Chapter 5
The Tour
Ella
My knees were already weak after the scenic waterfront drive to the Port of Boston, with the city skyline just over the water. Lance lived on the top floor of an eleven-story brick building, and the lobby was nothing but class—it was modern, and very tastefully modern, with nothing overdone. A quick ride up the elevator delivered me to the top floor.
But when the door opened, I nearly drooled at the work of art standing before me.
I'm talking, of course, about Lance's condo.
High, vaulted ceilings. Hardwood floors. A wall of windows, floor to ceiling, that offered a breath-taking view of the harbor and Boston skyline. The kitchen sparkled with granite counter-tops and stainless steel appliances and an expansive center island. The condo also boasted an open living space.
A very open living space, really. Because as nice as this place was? Somehow, these two millionaire athletes' condo looked more like a hillbilly's backyard, with fold-out chairs and a way-too-enormous TV resting right on the floor. All that was missing from this scene was the rusted-out husk of a decrepit car.
Boys. Sigh. So clueless.
I guess I should mention Lance's roommate, too, shouldn't I?
Lance didn't tell me he lived with a hottie. But uh, guys are weird about that sort of thing, so I guess it would make sense that he wouldn't tell me that. But, yes, Radar was a handsome babe. A six-foot-something, imposing and muscle-bound babe.
Within seconds of meeting him, I felt like I knew him. He commanded a quiet but strong presence. He was almost painfully macho, the way he carried himself—so upright and strong. He had dark, clean-cut hair and a five o'clock shadow. Oh, and the best part? He'd opened the door wearing nothing but a mouth-watering pair of blue jeans that were so tight, they were practically painted on his round ass and thick thighs.
Sure, I was a little disappointed to say goodbye to his sizzling bare chest. That was the price I had to pay, once he caught me staring at his abs—oh, to run my fingers through that chiseled six-pack—but I knew it was probably for the best.
But then he returned in a crisp white t-shirt. It was a fit so perfect that his shirt was just as distracting as his bare chest, with biceps bulging from the sleeves and rounded pecs jutting upward and pushing his shirt high into the air.
Yow.
This Radar guy was seriously smoking hot.
But. But! Before you get carried away thinking I might have a crush on this guy, I don't. Like I told Radar, I grew up surrounded by these hockey playing dopes, thanks to Lance. I know them. I understand the way they think. Sure, they might be hot, they might be cute or charming, and they might even seem innocent, but you should never trust one of these guys any further than you can throw them.
Those were some of the thoughts that ran through my mind when Radar accidentally let it slip: “So, I guess you've got your work cut out for you, huh?”
I knew immediately what he meant, I just couldn't believe it.
Lance! I cursed my brother's name internally. So that's why you invited me out here!
He wanted me to decorate his place. And instead of just asking me to do it (which I gladly would have, by the way!), he had to manipulate the situation to get what he wanted.
My brother is just awful!
Radar, though? He seemed like an honest guy. For one, the way his handsome face got all flushed and nervous after he realized he'd slipped up was ultra cute. Poor guy. But it wasn't his fault. It was Lance's.
Second, I appreciated the way that Radar didn't ogle me or leer at me like the rest of Lance's teammates always did. That was an especially bad problem if I were ever left alone with one of those creeps … ugh. Hockey players always talked a big game about how family was 'off-limits,' but as soon as they were alone with me, forget about it. You know they'd do something if they thought they could get away with it.
But Radar seemed like a good friend, a true friend. I wasn't mad at him, not at all.
In fact, I sort of liked Radar, more and more, with each passing second. Was I seriously flirting with him? No … not exactly … but I did enjoy the way he got so flustered when I pretended like I was flirting with him.
“Why don't you give me the full tour?” I asked.
“Sure,” he answered, and I noticed his Adam's apple plunge down his muscular neck.
Oh, he's too cute.
***
Radar gave me a brief tour of the rest of the house, starting with the bathroom, which had an elegant stone tile shower. It was surprisingly clean, especially for a boy's bathroom, and it smelled nice, thanks to a grapefruit-scented candle that flickered on top of the vanity.
Lance's bedroom was our next stop, which was precisely the disgusting pig-sty I'd expected, with dirty laundry strewn ankle-deep around the floor.
“Gross,” I mumbled. “I just had a flashback. I shared a bedroom with him all throughout school, you know. This mess used to be my life.”
And a big reason why I never even tried to bring any boys home …
Radar laughed. “I'm sorry.”
And then Radar showed me his room—or rather gave me a glimpse into it from the doorway, as if he were afraid to let me in. His room was neat and simple, without much (or any) decoration, and only the necessities: a bed, a nightstand, a dresser. His bed was neatly made. Unlike Lance, he picked up after himself.
I looked up at him. “I guess you're the one who does all the cleaning around here, mm?”
His chuckle confirmed my suspicions.
Then my eye was drawn to a beautiful box that sat atop his dresser.
“Ooh, what's that? It's a lovely chest.” I hoped he'd let me take a closer look at it.
“Oh, um, nothing,” he mumbled shyly. “Anyway. That's our place.”
And with that, he shut the door.
Well, that was weird, but I guess it's none of my business.
“What about the rest of the building?” I asked.
“You want to see that, too?”
“Sure!”
After Radar put on his shoes, we left the condo and took the elevator down to the second floor. We stepped off the elevator, and he pushed through the glass double-doors and we stepped into a gargantuan fitness center, with all sorts of machinery and equipment and free weights.
“This is where I spend most of my free time,” he said, proudly.
“It shows,” I said quietly, unsure if I'd meant it as a compliment or a gentle poke at his ego.
But it was an adorable moment, in that dorky jock kind of way, that the first thing he'd think to show me was the friggin' fitness center.
“Did you bring your workout clothes?” he asked me.
“I did, actually. If I don't exercise regularly, I go insane.” I added, “More insane than normal, that is.”
“Yeah, same here,” he said with a smile in his eyes. Then his eyes darted down to my arms. “I was going to say, you've got some guns, girl.”
“Yeah. Lance taught me how to work out.” I flexed my bicep for him, and his lips cinched into an impressed o-ring. “Wanna feel?”
A small smile appeared on his lips, and Radar wrapped his hand around my arm. His enormous hand made my bicep look minuscule. Gently, he gave a couple squeezes.
“Daaamn. So Lance was good for something after all,” he joked.
I snickered. “I think I like you, Radar.”
He whisked me out of the fitness center, and down the hall, to the building's indoor swimming pool. They also had a private room with a hot-tub.
“Did you bring your swimsuit?” he asked.
“I did. I was actually all packed up to go to Key West.”
“Key West? Oh, that's right, Lance mentioned you had plans that fell through—”
“Yeah. Don't ask. It's a long story.”
Radar bobbed his head with understanding. “Ah. Well. That's pretty much it for the tour. I guess there's also a rooftop—”
“Show me!”
He laughed. “Alright, alright. Let's go.”
***
The rooftop had a full lounge, complete with a bar and seating area. And, of course, a wonderful view of the wharf and the not-so-distant downtown skyline.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked him as I pulled my wallet from my bag.
He looked a little surprised. “I was going to offer to buy you one.”
“No, I insist. You gave me a tour like I asked, and you're putting me up for a few days. Let me treat you to a drink, Radar.”
He chuckled and agreed. “Well, alright, sure. Next one is on me, though.”
We took our drinks to the ledge of the rooftop and watched the Boston marina traffic.
“Those are water taxis,” he told me. “On game days, Lance and I take one across the harbor to get to the arena.”
“Oh, that must be fun! We have those in New York, too.”
“How do you like living in New York, Ella?”
“It's nice. Hectic, but nice.”
Radar smiled at me. “Yeah. Any time we visit New York, I'm amazed at how busy it is—everywhere you look, all you can see is people, cars, and buildings. Boston's a big city but it doesn't really feel big, you know?”
“Mm. Yes. I know what you mean. I don't see myself living in New York forever. But as long I'm building a name for myself, I have to.”
“How's your business going, anyway?” he asked with a genuine interest.
“Good, good. I don't take much time off because I'm always busy. But I'm doing well, so at least there's that.” I paused. “I'm not doing as well as you and Lance, of course, but hey.”
He laughed and bumped my shoulder with his. “Hey, I'm not doing nearly as well as Lance either. He's the superstar, making the big bucks. I'm eating the table-scraps.”
“Lance. Superstar.” Playfully, I rolled my eyes. “Somehow, I don't think I'll ever be able to reconcile that word with the idea of my brother.”
Amused, his big blue eyes sparkled at me. “Must be weird,” he said.
“Sure is.”
We sipped our drinks and quietly watched the boats motoring by, to and fro. The waves rose and fell in the boats' wake, lapping at the harbor.
“I don't watch much hockey,” I said. “Correction, I don't watch any hockey. But an ex-boyfriend once told me that you and Lance have a good thing going out on the ice. That you're a sort of—what'd he say—oh yeah, that you're a wrecking ball on the ice, hitting guys left and right.”
Radar smiled at me bashfully. “Yeah.”
“You seem too nice, too humble, to be this violent guy.”
He shrugged. “It's nothing personal. I just have a job to do.”
“Which is?”
“Create space for your brother. And protect him.”
“He needs protecting?”
“I'm not sure if you realize how good he is, but he's our best player, Ella. If anything happens to him, the team is pretty much screwed. That puts a target on his back; guys want to hurt him to take him out of the game.”
“How grotesque.”
“I guess. Of course, I'm always trying to teach him not to run his mouth out on the ice … he has a habit of talking shit to these huge guys. And then I have to step in and fight them.”
I giggled. “Now that sounds like my brother.”
Radar gave a careless shrug. “Anyway, like I said, it's my job. I bounced around the league for years, from one team to the next, before I ended up here full-time in Boston.”
“Traded, you mean?”
“Traded, or waived, or demoted to the AHL, or not offered a contract renewal … you name it.”
“Huh. Why? If you play with Lance, you have to be pretty good, right?”
“Sure, I'm good. Just like the other 800-some players in the NHL. The elite are head and shoulders above the rest, but everyone else is very, very evenly matched. Every one of those guys can skate and shoot. But to keep a job in this league, you have to stand out. You have to have one skill you excel at.”
“And your one special skill is?”
“Missing,” he said with a wide and infectious grin—and that's when I realized he was missing a tooth.
“Aw, just like your tooth!” I said, smiling back at him.
“Oops.” His hand shot up to cover his mouth. “Sorry. Yeah. Caught a slapshot to the kisser four years ago. I've got a magnetic implant-thingy that I wear when I'm out in public.”
Normally I found missing teeth a serious turn-off, but on Radar, it was cute in a genuine, folksy sort of way. I grabbed him by his meaty forearm and pulled his hand away from his mouth.
“Don't cover up. I promise you I don't mind,” I told him. “Anyway, sorry, I interrupted you. You were saying that your one special skill is missing.”
“Right. Until I had a try-out with the Brawlers and played with Lance. The coaches weren't sure about me, since they knew I hadn't stuck in the league so far. But Lance? He liked playing with me so much, he went to the front office and told them to offer me a contract. He's the star of the show, you know. He gets what he wants.”
“And now you're like his bodyguard,” I teased.
He chuckled. “Sort of. I do more than that, but yeah, I guess that's fair.”
“What if something happened to Lance out on the ice?”
He pondered that question gravely. “I dunno. Wouldn't be good for me, though.”
We finished our drinks. Radar bought the second round, like he promised. But the evening had grown brisk, with a bone-chilling breeze coming off the water, and I shivered.
Radar must've noticed. “You're cold. Want to head back inside?” he asked.
“Yeah, let's go.”