“We should put on the game,” Darcy suggested. She flopped down on one of the leather couches in the penthouse and flashed an evil grin.
“We certainly shouldn’t,” Hayden chirped in response.
It was Friday night and they’d decided not to go out for dinner but stay in and order room service from the hotel restaurant. Well, at first Hayden suggested they cook dinner themselves, but Darcy had very emphatically said, “I refuse to cook.” So room service it was.
“It’s the playoffs,” Darcy pointed out.
“So?”
“So would it kill you to support the team?” Raising a brow, Darcy snatched the remote control off the coffee table and began flipping channels.
Hayden rolled her eyes. “You don’t even care about the Warriors. You just want to see Brody.”
“Obviously.”
Darcy found a sports network that was airing the game, but she hit Mute so the sound of chattering announcers and screaming fans was no longer blasting out of the speakers.
Although she was trying to force herself not to, Hayden’s gaze kept darting toward the screen. But each time she looked, all she saw was a blur of silver-and-blue blobs speeding across the ice while a blur of black-and-red blobs tried to steal the puck from them.
The game stayed on in the background while they ate their dinner, which was delivered on ornate trays with crisp tablecloths and silver lids.
“I swear, your life is unreal,” Darcy sighed after the Ritz employee left.
“This isn’t my life,” she pointed out. “You’ve seen my place in San Francisco. It’s a normal-person town house.”
“True.”
She gestured around the lavish living room. “This is my father’s life. All of it belongs to him.”
“For now,” Darcy said with a snort. “Sheila will be here redecorating in no time.”
“I hope not. Dad really loves this penthouse.”
“Oh, you didn’t tell me how it went yesterday with the evil stepmother. The deposition.”
“It was as painful as expected.”
Well…aside from the unexpected part, when Sheila ran after her to accuse Presley of having an affair and a drinking problem. Hayden bit her lip, wondering whether to confide in Darcy about that. For some reason, it felt like betraying her father’s confidence, even though he wasn’t even the one to bring any of it up. If it were true.
After a long beat of hesitation, she decided not to mention it. Not now anyway. But Sheila’s accusations continued to gnaw at her brain.
In an attempt to distract herself, she once again glanced at the screen. But that was a mistake, because for the first time in two hours, the camera provided a clear shot of Brody Croft’s gorgeous face. He was grinning from ear to ear, almost feral in his excitement, as he returned to the team bench, where his teammates proceeded to smack his shoulders and helmet.
“Did they score?” Hayden asked, just as a shot of the scoreboard flashed across the screen.
3-2, Warriors.
And there were only ten seconds left, hardly enough time for Los Angeles, their opponent, to tie it up. As the final buzzer sounded, the camera panned over the crowd, showing a mixture of devastated home fans and jubilant Warriors fans. Another pan, and Hayden was looking at one of the private boxes, where her father was on his feet, shaking hands and cheering wildly.
“I should text him.” She reached for her phone and sent a quick message to her dad congratulating him on the win. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t respond. He was likely already on his way out to celebrate with his entourage.
“Ooh, let’s watch the postgame interviews. Maybe we’ll see your dude without his shirt on.” Darcy’s blue eyes sparkled as she leaned forward to unmute the television.
The camera now showed a sports reporter from the network on her way down the hallway toward the away team’s locker rooms. A few minutes later, the camera cut to that same reporter, who introduced herself as Jess Thompson, navigating through towering hockey players in various stages of undress.
“God, imagine having this job,” Darcy said, sighing enviously.
“It’s definitely a sweet gig,” Hayden had to agree.
“I’d be in a constant state of arousal.”
She snickered. “That’s already your natural state anyway. I don’t think interviewing a bunch of half-naked hockey players would make a difference.”
“Good point.”
Hayden’s heart sped up when Jess Thompson stopped in front of a very familiar bare chest.
“Jeez,” her friend groaned. “His abs are delicious.”
No, everything about him was delicious, from the aforementioned abs to the chiseled jawline to the piercing blue eyes hot enough to melt ice. Seeing his face on a huge TV screen only highlighted his stupidly good looks. The man was stunning.
Ugh. Why did he have to be a hockey player?
“Brody, phenomenal game tonight!” gushed Thompson, shoving a microphone in his face. “You were on fire out there. Were you confident that the Warriors would bring home the W tonight?”
Brody grinned, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “Of course. Each time we go out there it’s with every intention of winning.”
Thompson proceeded to ask him a few more questions about the game, but Hayden was only half paying attention. She couldn’t stop staring at that sweat droplet. It was sliding down his collarbone now, winding a tempting path down his smooth, golden skin.
“You have it bad,” Darcy accused, snorting from the other end of the couch.
“I know. It’s disgusting. What am I supposed to—”
“Quiet,” her friend interrupted, grinning suddenly. “I want to hear his answer.”
“Answer to what?”
“Jess Thompson is prying about his love life.”
Hayden’s pulse once again quickened. Despite herself, her attention was now fully on the screen.
Thompson’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in a little closer. “Oh, Brody, throw us a bone. You know the fans are dying to know. Is there a special someone in your life, or are you still skating solo?”
“You’re trying to get me in trouble, aren’t you?” Brody gave the camera a sly grin that was undoubtedly causing hearts to flutter across the nation.
“Lord,” Darcy grumbled. “This man is potent.”
“It’s fucking obnoxious,” Hayden grumbled back.
Why did he have to be so hot?
“How about a hint?” the reporter was pressing, still shoving the mic at him. “Just a tiny peek into the love life of Brody Croft?”
His eyes took on a thoughtful glint. Then his lips curved slightly, and he offered a shrug. “Well, now that you mention it… There might be someone on my mind at the moment.”
Hayden’s jaw fell open. “Oh, my God.”
“Oh, my God,” echoed Darcy, although she appeared more delighted than horrified. “He’s talking about you.”
On the screen, Jess Thompson was damn near salivating like a dog who’d stumbled upon a raw steak. “Please, tell us more.”
Brody chuckled, his gaze never leaving the lens. “I probably shouldn’t. I mean, it’s sort of embarrassing. This girl is dodging my invites like they’re opposing players on the ice. But…” He shrugged again. “I don’t give up. So let’s try this again, shall we?”
Hayden stared wide-eyed at the screen, a sick feeling creeping up her spine. “Swear to God, if he says my name on live television…”
But his next words showed that he clearly recognized he’d be a victim of murder if he outed her.
“To the woman who keeps turning me down, even though we both know she’s totally into me…” He flashed another grin at the camera. “If you’re watching this right now, what’s it going to take for me to see you again? Candlelit dinner? Sunset skate on the rink? Name your game, and I’ll play it.”
Beside him, Thompson looked utterly stunned.
Hayden groaned, sinking into the couch cushions in a sudden need to disappear. “Is this guy for real?”
“I love him,” Darcy declared, jaw agape.
Brody winked at the reporter. “Any other questions?”
It took a few seconds for Thompson to snap out of her stupor. The woman was probably already counting the millions of views that clips of this video were going to garner.
The interview continued briefly with Brody elaborating on his game-winning goal and the team’s strategy. Hayden wondered if he had any strategy when it came to women. Apparently, relentless pursuit was his go-to play.
“You know you have to see him again,” Darcy told her.
Hayden shook her head stubbornly. “I’m not having a fling with him. He’s too high-maintenance.”
She got the feeling that if she gave Brody an inch, he’d take a mile. That if she suggested a fling, he’d show up with an engagement ring.
Before her friend could argue, Hayden started cleaning up the table, taking their trays to the dinner cart. Fortunately, Darcy dropped the subject. She stayed for another hour before begging off, and Hayden hugged her friend goodbye and then went to take a shower before bed.
Barefoot, she stepped out of the bathroom into the master bedroom, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. She’d finally gotten around to unpacking her suitcase this morning, but the suite’s huge walk-in closet still looked empty. She changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a cotton tank top, brushed her hair and tied it into a ponytail, then headed for the kitchen to make a cup of decaf tea.
Normally, she hated hotels, but her father’s penthouse surpassed any ordinary hotel suite. He’d lived here before marrying Sheila, and the apartment had everything Hayden could possibly need, including a large kitchen that was fully stocked and surprisingly cozy. It reminded her of her kitchen back home, making her homesick for the west coast. In San Francisco, she hadn’t needed to worry about anything except how she was going to get her boyfriend into bed.
Here, she had her father’s problems, her stepmother’s lies and Brody Croft’s incessant attempts to get her into bed.
She wasn’t tired yet, so she took her tea to the living room and switched on the TV again. Time to finally watch that van Gogh biography. Since she was teaching an entire course on him next semester, she figured she ought to get reacquainted with the guy.
She scrolled through Netflix, searching for the documentary.
You want me, come and get me.
The sound of Brody’s sandpaper-rough voice suddenly filled her head. She let out a long breath, exasperated. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about the guy? And why couldn’t she stop wanting him? She wanted him so badly she could practically feel those big muscular arms around her waist.
But sometimes the things you wanted weren’t necessarily the ones you needed.
At the moment, she needed to concentrate on supporting her dad through his divorce and maybe finally calling Doug back to tell him she’d slept with someone else and that it was time to turn their break into a breakup.
But what she wanted was one more night with Brody Croft.
It doesn’t have to be black-and-white.
She sat there for a moment, chewing on her lower lip as Darcy’s words buzzed around in her brain.
Was her friend right? Was she overanalyzing all of this? She’d always had the tendency to pick and prod at each situation until she’d sucked every last drop of fun or enjoyment from it. This wasn’t an art history lecture she needed to plan for—it was just sex. Was there really anything wrong with delving into that gray area and enjoying a carnal ride with a man she found wildly attractive?
No sooner had that thought entered her mind than her phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Her heart stopped when she saw the name on the screen.
BRODY CROFT.
How was he texting her? She had his number, but she hadn’t given him hers.
The text was equally puzzling.
BRODY: Did you now?
Did she now what?
Eyes narrowed, Hayden opened the chat thread, only to curse out loud when she solved the mystery.
Sometime, maybe when she was in the bathroom or calling the front desk to take the dinner tray away, someone took it upon themselves to send Brody a message from her phone. It was four words and one emoji. Clear evidence of Darcy White’s betrayal.
I liked your interview 😉
Fucking hell. She was going to kill her friend.
Grumbling with irritation, Hayden quickly typed a response.
HAYDEN: I’m not the one who sent you that. My friend did. Ex-friend now. Please delete this number.
He was quick to text back.
BRODY: You don’t really want me to delete it. And aren’t we too old to use the “my friend did it” excuse?
HAYDEN: It’s not an excuse! She’s a traitor.
BRODY: So you didn’t like the interview?
HAYDEN: Nope. It was presumptuous.
BRODY: What was presumptuous about it? I was simply being honest. I want to see you again and I want to know what it’ll take. I’ll put in the work…
HAYDEN: No work required.
BRODY: Great! I’m back from LA late Sunday night. I can come by straight from the airport or see you Monday. You pick.
She blew out an exasperated breath. This man really didn’t give up.
You don’t want him to give up, a little voice taunted.
Oh, wonderful. Now her own subconscious was against her!
HAYDEN: I pick neither.
BRODY: Are you always this stubborn?
HAYDEN: Yep. Have a good night, Brody.
Jutting her chin, she clicked the phone to its lock screen and reached for the remote again. Maybe if she watched this van Gogh documentary for long enough, she would eventually forget about Brody Croft and how badly she wanted to see him again.
