says to me with a smile, “but it’s hard to keep the secret.”
“What do you do?” I ask.
“I’m a
professional shopper,” she says. “Zara’s Closet, that’s me.”
“I’ve heard that name before,” I tell her. “One of the hockey wives was raving about it because you just dressed Carter Johnson and his wife. What’s her name?”
“Erin,” Zara says, nodding. “That was me.”
“I need clothes,” I tell her, and the waiter comes up the stairs and goes to the wall. I just noticed it’s a hole in the wall, and he presses the button, and then the food comes upstairs.
He puts plates of mozzarella sticks, fried zucchini, meatballs, and mussels in a tomato sauce, some fried calamari, and then some grilled calamari. The food just keeps coming. “Who ordered all this?” I look at everyone at the table, and they chuckle.
“They always do this; it’s their way to woo you. They are doing this because you are new,” Zoe says. “They want to impress you so you’ll come back.”
Everyone reaches in and grabs different things, and I cut into the round plump meatball covered in sauce and the smell of the spices and garlic hits my nose right away. But it’s nothing like it is when it hits my tongue and melts in my mouth. “After a bite of those meatballs, I knew I was going to be coming back.” I lean in to Zoe. “This is going in my pros list for buying a house near here.”
“You can also just come when you want them.” Zoe smiles, and unlike before, I feel it’s forced. Ever since the dating topic came up, our conversation feels forced. That she’s feeling uneasy about what she said.
We remain quiet for the rest of the meal. No one says anything to start new conversations, and when the bill comes, everyone except Zara tries to get it. In the end, Evan won. Pushing from the table, I’m the last one to walk down the stairs. I nod to the woman behind the bar and grab a business card on the way out.
“I’ll catch up with you guys on Sunday.” I hear Zoe saying, walking to Evan and giving him a hug.
“We can drop you off,” Evan says.
“No.” She shakes her head, walking to Zara and giving her a hug. Then she shocks me when she bends and kisses her stomach. “That kid is going to love me just as much as you guys,” she says, then she turns to look at me. “You have my number if you still want to go to that open house tomorrow. Let me know.” I nod at her. “And if you find someone who you want to go with”—she smiles—“no hard feelings.”
“I’ll text you guys when I get home,” she says, and she walks around them.
“Where is she going?” I ask them, watching her make her way to the corner and then turning the corner and out of sight.
“She is going to catch the subway,” Zara says and then walks to the truck.
“Is that safe?” I ask them, not sure if we are in a good area or not. I’m irritated with her, but I don’t want anything to happen to her. I look at Evan and Zara, wondering why they even allowed her to walk away from them and at night, no less. I don’t move from the spot in the middle of the sidewalk as I look at them and then at the corner where she just disappeared around.
“She does kickboxing and Kung Fu,” Zara says over her shoulder.
“Plus, she’s crazy as fuck,” Evan says. “I feel bad for the guy who tries to attack her.” My eyes never leave the corner she disappeared around. I watch Evan open the door for his wife and then kiss her.
“Actually,” I tell them, “I’m going to catch up with her and talk about the open house.” I look at Zara. “It was nice meeting you,” I tell her, and then nod at Evan. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you Monday,” I say. Taking off at a light jog, I turn the corner, looking around to find her.
She’s already three blocks ahead, so I step up the run and then call her name. She stops walking and turns to look and is shocked when she sees me. “What are you doing?”
“It’s nighttime,” I tell her, looking around while I try to slow down my breathing.
“Yeah, it usually happens when the sun goes down,” she says, and then we hear a honk and look to see Evan and Zara waving as they drive away.
“I didn’t want you to be alone at night, and I thought we could talk about the open house,” I tell her, and she turns to continue walking, her heels clicking on the concrete sidewalk.
“You could have called me.” She looks over at me, ignoring the fact I didn’t want her to walk alone at night.
“After all that food,” I say quietly, “I need to walk.” Looking down at our feet, I watch as our steps becoming leisurely. “This was a good choice.”
“Do you even know how to get to the loft from here?” she asks me, and I shake my head, looking down to smile.
“Not a fucking clue,” I say laughing, looking at her.
“It’s about a thirty-minute walk from here,” she tells me. “If you don’t mind, we can walk it.”
“Yeah, that’s good. It will give me the lay of the land,” I say, then look at her. It stays quiet for a couple of minutes. “So you don’t date hockey players?”
She laughs nervously. “Are you asking me out?” She pushes my arm with her shoulder. Because she is wearing heels, she comes a little past my shoulder.
I shake my head. “No, definitely not.”
“Good. That’s a relief,” she says. “It would have been awkward as hell.” I laugh now at her bluntness. “But to answer your question, no, I don’t.”
“Too much for you?” I don’t even know why I care.
“They are just not the type I usually go for,” she says honestly. “It’s just like for a guy. If he likes big boobs, he isn’t going to go out with someone who has small boobs.”
“I don’t think that’s the same thing at all,” I tell her as we leisurely walk down the street at a snail’s pace.
She rolls her eyes. “I was trying to think like a man. It was the only thing that came to mind.”
“Guys don’t just go for boobs, you know,” I tell her. “I mean, I like a girl who can have a conversation with me.” I shake my head now. “Wow, I didn’t even know that was what I liked.”
“I take it that you don’t date girls often.” She looks sideways at me and puts her hair behind her ear.
“I don’t think I’ve ever really dated,” I answer honestly. I don’t tell her that the reason was because I was chasing the high, and the girls that went with the high were just interested in getting my dick and the high. “So you date guys in business?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“Not necessarily but I have a strict rule about hockey players,” she tells me. “As much as I love to irritate my brother by joking about it, I just stick to non-hockey players.”
“Ah, this makes sense now, and I get it.” I stop walking, and she stops with me, turning to look me. “You got burned by one of them?” I ask her.
“Have you met my brother?” She looks at me, raising her eyebrows, then turns to walk again, and I follow her. “He would not be okay with that.”
“But your sisters are married to hockey players,” I point out.
“And my father is Cooper Stone,” she says. I stop walking because I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together. “You knew that, right?”
“I mean …” I start saying. “I knew it, but it just didn’t really connect until, well, now.” She laughs, and then we start walking again but this time a bit slower. “Jesus, Cooper Stone.” The greatest hockey player to ever play.
“Well, I get to call him Dad,” she says. “But yeah, Cooper Stone. See why I don’t date hockey players?”
“I can see it,” I finally say. “Well, the good news is I’m not in the market for a girlfriend.”
“What’s your story, Viktor?” I’m not even sure where to begin with that question. “You don’t have to answer the question.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to answer it,” I tell her.
“You just aren’t ready,” she says, nodding. “I get it. This is a big step, right? Getting traded and then meeting your new team.”
“You really don’t know any of my story?” I ask her, somewhat shocked.
“I really don’t know anything except Matthew was super pumped when he signed you, and that you are looking for an apartment,” she answers me, and I breathe a sigh of relief that she will learn about my past from me and not through hearsay. She could go online, and all the details are there for her to read, but I want to be the one to tell her. I mean, I don’t care how she feels or if she accepts it. I’m the one who has to accept it.
“I was in rehab when I got traded. I’m a recovering cocaine addict,” I say, and I know she will find that part if she looks it up, but at least I got to tell her. I inhale deeply and then tell her, “Last game of the season, I went on the ice high as a kite.” I don’t look at her; instead, I just walk ahead. “I mean, I’ve been on the ice high before, but this time, it was just so obvious.” I look over at her, but she doesn’t say anything. “I chased the puck in a circle four times before falling into my goalie.” I laugh bitterly, rubbing my face and trying to erase that memory. “To top it all off, my parents were in the stands watching, and well, when I got pulled off the ice and benched, I couldn’t care less. When I got into the car that night, I expected my parents to ream my ass, especially my dad, but he said nothing, and then the next day when I got up, the GM to the team was there, and it was basically go to rehab or lose my contract. So”—I shrug—“I went to rehab.”
“That must have been a very scary time,” she says softly and I don’t know how to answer her. “This is you,” she says, stopping, and I look up at the building that is now my temporary home. “I’ll text you the address for tomorrow,” she says, continuing to walk, then turning. “Thanks for making sure I was okay.” I don’t say anything to her as she turns around and walks, her hips swinging just a touch. She is the first one that I actually admitted all that to and she didn’t say anything, didn’t judge me, didn’t ask me, didn’t blame me. I don’t know how I feel about any of this and I stand here for longer than I should and finally walk up the steps to the iron door.
This Is Wild Page 4