Getting back to the hotel after the parade was a nightmare. It’s like the entire country came to DC to watch the National Independence Day Parade. The spectators were waving their flags and singing the national anthem, all dressed in red, white, and blue as they celebrated the birth of America.
I’m back in my room after hitting the spa, which was blissfully empty today since everyone is still out enjoying the festivities. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I look at the pictures I snapped this morning.
I’ll admit, the parade was kind of cool. There were bands, floats, military, dignitaries, and—of course—celebrities,including the hockey players selected to participate in the tournament. Some of them were wearing the big gold medals they won at the Olympics earlier this year, including Baptiste. I zoom in to get a better look. He was in the first row, standing tall in his jersey, medal gleaming against his chest as he waved to the crowd like he belonged there. My heart does that weird little jolt again, and I groan.
Yeah, he’s handsome, we get it.And also, not that terrible of a human being, from what I learned during our interview, but still, he lives in a totally different world. One I’ll never be a part of. One I particularly loathe.
Before long, my stomach is growling, so I decide to go out for a quick dinner. I know there’s a Thai place a block away.
A chorus of boisterous laughs erupts as soon as I exit the elevator, and my eyes are drawn to the sound. Well, one in particular. Baptiste’s laughter. Here he is with a bunch of people, chatting and laughing as they stand around waiting for someone or something.
I try to discreetly pass by them, head down, but Baptiste notices me anyway.
“Harper, hey,” he calls, and I’m forced to stop. He jogs toward me, a bright smile lighting up his face.
“Hi, how are you?” I ask, shifting my bag on my shoulder.
“Good, good.” He rocks back on his heels. “How about you? Are you heading to the festival?”
I grimace slightly, already tired at the idea. “Oh,noooo. Not my style at all. I’m just going for some quick Thai food, and then I’ll probably stay in and read the rest of the evening.”
He frowns, looking falsely offended. “What? That’s unacceptable. This is America’s birthday. You have to celebrate.”
“I did celebrate, with hundreds of thousands of screaming people, including you, Mr. Celebrity. Or should I say, Mr. Olympian.”
He shakes his head, a small laugh escaping him, then glances back at his friends. “Well, that nickname is an upgrade, so I’ll take it. But come on. You should tag along with us. We’ll walk around, eat, and just hang out.”
As tempted as I am to see how the other half lives, being alone is my thing. Not people. And definitely not crowds. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I just want a quiet night.”
“You owe me, remember?” He winks. “For the interview. And besides, you could use a night out. You’re always working.”
I give a small shrug. “I actually went to the spa for a few hours today.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Really? Then you’re refreshed and relaxed, right?”
“Ugh, fine.” I sigh, lifting my hands in surrender—his accent was the knockout blow. “Stop badgering me. I’ll come for an hour, but that’s it.”
He grins triumphantly. “Great. Let me introduce you to everyone.”
I press my lips together as I follow him to his intimidating group of friends. Something I never really had, nor wanted.
There are a lot of names to remember, but thankfully I have a knack for memorizing both faces and names. There’s Maxime, another French-born player who turns the charm on with his curlybrown hair and mischievous grin. I’m pretty sure he’s the jokester of the team. He’s with his wife, Hayley, a pink-haired fellow reader who owns a bookstore in Brooklyn with her best friends.
Next there’s James, another class clown with piercing cobalt eyes and dark blond hair. I’m sure I’ve seen him before, but I can’t recall where. He has his arms around a pretty blonde who introduces herself as Beth—she also looks familiar. Baptiste tells me she and Marissa, the strawberry-blonde, own a coffee shop together.
Apparently, Marissa is married to Aaron, the other star defender of their New York team who sports a buzz cut. I also meet their team captain, Caleb, whose subdued dark brown hair matches his calm demeanor. He’s engaged to Aria, a budding author with black hair and an easy smile.
“And we’re still missing Wally, our goalie,” Baptiste says. “He should be here soon.”
“Actually,” Caleb says, checking his phone, “he’s not coming. Sounds like he’s staying in with Grace, his wife,” he adds for my benefit.
“Shocker,” Baptiste grunts. “He’s not big on hanging out with the gang.”
“But he loves us,” James adds with a serious nod. “That’s been proven before. They just prefer to hang out alone.”
“Well, they are British,” Maxime says, shrugging, as if that explains everything.
We all start funneling toward the exit when it hits me.
