One thing he doesn’t do is send my stomach rolling in the fluttery, delicious ways that make me want to devour him.
For a few years I’ve considered the notion that I’m defective. Unable to fall for anyone again. Too ashamed to bring up a past anyone who wasn’t there might not understand. James is nice, but I have a feeling he’s not looking for complicated, and I might as well have the word printed on my welcome mat.
“Looks like we have a major Kings fan,” Sasha says when Hudson opens a box of Vegas Kings stuff.
“This is Carina we’re talking about. I doubt they’re just fans.” Hudson removes a black and white picture of a cluster of four Kings in their jerseys. “What was the client name, Ava?”
“Marks. I only get the last name, no details. All she said was treat the house like it’s made of gold. She wants to impress a family member more than the client. I guess someone’s dad is a gazillionaire casino tycoon.”
Hudson’s eyes pop. “Avie, you’re designing Griffin Marks’s house. The catcher for the Kings.”
He places the black and white photo on top of a glossy, black end table and points to a tall guy in the middle. Handsome, a massive white smile, with a catcher’s mask pulled up on top of his head.
But my gaze doesn’t stay long on Griffin. It drifts to the face to the left of him. The half-smile, like he’s desperate not to release the true, sweetly shy happiness that lives deep,deepinside.
Drake and I share a burdened glance.
He must’ve noticed the same thing. Ryder Huntington is close with the guy who lives here. Unbidden, my job has brought both of us closer to Ryder than we’ve been in years. The closest we’ve come to baseball, really.
Baseball makes me gag. The Vegas Kings make my brother clam up and go pale.
No mistake, our reasons are different, but they all revolve around Ryder. A person I wish we could forget. A person I still think about almost every day when I pass Burton Field on the way to the office and see his stupidly sexy face hanging from a twenty-foot banner on the side of the stadium.
Could I find a different route? Sure. Will I? Highly doubtful.
Focus. I’m not here to think about Ryder Huntington.
I’m here to work. Ryder will never know how close the Williams siblings came to one of his teammates, and it’s for the better. He can’t hurt us out there in his obliviousness.
“Well, if they’re as prominent as all that, we better not let Carina down or she might drop me off the top of her penthouse,” I say, clapping my hands together. “Hudson has an early shift, and Drake will have a superhero pouncing on his gut before the sun rises.”
Drake laughs. “I got the kid to sleep in until six yesterday.”
“Progress.”
“Tell us where to go, boss,” Hudson says.
I start giving directions for the finishing touches. The house looks beautiful. I know it’s a surprise for the bride. A gift from her new husband. They bought the house, got married, and Carina was told to organize their life before they returned from the honeymoon.
Then, Carina passed everything onto me. Her least favorite employee. Doesn’t matter. I want to learn from her; this is a stepping-stone in the plan to reach the ultimate dream.
Designing houses isn’t exactly my dream job. I do love it. There is a heady satisfaction when I can find a purpose for a worthless bit of empty space. However, my dream is to create safe havens someday. A place where kids without a soft place to fall can have a bit of beauty.
What that looks like, I don’t know, but I’ll figure out a way somehow. Maybe the non-profit route?
“Um, Ava.” Sasha’s voice stirs me from my daydream. “I, uh, I don’t think we’re leaving anytime soon.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Hudson!” Sasha cries out before I even get a solid look at the brilliant, flashing lights in a kaleidoscope of red and blue.
I let out a shriek in surprise when a heavy-handed knock pounds on the front door. Sasha and I cling to each other. Hudson and Drake storm into the room, confused and on edge.
Then, my shriek turns into a full-out scream when the door bursts open and dirty, red-sand coated police boots storm over my newly placed rug, guns raised.
For a fleeting moment I think there might be some fugitive hiding out in the backyard, until an officer points his Glock at me—me—and shouts for me to put my hands where he can see them, the same way they do onLaw and Order.
The next thing I know, a cop is shouting at me for my name and demanding I give up every reason I’m in the house.
