“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her. “I have someone coming in to clean the house twice a week.”
“Well, it was either clean up or go and smell your clothes,” she jokes, laughing. “I figured it would be safer to clean.”
I shake my head, laughing. She just saved me from having a panic attack, and she didn’t even know it. “So are you saying I won’t find your hair in my bed?”
“I never said that,” she teases. “I didn’t smell your clothes. I never said anything about your pillow.” She laughs. “Anyway, my car is here, so I’m out.”
“Thank you,” I say. She did even more than she knows. She salutes me and disconnects. It’s only after she hangs up that I notice that my heartbeat is back to normal, my hands are dry, and the weight that was on my chest is lighter.
“She’s just a friend,” I remind myself. “Just a friend.” Though my brain doesn’t really agree. “Just a friend who talked you off a ledge without even knowing it,” I say, getting up again. This time, it’s without the weight on my chest.
Chapter Fourteen
Zoe
“Why, why do we have to watch the hockey game?” I groan from my side of the couch. “You’ve already scored him.” I look over at Zara who lies on her side with a huge cover over her. We just finished eating Chinese, and she switched on the game.
“Because I always watch the game,” she says. “If you watched, you’d like it, too.”
I glare at her. “You hated hockey for twenty-two years, and now, all of a sudden, it’s a great thing,” I point out to her and get up, heading to the kitchen. I grab a water bottle and then walk back into the room. When I hear the announcer says Viktor’s name, my eyes shoot up to the television screen to watch. This is not helping with me frantically trying to remind myself that he is off-limits.
“He’s back in the lineup,” the announcer says. “No one thought it would be possible for him to come back.” I watch him skate up the ice, and I wonder if he’s nervous. “Petrov takes the puck out of the zone and brings it up, passing it to Richards who sends it up over the glass.”
“What does that mean?” I ask Zara who’s now looking at me with her head tilted to the side.
“It means they are going to have a face-off in the neutral zone,” she tells me. I roll my eyes, but my eyes go right back to the screen as I watch him skate down the ice. My finger starts to tap the water bottle nervously.
The announcer continues talking about Viktor. “I didn’t think anyone would pick him up after his disastrous season with LA.”
“Well,” another voice says, “I’m not sure what Grant is thinking by signing him.” I want to yell at the screen and tell them to shut the fuck up, but I don’t. Instead, I just scoff.
“Time will tell,” the other guy says, and now the referee drops the puck.
“What’s going on with you two?” Zara asks, and I look at her. In my whole life, the only person I’ve never lied to is Zara. Not that I didn’t try, but she always spotted it. She would know.
“Nothing,” I tell her, looking back at the television. It’s not a lie because there really isn’t anything going on. “We’re friends.”
“Bullshit,” she says, and I look at her.
“He’s a recovering addict who can’t get involved with anyone,” I tell her. “That’s what it boils down to.”
“But if he wasn’t recovering, would you go for him?” she asks, and my heart starts to speed up. I don’t want to admit it because I don’t want to put it out into the universe. I want to deny, deny, deny.
“He plays hockey,” I tell her. “You know my stance on that.” It’s not that I don’t like hockey players; it’s just that I’m not interested in dating a hockey player who is going to go on and on about my family name.
“It was one guy,” she says, bringing up the one who fucked me for all other hockey players. “And he wasn’t even good.”
“I loved him!” I shout at her.
“You were fifteen!” she shouts back.
“I practiced my name with his.” I tell her about the insane amount of times I changed my last name to his.
“Oh, please,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Liam broke my heart. All because he wanted to be in Dad’s stupid summer league hockey camp.” He started dating me on March 17th, St. Patrick’s Day. I was totally head over heels in love with him after a week. He started coming over more and more, our make-out sessions started getting shorter and shorter, and he started spending more time in the family room. Then he tried out for the team and didn’t make it. Well, five minutes after he got cut from the team, I got cut from the girlfriend role. “Asshole.”
She shakes her head and then a horn from the television makes us both look up, and we see that Philly just scored and are celebrating while Viktor and Evan skate off with their heads down. “Fuck,” Zara says, tossing me my phone. I watch the television, mesmerized by the replay and how it went off Viktor’s stick and into the net.
“Well, I guess he can score goals for the other team,” the announcer says, and when it shows Viktor on the bench, his head is low as he looks out over the ice.
“How much time is left?” I ask her.
“I thought you hated hockey?” she says, and I answer by giving her the finger. I turn and watch the screen as it goes to intermission. I grab my phone and scroll through Instagram, and I’m not paying attention “It’s not a good idea,” Zara says, and I look at her.
“What are you talking about?” I ask her.
“You and Viktor and the whole let’s be friends bullshit.” She doesn’t waste any time with the bullshit, and I want to kick her, but she’s pregnant, so I don’t. “You need step away from the whole situation. You got him his house, so it should end there.”
“There is nothing more,” I tell her. “Honest.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Okay, fine, he’s hot, and he’s sexy as fuck. But”—I tell her—“and there is a huge but, it’s never going to go anywhere. I know that. The cards are on the table.”
“Yeah, well, the house of cards is going to fall soon, and I don’t want you to get crushed by it,” she says and then laughs. “Fuck, that was a good line. I’m going to put it in my notes.”
“You’re an idiot. You know that?” I laugh. The game comes back on, and for the next seventeen minutes, nothing happens. They get several chances to score, but it’s always stopped. When they have two minutes left, they pull the goalie. “Why, why are they leaving the net empty?” I ask her.
“So they can have the one-man advantage,” she says, but I stop talking when the announcer’s voice starts to go a bit louder.
“Intercepted by Petrov.” The announcer’s voice gets louder with anticipation, and then I sit up. “He makes his way around Gustoff who tries to check him into the board, but he’s a second too late. Petrov skates to the center, and he scores.” I jump up out of my chair with my hands in the air.
“He just scored,” I say, grabbing my head with both of my hands. “Holy shit, that was so good,” I say, but I don’t take my eyes off the screen as Evan goes to Viktor and jumps on him. “I don’t know about you, but if my man was looking at another man like that, I would be a little worried.” I wink at her, and she now flips me the bird.
“Now what happens?” I ask, sitting back down.
“Now, they go into overtime three on three,” she moans. “You are literally there at every single game. Have you not ever watched?”
“I’ve watched,” I say, “between my sips of wine.”
“Your Instagram consists of all selfies from the games,” she points out.
“Yes, because obviously I’m there,” I say. “You are so annoying.”
The overtime comes, and they lose, but at least Viktor isn’t on the ice, so he won’t feel bad about it. I mean, he probably will feel bad about it.
“Oh, well, maybe next time,” I say and then turn the television off. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” I ask, knowing she us
ually shares my bed when Evan isn’t here.
“I was going to cuddle you,” she jokes, and we walk up to the bedroom and then her phone rings. “It’s Evan.”
“Go into the spare room and come back later,” I say. “The last thing I want to do is be nauseated before I go to bed.” I walk into my room as she walks up the stairs to the third floor and goes into the spare room. I get ready for bed and try not to think about him. I try to clear him from my mind, but my dreams all night are of the fucking hockey game.
Sunday morning, I slide my eyes open right after eight o’clock. Reaching for my phone, I see that the Stingers won their game last night. It’s been almost five days since I’ve thought about him. I’m super proud of this. Getting up, I decide to go take the expert boxing class, and they don’t call it expert for nothing. I swear, I think my arms are going to turn to jelly. I can’t raise them to take off my sweaty bra. I put on my maroon yoga pants, a clean sports bra, and my gray Nike shirt. It is cut high in the front and long in the back, showing off my abs. I’m grabbing my purse and groaning when I put it over my shoulder, and the phone rings. I look down and see Viktor’s number.
He never calls me, so something must be wrong. Before I send it to voicemail or talk myself out of answering it, I connect it and put it to my ear.
“Hello?” I say, holding the phone with my shoulder. Walking down the stairs, I hold the railing because my legs feel like jelly.
“Hey, are you around?” he asks breathlessly.
“Depends where around is and what you want,” I tell him, walking out of the gym toward the subway. Better yet, I should just take a cab.
“Near my place,” he says. “I am sort of stuck, and I need help.”
“I’m about five minutes away. I just left my class,” I tell him and start to walk toward his apartment. “How urgent is this situation?” I ask him when I spot Starbucks.
“Um …” he starts to answer.
“I’m in front of Starbucks, and I’m thinking I should get a drink.” I stop in front and hear him huff out. “Jeez, Louise, I was going to offer to get you something too.”
“Fine. Get me an iced coffee with milk,” he says. “And check and see if they have any protein bites.”
“First, you huff, and then you even order food.” I shake my head and joke with him. “I’ll be right over.”
I try to tell myself that I’m just going over to help him as a friend, I would do it for anyone. I buzz his number, and when I get to his floor, his door is open. I step in, and it looks like a warzone.
Boxes are scattered everywhere, and everything from the boxes are laying on every surface that he has. “Oh my God.” I look around to see if anything looks like it’s in its place. “Did you get robbed?”
He looks over at me, his face full of scruff, his eyes a touch darker than normal, and the circles under his eyes also back to being a bit darker. “Why are you naked?” he asks me, his eyes almost glaring.
I look down at my outfit. “If this is what you think a naked girl looks like, I feel sorry for the women who actually got naked for you,” I say, walking in and deciding where to put the drink. When I walk to the island, it’s full of everything that you could need in a kitchen. And then some knickknacks you never use but always have. The only free space to put anything on is the stove. I walk over and place the tray on it, and my purse falls to the floor. I turn back at him. “But seriously, what in the fuck is all this?”
“My life,” he says, and I grab his coffee and bring it to him. “I thought it would be a good idea to unload all the boxes and then put things away.”
“Okay,” I say, looking at the clothes covering his couch.
“Well, then, by the time I looked around, I just don’t know where any of this shit goes,” he says, taking a sip of coffee and looking around to see if he can sit anywhere. “I didn’t even know I had half this stuff.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, walking to the kitchen table and seeing that he has about ten different tablecloths. “Didn’t you buy this stuff?” I run my hands over the tablecloths, thinking maybe an ex did, and then having a need to just toss it out and have him start everything fresh.
“No”—he shakes his head—“I had a designer who did all this.” Well, then, the tablecloths can stay.
“I think the first thing you need to do is put away the big things,” I say, going to the counter. “Like this Kitchen Aid mixer.”
“It has ten different pieces,” he says, throwing up one hand. “Ten.” I laugh at the way he tries to flash his hand twice to give me a picture of ten.
“Well, because you can use it ten different ways,” I tell him and see the frazzled look on his face. “Have you ever used it?”
“Zoe.” He says my name almost like he’s groaning, and I have the sudden image in my head of what he would sound like if I perhaps put his cock in my mouth.
I blink and try to erase the image from my head. “I’m trying not to judge you.” I try to roll my lips together. “How do I know you’re not some secret baker?” I can’t hold it in anymore.
“Are you done?” he asks.
“It’s too early to tell.” I look over at another machine. “Ten bucks if you know what this is.” He looks at the machine in my hand and stutters. “It’s an electric juicer. Usually for orange or lemon,” I tell him, and he looks at me like I have two heads. “Zara made me do her registry with her.” He gets up and comes to me and takes it in his hand. “Now, I take it you’ve never used it.”
“No, but it would be cool to use,” he says, and I shake my head.
I grab a box. “This box is going to be stuff to donate.”
“That’s a good idea,” he says. “God, I’m glad I called you,” he says with a smile on his face, and just like that, the little devil in my head whispers to me.
“You like him.”
No, I don’t. I’m just his friend.
Keep lying to yourself, is the last thing I listen to before I finish helping him.
Chapter Fifteen
Viktor
“What you need to do is look at things and think about the last time you used it,” she says, holding up … I don’t even know what she is holding up. All I know is it’s white and you plug it in. “If you don’t even know what it is, you donate it.” She puts it in the box.
The past couple of days have been a clusterfuck. I’ve been all over the place, attending two meetings a day. I thought getting back on the ice would calm things but not after my fuckup in the first game. Yes, I did come back and score to tie the game, but the pressure was so much. I was drenched every single night I woke up after just sleeping for three hours at a time. I’d get up, unpack a couple of things in my bedroom, and then go back to bed. This morning, I rolled out of bed and had a plan, a plan in my head that was going to be awesome. I was going to unpack everything and then place everything accordingly. Well, fifty-seven boxes later, my house looked like a tornado. I didn’t know who to call because I didn’t want to bother anyone really. But that nagging voice in the back of my head kept chanting her name, so I caved and called her.
“Yes,” I tell her. “It’ll be easier that way and maybe”—I pick up something else I don’t know—“you can help me by naming things.”
She shakes her head. “No, if you can’t name them, that means you aren’t going to use them.” She takes the tool out of my hand. “By the way, this is a hand blender.”
I look at it before it disappears into the box. “Interesting,” I say.
“Who should we donate this stuff to?” she asks, waiting for me to pick up the next item.
“I have no idea,” I say, grabbing another item.
“There are a bunch of people you can donate to. Women’s shelter, homeless shelter.”
“We can donate to the people who are coming out of rehab.” I look at her. “You know sober living places.”
She nods. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Plus, it will mean more to you if it’s close to your heart.
”
I don’t answer her as we fill more boxes than I care to admit, even giving them extra now that I know where it’s going. I was lucky that I could start over fresh and have the financial means to do it. Not everyone is this lucky. While we fill the boxes, she goes on and on about this show on television about dating abroad and having ninety days to wed.
The whole time, I’m mesmerized by the stories and the way her hands get all animated. She goes on and on about how it works, and I have to admit I’m a little curious myself.
“I can’t believe we did all that in six hours,” I say, looking at the clock on the stove and seeing it’s just after eight.
“I’m surprised my arms could hold anything,” she says and puts her hands up again and her shirt rises. “I swear it was a tough class today.” I swallow, but it feels like I have a mouth full of nails.
I don’t bother answering her. Instead, I turn around and go to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and giving it to her. “Are you hungry?” She shakes her head while opening the bottle and drinking.
“No,” she says when the water bottle leaves her lips. “I’m still full from the pizza you ordered. I am going to get going,” she says, walking to the living room and putting on her shoes.
“Let me order you an Uber,” I tell her, and she looks up. “It’s the least I could do.”
“Fine,” she says, giving in. “You do owe me.” I nod and order her an Uber.
She looks over at the boxes we stacked on one wall. “Don’t forget to call the shelter tomorrow.”
“I won’t. I’m going to ask my sponsor and see if we can give a bit to everyone.”
“That is so nice,” she says and bends to pick up her purse. I almost groan when my eyes go straight to her ass. “I’m out,” she says and opens the door, then turns back around. “Let me know if you start watching.”
“I will keep you posted,” I tell her, walking to the door and holding it open until she gets in the elevator. When the door closes and I don’t see her anymore, I let out a huge sigh of relief. I know we are friends, and I know that I shouldn’t even be thinking of her like that, but every single time our hands touched, it was like an electric shock to the system. I close the door and turn off the lights. I don’t bother putting the chairs back in their place since I know I’ll be up in the middle of the night anyway.
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