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After morning skate, we head back to the hotel and check in, and I get ready to take a nap. As I’m lying down, I call Indie back.
“Hey,” she says, sounding out of breath.
“Hey, how are you?”
“Good.”
She better not be having sex. But she probably wouldn’t have answered if that were the case.
“Are you home from LA?” I ask.
“Yep. I just picked up groceries and I’m about to book a trip.”
“Where are you going?”
“The Met!” She sounds like a kid on Christmas. “Well, New York, I guess. But I’ve never been to the Met and I’m so excited to go. I’ll also be shopping for art there and just getting a feel for the New York City vibe.”
“Nice.”
“I still can’t believe this is my life. I’ll probably take hundreds of photos.”
“You’d better send me some.”
“I will.” There’s a clattering sound and I hear her say, “Shit.”
“Indie?”
“Sorry, I dropped the phone. Anyway, how are you?”
“Can’t complain. We won our game last night.”
“Congratulations!” She laughs lightly. “Wait, is that dumb? You probably win games all the time.”
I smile. “It’s not dumb.”
“Are you heading back to Vegas today?”
“Why, do you want to see me?”
After a second of silence, she says, “I wasn’t thinking that, but maybe we could get coffee sometime.”
“Yeah, that would be good.”
“I’m not sleeping with you, though. You know that, right?”
My smile gets wider. “Ouch. Where did that come from?”
“I just…don’t want to send the wrong signals. I want to be friends—like actual friends. I’m not just saying that. I’m going through a divorce and I won’t be dating for a while.”
I’ve never, not even one time, been put in the friend zone. And damned if Indie doing it to me isn’t hot as hell.
“Friends, then,” I say, silently adding for now. “And I’m in Minneapolis. We’ve got another game tonight.”
“And you’re the goalie, right?”
I grin and look up at the ceiling, trying not to laugh. Indie really gives zero fucks that I’m a pro hockey player. She’s the opposite of all the women who pretend to be lifelong, die-hard fans because they think I want that.
“That’s right,” I say.
“Have you ever been to New York?”
“Many times, for games.”
“And how do you like it?”
“It’s not bad. I love playing there, and the energy is always high. But the hotel rooms are about the size of my bathroom. It’s really nice at Christmas though.”
“I suppose it’s going to be cold there since it’s February.”
I laugh. “Fucking freezing. Bring a parka.”
“Ugh, I’ll have to buy a coat. I don’t travel much. Can you tell?”
“You’ll have an amazing time. Is your boss going, too?”
“No, just me.”
I get an uneasy feeling as I imagine sweet little Indie alone in Manhattan.
“Be careful,” I tell her.
“I will.”
“Hey, I have a proposition for you,” I say.
There’s a pause before she says, “Okay.”
“You think it’s sex.”
She laughs. “Well, aren’t most propositions about sex?”
“This one’s not. I was thinking about how empty the walls in my house are. I want to hire you to help me find some art.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line.
“Indie?”
“Are you serious?” she says, her voice so soft I can hardly hear her.
“Yeah, I’m serious.”
“Are you really, seriously serious?”
“Again…yes.”
“Oh my God.” Her voice trembles over the phone and I’m pretty sure she’s crying.
“Indie? What happened? Are you okay?”
“No, I just…I mean yes, I’m okay. I’m just…” She takes a deep breath. “You’re my first real client. The first one I’ve gotten without Cynthia’s help. I’m just really happy.”
I made her so happy she cried. That feels pretty damn great.
Someone pounds on my door and I hear Pax say, “Hey, Pike. Let me in.”
Shit. I can’t talk to Indie with Pax around.
“Hey, I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I tell her. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll get something set up for the art thing, and call me sooner if you just want to talk.”
“I will. Thank you so much. And good luck with the game tonight.”
“Thanks. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, bye.”
Pax is pounding nonstop on my door when I end the call and get up from the bed.
“Hold on, asshole,” I grumble as I walk over to the door.
When I open it, he gives me a frantic look and bolts into the room.
“What the hell took you so long? I need to take a shit.”
He closes the bathroom door behind him as I say, “Dude, no. You’re not shitting in my bathroom.”
He groans and says, “Too late. Thank fuck I made it; that was close.”
I roll my eyes. “Why can’t you shit in your own room?”
“My room’s not ready yet.”
“Okay, the lobby bathroom?”
“You know I don’t shit in public places.”
I exhale hard and walk back over to the bed. “At least turn the fan on, asshole.”
I crawl under the covers, hoping to be asleep before he leaves.
Chapter Thirteen
Indie
* * *
I open my eyes and see Nolan sprawled out in the middle of the bed, snoring softly. I resist the urge to brush away the dark lock of hair hanging over his eyes, because I don’t want to risk waking him up.
