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When Addison pressed for details of the captain’s payback, I just told her I didn’t remember what he did.
Thankfully, she let it go, like a real friend would do.
“Shit,” I mutter softly as I’m driving back to my house from the airport. We had a late game in Pittsburgh last night and flew back early this morning. “Are Addison Knight and I slowly becoming true friends?”
I chuckle because, yeah, I think we kind of are.
No, I know we are.
For some reason, that puts me in a really good mood. I don’t even care all that much that we lost the game last night. We still have a winning record six weeks into the season.
That’s a good start.
As I approach my house, I notice Addison is out by her front door. She’s in black leggings and a gray sweatshirt, and her long hair is up in a high ponytail.
She also appears to be struggling with a huge box.
Instead of pulling into my driveway, I cruise into hers, the recently fallen leaves crunching beneath my tires.
Powering the passenger-side window down, I lean over the console and say, “You look like you could use some help with that thing.”
“Hayden.” She blows out a relieved breath, lifting a wisp of dark hair that fell out of her ponytail and onto her cheek. “I sure as hell could use a hand. This box is heavy as shit.”
I hop out and stride over, nodding to the bulky box. “What’s in there, anyway?”
“It’s an exercise bike. I thought with winter coming, it’d be a great way to stay in shape.”
I almost blurt out that she’s already in amazing shape, but I figure that may be misconstrued as flirtatious. That is one thing we’re careful about, not flirting, especially after the last time our skin touched and it was pure electricity.
I think neither of us wants to mess up our truce and newfound friendship.
Running my hand through my hair to clear my wayward thoughts, I note, “There’s no way that bike is assembled. Though the box is huge, it’s not big enough.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s not.”
Taking hold of the box and lifting it with ease, I ask her, “So who’s going to put this thing together?”
She pops open the front door and shrugs. “Um, I don’t know. I guess me.”
“Do you have tools?” I grunt out as I bring the box into the house and set it just inside the door.
Pondering, she says, “There are probably some in the basement.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I place one hand on top of the box. “But if you need any, I know for sure there are a lot over at my house.”
Her vibrant green eyes light up. “Ooh, could you bring some over just in case? Also, I really don’t even know what I need.” She hesitates, and then adds, “I mean, when you have a chance. I know you just got back from an away game last night.”
Tapping the top of the box, I tell her, “No worries. It’s Saturday, so I actually have nothing to do today. Let me just head over to my house, change my clothes”—I gesture to the navy-blue suit I have on—“and grab some tools. I’ll move this box to wherever you want to place the bike. And, if you’d like me to, I can help you put it together.”
Breathing out a clear sign of relief, she says, “That would be amazing. I’m really not that great with assembling stuff. I’m willing to try, but you helping would make it so much easier.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I laugh.
I have a feeling I’ll be doing most all of the work.
But that’s okay.
I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to help.
