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Astrid shoved Cal’s hand away and scrambled out of the bed. “You have to leave,” she whispered. “Right now.”
He lounged against the pillows, looking adorably mussed and sexy as hell at the same time.
“It’s Saturday morning,” she whisper-yelled.
“And that means?” Cal asked, taking her hand and tugging her back toward the bed.
“My brunch with Dad.” Astrid’s heart was definitely going to break out of her chest at any moment. “He’s early.”
Cal jolted upright, and the cocky grin of his disappeared.
“Shit.” He bounded out of bed, the sheets tangling around his legs and nearly taking him down before he recovered his balance.
Her dad knocked again, loud enough that Mrs. Duffy was probably watching the activity through her front door’s peephole.
Astrid tried not to pass out from panic as she sucked in oxygen that seemed to have absolutely no effect on the tightness in her chest. Shit. This could not be happening. No one could find out about her and Cal having sex for a last time so many times. If they did and word got out, the press would have a field day, and her dad’s last year would be ruined because instead of being about the team it would be about who his daughter was fucking. They’d want to know if it was serious. They’d want to know if it was going to mess up team dynamics. They’d want to know if that meant Tig was being traded. They’d want to know—
Fisting her hands, Astrid jammed the breaks on her mental freak out and forced out all the air in her lungs and then inhaled—slowly—through her nose.
There. Better. Now, what were the options?
Her apartment was a studio so the only room to hide him in was the bathroom. That wouldn’t work because her dad always drank a whole mug of coffee on the train to her place which meant he always had to pee before they left for their regular brunch. She couldn’t hide Cal in her closet because in all her brilliance she’d turned it into a huge bookshelf. Under her bed? Nope, it was a platform and there was no under.
Oh. God. She. Was. Fucked.
Wait, no calm down. Think, Astrid.
Everything wasn’t totally ruined yet. She just had to get Cal out of here without her dad seeing him. She glanced around the room, her gaze landing on her window.
And that’s when it hit her.
“Fire escape,” she said as she pulled on a pair of sweatpants and grabbed a hoodie from the mostly clean pile of clothes on the chair next to her bed. “Just go up one flight and go in through your window.”
“It’s locked,” he said as he yanked on his jeans.
She grabbed the thin plastic ruler on her dresser that she used to line the pages of her daily habits journal and held it out to him. “Use this.”
He rolled his eyes and picked his shirt up off the floor. “That’s not gonna work.”
“Unless you put on the extra window locks, which are more than likely broken like mine are because Andy doesn’t believe in building maintenance, all you have to do is slide this between the window panes and use it to flip the lock.” She waved the ruler at him. “Well, do you want to try it, or go open the front door for my dad?”
They stood there looking at each other for a few mutually panicked breaths, and then Cal took the ruler.
“Just leave your window unlocked in case this walk of shame up the fire escape doesn’t work and I have to come back down after you go to brunch,” he said as he opened the window.
Clasping her hands together so she wouldn’t give into the urge to shove him out the window, she nodded in agreement. “Deal.”
As soon as he was out, she pushed it closed and hustled toward her door, kicking Cal’s shoes under her couch on the way. However, her “Hey, Dad” died on her lips the moment she opened the door because it wasn’t her dad in the hall.
It was Tig.
Chapter Forty-Two
“What are you doing here?” Astrid asked, her mouth moving while her brain was still stuck in WTF.
Tig held up a drink carrier with two to-go cups in it, steam still coming out of the white plastic tops. “I brought you some coffee.”
This was how the cycle had always restarted when they were at the end of the off part of their on-again, off-again status—a surprise appearance, a food offering, and that bashful smile that telegraphed, “I’m an asshole, but you still love me.” And like a fool, she’d always played along and pushed down her own hurt and misgivings because he was trying.
