Chapter 9
Night Out
Ella
Lance paced back and forth through the hallway, hanging around the bathroom door like an anxious cloud, while I carefully applied mascara.
He stepped into the doorway and let out another pained groan. “Hurry up, Ella! You take so long to get ready.”
“I'm almost ready. But please stop pacing around like that. You're putting me on edge.”
Lance's cell phone rang, and he retreated into his bedroom to answer it. I breathed a sigh of relief—now I could put on my finishing touches in peace.
Lance was on the phone for a good half-hour, tittering in his bedroom like a schoolgirl, which proved to be quite a blessing in disguise—because I'd decided that I hated the floral print dress I was wearing, and now I wanted to change into another one. I could just hear the bitching and moaning Lance would've made if I wanted to change dresses while he was trying to hurry me out the door.
But alas, his phone call gave me the opportunity. I changed into a cuter, more flirtatious cocktail dress—something playful, but still sexy enough for the club.
Just when I was truly ready, Lance emerged from his bedroom.
“Oh, hey Ella,” he said. He wore a dopey, almost love-struck smile. Dear God—he looked happy. It was disturbing.
“Gross,” I muttered, “what's gotten into you?”
“That was Lindsay,” he said.
“Oh? The butt model wanted to chat?”
“She does more than just model her butt, okay? Someday, she'll be a real model. Everyone has to start somewhere, you know?”
“True enough. Well anyway, I'm ready to go.”
Lance frowned with the weight of some bad news.
“Sorry sis. I have to cancel on tonight.”
“What?”
“Lindsay wants to meet up.”
“You're really bailing on me?”
“I told her you were visiting and we were going out tonight, and I asked her if she wanted to come with us. But she said what she really wants is me to head over and hang out with her. She said she had a long day and she wants to stay in.”
“She had a long day of modeling her butt?”
“Don't be a dick, Ella. Honestly, I'm super exhausted from shopping all day, too. A night in actually sounds kinda nice.”
“It didn't sound nice when I suggested it an hour ago,” I quipped.
“Ella …”
I blew out a breath. “Nevermind. I'm just a little annoyed. But whatever. You obviously like her, so you should go be with her, I guess. I'll find a way to entertain myself.”
My oaf brother wrapped his troll arms around me and squeezed. I gave him a half-hearted squeeze back.
“Thanks for understanding,” he said.
“Yep.”
And with that, Lance grabbed his things and rushed out the door.
Welp. This just figures.
I sighed, poured myself a glass of wine, and threw myself on the new, gargantuan leather couch fit for the Nephilim. I pulled out my phone and did what I'd do any other night—read work emails and checked out the latest on industry-related blogs and forums. My other hand, operating on pure muscle memory, instinctively went to stroke the cat that would normally be sitting in my lap.
“Aw, man,” I groaned. “I miss Eucalyptus.”
This was just like a typical weekend night at my place. Except this was somehow more pathetic. I'd flown out to Boston to escape my sad life, … only to be reminded of exactly how lonely I was in the end.
“Welp.”
I took a long gulp from my wine.
And then I heard a sound down the hallway: a bedroom door opening. Then the crisp, satisfying clap of leather soles on hardwood floor.
Radar? He's still here?
I sat up in a hurry and tried to shake the lonely desperation from my aura.
***
Radar passed through the living room with purpose—that is, until he saw me. He stopped in his tracks, and the look he gave me said it all. He twisted and pointed a finger down the hallway, towards Lance's bedroom—a dumb-founded gesture that seemed to ask, 'but, your brother …?'
I shook my head. “Lance left.”
“I thought you guys were going out tonight?”
“We were. But Lance had a last minute change of plans.”
He gave a sympathetic frown.
“It's okay though,” I said unconvincingly. “I don't mind.” I must've been a sorry sight, looking all sad and frumpy on the couch.
Radar, on the other hand, was dressed to impress in an expensive slate-gray suit and a smart white-and-blue checked shirt. The top two buttons of his dress shirt were left undone, showing off his large and protruding collarbones and the tops of his round, muscular pecs.
But the fit of every item he wore was impeccable. The jacket accentuated his tall, broad-shouldered frame, and the pants hinted at his impressively-built leg muscles. My eyes momentarily wandered over the satisfying lines, mounds and bulges that swelled in all the right places.
Radar can dress himself, alright.
He stood straight as a board, not moving from that spot, just observing me in all my pity. My cheeks began to grow warm—was it from the wine, or the embarrassment and shame? Who knew. All I knew was that Radar stood there, feeling sorry for me, and I wanted to shout—just go away already! Leave me!
I took a self-conscious sip of wine. “You don't have to feel sorry for me, you know.”
“Who said I feel sorry for you?”
“It's obvious you do. You're standing there, looking at me like I'm this pathetic puppy. I can fend for myself. Spending the night by myself isn't the worst thing ever.”
And it's not like it's anything new to me.
“Did Lance say where he was going?”
I nodded. “Lindsay had a bad day and so she wants him all to herself tonight.”
He laid his giant hand across his face and rubbed his eyes. “That sounds like Lance and Lindsay, alright.”
“Oh well. That's okay.” I flashed a polite smile. “Have a good time tonight, Radar.”
“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”
His body leaned in the direction of the door, but something seemed to stop his feet from actually moving. He looked like he had something to say, but he struggled to find the words.
“You're not leaving.” I sighed. “What's wrong?”
“I shouldn't say.”
“You'll feel better if you get it off your chest,” I said, matter-of-factly. “That's something I live by.”
“That's right. Lance mentioned that you have an honesty policy.”
“I do. So? Care to get it off your chest?”
Radar sighed. “Okay. Sure. You're all dressed up, you look nice, and you're ready to go—yet you're staying in. I feel bad. I feel like I should invite you out with me, at least.”
“So why don't you?” I blurted out. Blame it on the wine. Or blame Lance for stranding me here in the first place.
But Radar let out a labored laugh, as if it were an impossibility.
“Ah. I get it.” I gave an understanding, if not cynical, bob of my head. “Because you're going out to meet a girl, and I'll be the third wheel.”
“How'd you figure that?” he asked.
“Oh, please. I know how you hockey players are.”
He smiled with a hint of embarrassment.
“Besides, Lance told me that you're a real player off the ice.”
“Did he?” He neared and lowered himself into the couch cushion next to me. Not too close—but close enough that the velvet richness of his woodsy cologne snuck into my personal space and hijacked my senses.
He smells so nice. I wish he didn't have to leave.
“Well, if we're going by your honesty policy, then I guess I have to admit to that,” Radar said. “And yeah, I am going out to meet a girl.”
“That's cute. What's her name?”
“Umm—” Radar squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remember. “Fuck, I forgot.” He pulled out his phone, checked something, then stuffed it back in his pocket. “Kara. That's right. Kara.”
“I take it you and Kara have been going steady for a while now,” I teased.
He gave a coy smile and an uncomfortable little laugh at the knowledge that his sleaziness was on full-display. That was also when I noticed his smile was a perfect row of piano-key teeth.
“Oh! Look! You even put your false tooth in for Kara.”
“Yeah, the missing tooth look tends to scare women away.”
“That's too bad. I thought you looked kinda cute without it.”
“… You're the first, then.”
“And where are you meeting Kara?”
“A club called Regret.”
I nearly spit a mouthful of wine right out. “A club called Regret?!”
“Yeah. It's an odd name, isn't it.”
“It's a very honest name for a club, if you ask me. It's right in your face. Destination? Regret.” I giggled, amused. “It's like they're telling you, 'whoever you meet here, and whatever trouble you end up in, you're gonna regret it, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself.'”
“It's a good club though. I've never had a bad time there.”
“Is there any other clubs where you like to meet girls? Club 'Bad Mistake'? Club 'Walk of Shame'?”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Oh, ha ha.”
“I'm just kidding you.” I put my hand on his back and gave him a gentle push designed to budge him off the couch and spur him away to his one-night stand that he was going to regret. “Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.”
But Radar didn't move.
I looked at him and laughed. “You're still not moving. Are you just going to sit there and pity me all night?”
“I'm not pitying you.”
“Then what's your problem?”
“Honestly? You really want to know?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“I'd be more than happy to take you out and show you around Boston. But I don't think I should. See, you have an honesty policy you live by, but I live by the code.”
My eyes narrowed. “Code? What code?”
“The guy code, I mean.”
“The guy code! That's real? I mean, you guys actually take that seriously?”
“Us hockey players have to take it pretty seriously.”
“And how is the code stopping you right now?”
“Because you're the sister of my best friend, teammate, and roommate.”
“And so you're telling me that taking your friend's sister out to the club would be against the rules of this fabled 'guy code'? Even though you just admitted that you're meeting some random girl that you're going to fuck, and I'm just bored and along for the ride?”
Growing uncomfortable, Radar tugged at his collar. “Well—when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous, sure, but—”
“What else would it be?” I asked.
Radar's features darkened and he didn't answer.
“Oh my God, are you actually afraid that something could happen between us?” I gave his shoulder a slap. “Radar! Get your mind out of the gutter!”
“Of course I'm not thinking that,” he growled, indignant. “Because nothing ever could happen between us.”
“I agree,” I told him cheerfully, “because, no offense, but you're really not my type.”
Radar's brow creased. “Yeah? Well, you're not my type, either.”
He looked so cute and mad in that moment.
“Good! Then what's the problem?”
“It'd just look bad if I took you out, okay? I don't want to give Lance any reason to suspect us of anything, because it could blow up in my face in a bad way. That's all.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough, dude. I've been telling you to go and leave me alone for the past five minutes, but you keep sitting here arguing with me over it. I don't know what else you want me to say.”
Radar stared at me, his eyes burning like red-hot embers. I wasn't sure what was going through his mind, but I had to laugh.
And then my stomach butted in and gurgled, loudly. I cradled my tummy and waited for it to stop.
“You haven't even eaten,” he said, almost sounding annoyed by that fact.
“I ate lunch.”
He checked his watch. “Lunch was, what, nine hours ago?”
“So what. I'll order some food in. Besides, I'm sure the code says something about how wrong it is to feed starving women, too.”
Radar bolted off the couch and extended me his hand.
“C'mon. I'll take you to MacAllister's. It's a sports bar and grill, right across the harbor downtown. Hardly the kind of place you take a girl you want to impress. We can go our separate ways after.”
I didn't say a word. I just stared at his hand and smiled. I understood now that Radar was only trying to convince himself that he was justified in taking me out. He needed a reason, that was all. But did I really want to go? He had a point, after all; Lance might get pissed at us. Especially after I made him all paranoid earlier …
“Just come with me,” Radar urged. “We're obviously not going to do anything stupid. We'll grab a bite to eat, then we'll split ways. I'm going to meet a chick and we just admitted that we're not interested in each other. Lance would understand.”
“Are you sure? I don't want you to get into any trouble …”
“If your brother asks, we'll tell him the truth. We've got nothing to hide.”
“I would like to get out of the house.”
He urged me to take his hand again. “Then come with me.”
I gave him my hand. Radar pulled me from the couch, and I marveled at how my tiny hand had totally disappeared in the fighter's ridiculously rugged and knobby hands …