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“Okay.” Nolan finishes his sandwich and doesn’t put up a fight when I follow him back to his place. I manage to find his insulin pack—in the fridge. Apparently when he got home from his afternoon shift, he had a snack and took his shot, and that’s where the case ended up.
That mystery solved, I drive him to the closest urgent care and wait while the doctor checks him over. He’s fine, which is a relief. By the time we’re done, it’s after ten.
“Sorry if I ruined whatever plans you had this evening,” Nolan says once we’re back on the penthouse floor, heading for our respective apartments.
“I didn’t have any plans.” Apart from watching hockey and thinking about his brother.
Nolan pauses with his hand on the door. “Thanks for helping me out tonight. I’d ask you if you want to hang out, but I’m pretty sure Shippy would murder me.”
“Why would he murder you for hanging out with me?”
Nolan gives me a quizzical look, then shakes his head and laughs. “Have a good night, Stevie.”
He disappears into his apartment without answering my question. He’s kind of an odd guy, but then so is his brother.I haven’t heard from Bishop since he messaged this morning to let me know the team’s return flight was delayed. I considered calling Lainey to find out when they’d be home, but that could have incited questions I didn’t want to answer, and messaging for an update would have seemed slightly desperate, so all I can do now is look at the weather and wait. Apparently there’s some stupid storm in the Midwest affecting flights.
It’s a quarter after five, and I’m here, at this gala fundraiser, currently dateless. Thanks to Pattie and Jules peer pressuring me out of something simple and black, I’m wearing a dress that conforms to all my curves and shows off a lot more skin than I’m used to beyond workout gear. It’s a dark purple to complement my lavender hair, which I dyed again this week in preparation for the event.
I’ve already been approached three times, by three different guys, two of whom attend the college and are on one team or another, and also by one of their coaches. He looked to be in his midforties, and as flattered as I am, he’s old enough to be my father, so that’s a hard nope for me. I might have daddy issues, but not those kind.
Joey apparently had a date lined up, but she came down with the flu or food poisoning—the story keeps changing—so he’s a lone wolf on the prowl. I hope I don’t become his target of choice since Bishop isn’t here. So far I’ve managed to avoid being cornered, but it’s only a matter of time before he tracks me down.
“Bishop better not stand me up,” I say to Pattie. She and Jules decided to be each other’s date because there are a lot of hot guys at these events.
“He’s not going to stand you up.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s way into you.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Ever since he picked up my suitcase and we had that conversation, things have been different. Sure, he’s been around more, picking me up all the time and hanging out at my place after sessions, but he doesn’t make passes at me like he used to, and he hasn’t tried to hump on me at all. It’s just been those freaking forehead or temple kisses. Maybe seeing me melt down over Joey made him reevaluate his position. Plus I told him to pretend the almost-kiss-hump-off didn’t happen. And I think he’s actually taken me seriously, but now it’s messing with my head. Which I realize is my fault.
Joey, being the opportunistic asshole he is, picks that very moment to interrupt our conversation. He slings an arm over my shoulder, having approached us from behind so we wouldn’t see him coming.
Last night I was here with Pattie and Jules until ten, putting up decorations. We had to watch the game on our cell phones, which was annoying. We came back early this morning to finish up. Joey conveniently “forgot” he was supposed to be part of the setup equation. On principle it frustrates me, but I have to say I was pretty grateful I didn’t have to deal with him last night.
He gives me what he thinks is his sexy smile and notches up the smarmy levels by staring at my chest for far too long. The dress dips low in the front. I don’t have particularly big boobs—a solid handful—but they’re perky enough that I can get away with going braless, which is important in this dress with the plunging neckline—again, Pattie’s and Jules’s influence.
He lets out a low whistle. “Wow, Stevie, love the dress.”
“Super glad it has your seal of approval.”
