Chapter 10 Who’s Obsessed?
Who’s Obsessed?
Eric
Did you find the watering can? I think I left it on the counter.”
I’m standing in DeLuca’s kitchen, talking to him on the phone. “This tiny thing?”
“Yeah. Fill it up about halfway.”
“For six plants?”
“Yup. My babies don’t need much. The first one is on the coffee table.”
I fill the can and wander into DeLuca’s generous living room, which looks a lot like mine, with the same floor-to-ceiling windows. But he’s got views of northern midtown, while my place faces south.
DeLuca, Chase Merritt, and I are the sole occupants of the penthouse floor of our apartment building. It’s our sanctuary, and we often rely on each other for small favors. Which is why I find myself watering DeLuca’s plants at nine a.m. on the morning of my departure to Massachusetts.
“Did you find Fluffy?” he asks.
“I’m sorry?”
“Fluffy. He’s the Echeveria.”
There are two tiny pots on the vast coffee table. “Do you mean this plant that looks like a tiny artichoke? Is Fluffy edible?”
“No, asshole, don’t eat my plant. And don’t water the leaves, just the soil. Not too much.”
“Sure, Dad.” I can’t believe our fearsome two-hundred-pound goalie has me watering a plant the size of a golf ball. But we all have our hobbies. I spill a little water on the table and smear it away with my fist. “What’s in this other pot?” I squint at it. “Looks like… a human bone.”
“It’s a Lithops. But don’t water Stoney. It’s not time.”
“Whatever you say, killer.”
Ignoring my dig, he guides me around every room of his penthouse, where I get to water a half dozen more succulents with names that follow their shapes. There’s Spiky, Creepy, and Ralph.
“Wait… Ralph?”
“He just looks like a Ralph. Only a tablespoon of water for him.”
“Uh-huh.” As if I’m going to find a measuring spoon in his kitchen. I eyeball it instead. “How come you didn’t do this before you left for the Hamptons?”
“I was hungover and forgot. Today’s your road trip, right?”
“Yeah, just as soon as I’m done here. Hey—you got any snacks?”
“Probably. Help yourself to whatever you can find.”
I retrace my steps to the kitchen, abandoning the watering can and opening his pantry. “Hmm. Granola bars. Chips. Oh! Can I take this bag of chocolate-covered almonds? Darcy likes dark chocolate.”
“How do you know?” he challenges me.
“It’s a long season. Everyone knows she likes dark chocolate. And she likes fruit but hates bananas.”
“Dude, not everyone on the team has the GM’s assistant’s whims memorized. Maybe it’s your captain’s energy. Or…” He chuckles.
“Or what?”
“You’ve got a thing for her.”
“Doesn’t everybody? She’s hot.”
“She’s objectively attractive,” he agrees. “But I’m not a walking list of her food choices, and I don’t know which fragrance she wears.”
“Daisy Love by Marc Jacobs.”
There is a deep silence on the line. And then a chuckle. “Yeah, you aren’t obsessed at all.”
“Obsessed? Who’s obsessed? I just… notice things.”
“Uh-huh.” He laughs. “Have a nice trip. How long is the drive?”
“Four hours.”
“In your cozy Porsche, with Darcy in a dress, right? Because you’re headed to a party? And smelling like… what was it called? Daisy Love? Since you’re not obsessed, it should be no problem.”
“Thanks for the chocolate almonds,” I grumble before hanging up on him.
As soon as I pull up outside Darcy’s building, she darts outside, a rolling suitcase at her heels, and a shopping bag in her hands. “Can you pop the trunk?” she asks through the open window.
It takes me a second to respond, because I’m admiring the little dress she’s wearing. Specifically, the freckles on her smooth shoulders. And the cleavage.
But my mama raised me right, so I shake myself and do better. I hit the trunk’s release, then hop out of the car and lift her bags into the back.
“You don’t have to do…” she starts to say. “Never mind, you probably should. If I scratched this car, I’d have to shoot myself.”
“Let’s not get carried away.” I tuck her bags inside, then open the passenger door for her. “Got you a coffee because it’s a long drive.” Four hours if we’re lucky with the traffic.
“Thank you,” she says, giving me a sideways glance. “That was really nice.”
Was it, though? Since my phone call with DeLuca, I’m questioning all my reactions to Darcy. I notice her. A lot. I always have. But she’s a valued team member, and I know better than to notice all her assets, if you know what I mean.
Until now, that is. I think her sexy DM broke my brain. Specifically, the part about my bow tie. As Darcy clicks her seat belt into place, I notice her smooth wrists, and I’m only human. So I picture them with silk wrapped around…
Stop it. I put the car in gear and glide away from the curb. “Hey, Siri?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Darcy snorts. “Really?”
“It’s supposed to be ironic,” I say, but my neck heats anyway. “Siri, get directions to the Blue Button Bay Resort in North Beach, Massachusetts.”
“Getting directions, Captain,” she says.
Darcy giggles.
“I’ll be reprogramming that at my first opportunity.” I raise the windows against the sticky New York City summertime. “Let me know if the AC gets too cold.”
“Yes, Captain,” she says, but it comes out sounding a little breathy. And suddenly my briefs are a little tight.
Seriously, what is my problem? I’ve spent plenty of time in Darcy’s company before and kept my thoughts strictly professional. But then came that damn text, offering to lick me all over. I suppose I’m not completely at fault here. Not that it helps.
My thirsty thoughts are interrupted when a new text pings on my phone. “Can you tell me who that is? Kinda early for the usual group text shenanigans.”
“Sure,” Darcy says. She picks up my phone and takes a peek. “Well, he’s listed as ROOKIE so it might be Weber?”
I crack a smile. “Yup. Until next season starts. Then Weber gets his name in my phone, and some other young dude gets the rookie designation.”
“But what if there’s more than one?” she asks.
“Depends what mood I’m in. Sometimes I go with Thing One and Thing Two. What does he want?”
“The text just says—she’s mad at me again. So mad.”
“Ah.” I sigh. “Okay. I’ll call him later. He’s having woman trouble.”
“And so… he texts you about it on a Saturday morning?”
“Or at four a.m. Or any old time. The kid is struggling with his long-distance relationship. I’ll talk to him when we get to Massachusetts.”
Darcy is quiet.
“What? You think I need to be, like, happily married to be a good listener?”
“Nah. I just didn’t know you were everybody’s emotional support animal.”
“I’m the captain. It’s part of the job.”
“Um, no,” she says quietly. “Making yourself available 24/7 to carry every player’s emotional load is not, in fact, part of the job. The players’ manual is on my desk, Tremaine. I know things.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, okay. But it helps, you know? If they have someone to turn to who’s always there.
They’ll play better if they’re feeling solid.
That’s the idea anyway. And then we’ll win the Cup, and I’ll finally get a championship ring.
And Porsche will notice me and offer me a sponsorship. ”
She laughs. “You already have the Porsche, though.”
“True. Another sponsor, then. Brooks Brothers? I could save a lot of money on suits. Or maybe Blank Street Coffee. God knows I’m their best customer.”
“Who are your sponsors?”
This is embarrassing, but it’s my fault for bringing it up. “Beyond hockey gear, I don’t really have any. Still waiting for that big opportunity. But whatever. I don’t need the money.”
“Huh,” she says. “So I guess it’s a status thing, though? Like, you know you’ve made it when…”
“It’s exactly like that,” I agree. “I’m the captain of a team that’s made the playoffs for three years in a row. I’ve given my whole life to the sport…”
“… And DeLuca’s the one whose face is on a billboard on Seventh Avenue.”
“Right?” It comes out sounding a little more desperate than I would have wished. “My agent suggested I might be too clean-cut for some of the big brands.” I play that sentence back in my head and realize that it’s completely obnoxious. “Cry me a river, right? I can pay for my own coffee.”
“No, this is really interesting from a marketing perspective,” Darcy says slowly. “Sponsors seem to like the notoriety of troublemakers, because their faces have a lot of recognition. But then they sponsor them and pray they don’t get into even more trouble. Look at Chase Merritt.”
“Exactly.” My teammate had a social media dustup early in the season, and all his sponsors got nervous.
“Maybe you need to get into more trouble,” Darcy says. “You need to show them some big stick energy.”
I bark out a laugh.
But she’s not done. “What kind of trouble do you want to get into? Road rage incident? Bar fight?”
“Sure, Kendrick. But why stop there? We could rob the package store on the way to this party.”
Darcy snickers. “I’d like to see that. You’d probably be polite about it. ‘Sir, if you wouldn’t mind opening that cash drawer. And if you’re having any woman troubles, I’m a good listener.’”
I try not to laugh, but she’s right.
“It’s fun hearing you say package store,” she says, leaning back in her seat. “Nobody says that in New York. Takes me back to high school.”
“Yeah? Do you get back to Massachusetts often? You grew up in… Bracknell, was it?”
There’s a brief silence from the passenger seat.
“I don’t get back here too often,” she says slowly.
“Just a couple of days at Christmas. My mother moved to New Jersey. My father is still in Massachusetts. But over the summer break, I’m busy with school.
And the rest of the year… you know our schedule. ”
“Yeah,” I agree. It’s a lot. But I like it that way. “Tell me about your family. Who am I meeting at this party?”
She mutters something under her breath. It sounds like here we go.