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“Dear Lindy, thanks again for being the Chubbs to my Happy. Any chance you can get a night off work to come watch a game in a box? Text me and I’ll set it up. Victor.”
“Holy shit.” Ari squeals with excitement.
“He wrote his number at the bottom,” I say, feeling lightheaded.
“You look like you’re about to pass out, chica.” Ari offers me her arm to steady myself.
“I think I might. I can’t even…I don’t even know what to say.”
“We have lots of work to do.”
I fold the note up and stick it in my pocket. “You’re right. Let’s finish stocking. We can talk about this later.”
Ari starts to laugh uncontrollably. “That’s so not what I meant, Lindy. I meant your hair, and makeup and your outfit. I want to help you get ready when you go to a game!”
“Oh.” I grin as wide as my cheeks will allow. “Okay, yeah.”
“Oh, that was a good one.” Ari laughs again. “You thought I gave a fuck about what Bruce wants.”
I laugh along with her, but I’m not thinking about Bruce. I’m in shock, I think. Victor invited me to a game. Wow.
I just skyrocketed up to Cloud Ninety-Nine, and I think I’ll be here for a very long time.Chapter TenVictorI forgot about the chicken. Shit.
Grabbing the handle of the pan, I pull it away from the heat and pick up a spatula to flip the two chicken breasts I’m sautéing.
The one of the left is a little…charred. Won’t stop me from eating it, though. This is what I get for trying to cook instead of ordering in. Anton’s always harping about home-cooked food being more healthy, so I’m trying that out.
It’s harder than I thought it would be to have a protein, starch and vegetable hot and ready to eat at the exact same time. I lost track of the chicken while chopping vegetables for a salad.
At least it’s just me I’m cooking for. If I ever had to impress anyone with my cooking skills, I’d be in deep shit. I come by it honestly—I was raised by a single mom who usually told me to find my own dinner.
My phone dings with a text just as I’m pulling my roasted potatoes out of the oven. I set the sheet pan on the stovetop and grab a piece of potato to see if it’s done.
“Fuck me,” I growl, dropping the piping-hot vegetable back to the pan.
That wasn’t my smartest move. While I let the potatoes cool, I walk over to the raised breakfast bar that separates my kitchen and living room, picking up my phone to check the text.
Hey Victor, it’s Lindy. I’d love to come to a game. I just need at least two weeks notice so I can get the night off. Thanks for asking me.
I smile at the screen. I think this woman is truly nice. That word gets thrown around casually, but lots of people are nice when it suits them, and dicks when they think they can get away with it. But Lindy seems different—one hundred percent genuine.
Two weeks notice, though? Fuck that. I’ve got enough pull with the Blaze team management to get Lindy a night off anytime. And I already know what night it’ll be. New York is coming to town for a game in a few days. They’re ranked first in the league, so it’ll be a well-attended game.
I’m going to ask Jonah if Lindy can sit with his wife Lily in the family box that night. Lily West is a mother hen, and she’ll make sure Lindy has a good time.
I text Lindy back.
Me: Great. Friday night. Don’t worry about getting the night off, I’ll take care of it.
Lindy: Okay, thank you. My boss can be difficult, though.
Me: Your boss is an asshole?
Lindy: No! I didn’t say that.
Me: You didn’t have to. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. And Friday night won’t be a problem.
Lindy: Okay.
Me: So what’s going on with you?
Lindy: I’m watching SportsCenter with my dog Doc.
Me: Nice.
Lindy: There was a replay of your assist last night!
Me: Never gets old making SportsCenter.
Lindy: You’ve been on fire lately. Great job!
Me: Thanks. Our talk was a big part of it.
Lindy: It was all you!
Me: You’re gonna make my ego explode all over my kitchen…and that’ll be a mess to clean up.
Lindy: LOL okay then. So I’ll be cheering for you Friday night then.
Me: Perfect. Plan on going out with the team after.
Lindy: Okay. Will you be there?
Me: Yep.
Lindy: I’ll see you then. Thanks again for asking me.
Me: See you then.I set my phone down and go back to the pan of roasted potatoes on the stovetop. When I pop one into my mouth, I find out they’re only semi-roasted—still pretty hard.
Fuck cooking. This shit is ridiculous. I’m still eating it because I can’t bring myself to throw away food, but from now on, I’m ordering in.
