Chapter 2
Chelsea
“How did it go?”
As soon as I walked in, I flopped down on the couch and tossed my purse onto the floor. With a heavy groan, I shoved my face into my hands, more flustered than I’d been in a long time. I even kicked my legs due to the heavy frustration.
Some kind of heavy rock music was playing in the background, my roommate’s favorite. At least the choice would drown out my angry, thudding heartbeat.
Samantha laughed. “That good, huh?”
“Let’s see,” I moaned, the sound muffled.
Finally, I dropped my hands and stared at my roommate.
“The music didn’t start on time, which meant I had to start singing acapella.
The key wasn’t what I’d asked for. It ended up being much higher than I’d intended on singing, which meant by the high notes, my voice sounded like a cat screeching in the wild. All in all, not bad.”
Her smile was way too cocky. But at least she’d prepared for my homecoming by having a second glass by the bottle of already opened wine.
Red wine so I could drown my sorrows in cheap merlot.
After pouring a glass, she brought it to me, her eyebrows knitted together.
“Let’s see if I can translate. You were phenomenal and received a standing ovation from the crowd.
Soon you’ll have your phone ringing, the coach and everyone involved begging you to return so poor Ralph is given his pink slip once and for all. How did I do?”
I snagged the glass from her hand, offering a dirty look. “Very funny. I was terrible.”
“I’ve heard you sing and know better. Why are you so hard on yourself?”
“Because I’m not a singer!”
“Oh, really.” Samantha was forever dramatic, always funny, and usually up for anything no matter how ridiculous the suggestion.
I’d learned all that in only two weeks. She sashayed closer and tossed her hair behind her shoulder with such flair, I was fearful she’d strain her neck.
“I guess that’s why you were in every singing club on college campus. Right?”
When she cawed exactly like a crow, even flapping her arms like wings, I groaned and pounded my fist on the sofa. “That was different. It was for the plays I was in.”
“Oh, come on. How so? You have a fantastic voice. I thought it would be good exposure for your budding career and my guess is you knocked it out of the park. You had a rare night off, so I took advantage of it.”
While my main focus was on the small dance theater in town, the choreographed and highly stylish interpretations that went way beyond modern dance were the most creative thing I’d ever done, the pittance I made for a couple of performances a month certainly didn’t pay the bills.
But being a part of the dance and entertainment scene, being allowed more freedom of expression in working with some amazing teachers would improve my chances of being accepted into the repertoire of a fabulous dance company anywhere else but here. Hopefully far, far away.
I had to pay my dues first and if that included catching a few side gigs, then I should be grateful.
Thank God, I’d sung the national anthem at a regional high school softball game earlier in the year. Hey, you had to make money however you could.
“I don’t know if all my hard work will pay off. I’m getting too old to dance.”
She had a way of teasing me with a single roll of her eyes. While we didn’t know each other well, in the two weeks since I’d moved in, I’d already come to realize we would soon be fast friends. “Please. I remember seeing you in a Moonlight Promenade a few months ago. You were amazing.”
I snapped my head in her direction. “You saw that? I think maybe sixteen people were in the audience.” A final performance for the graduating seniors. We’d been allowed to select our own music and choreograph our own piece. It had been an amazing moment.
As she leaned against the couch, a dreamy expression fell across her face. “Believe it or not, it was a date night with Tyler.”
“Tyler?”
“Yeah, my first and last serious boyfriend. I thought the date was so romantic, something I would have never expected.”
“Oh, story there. Do tell.”
Another roll of her eyes was followed with another swing of her hair over her shoulder.
I’d already come to adore the dramatic side to her, which appealed to the artist within me.
“He was handsome, rugged, and everything a girl could want. We’d dated during our junior and senior year and I thought just maybe we’d move past graduation. ”
“And?”
“And I found him boning my roommate.” She shifted onto the other end of the couch, curling her leg under her and settling into the pillow.
“Ouch,” I said, shaking my head. “Then you and I have something in common. Which is why I’m staying away from men.”
“Now, you know what they say,” she cooed. “The best way to get over a man is…”
Her wicked smile let me know exactly how she’d handled the breakup. I’d done just the opposite, but we finished the expression together. “…to get under one.”
With a laugh, her eyes continued to twinkle. “I wish I had your spunk, but it’s better if I try and work on my career before I’m old and decrepit.”
I tolerated her sinful aspirations by reading her slutty passages in the romance book she was writing and she dealt with my quirks. And I had a lot of them. At least according to my last boyfriend as well as my father.
“Did you at least ogle some of the hot hockey players?”
“I didn’t notice if any of them were hot.” Lie. I’d noticed several of them, especially the one with a huge grin whom I’d blown a kiss to. What had possessed me? Maybe because the way he’d pushed his way through a crowd to get to me had seemed very golden retriever-like.
“You’re either going to become a nun or you’re blind. Even I can say there are some hot hockey players, and I will never include them in my catalog of men.”
My turn for my eyes to open wide. “You have a catalog?”
“Maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll allow you to see it some time.” At least we could laugh. “Well, the team thanks you for your service.”
“The team? Oh, you mean the giant hockey boys who were too busy posing for photographs and flirting with the women to pay attention? That team?”
“Hey,” she huffed. “They’re not bad. Just egotistical maniacs with God complexes who think all women drool all over them.”
“It wasn’t only that. What’s with the extreme violence? Are all games completed with brutal public brawls?”
The ire in her expression increased. “When you put big, bad sticks in the hands of three dozen burly men, you run the risk of an overload of testosterone. Hockey is nothing more than an elegant game of indulgent violence.”
“Oh, wow. That is just another reminder of why I can’t stand hockey players.”
“Yet you stayed for the game.”
“Not all of it!” I yanked hair out of my face. “Besides, I felt somewhat obligated.”
“Yeah, I get it. The fights fuel their alpha reputations, which in turn continues feeding their egos and their popularity. Do you know what’s worse?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“A lot of women don’t mind making fools of themselves just to grab a player’s attention. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. The guys love it.”
“I bet they do. What did you call them, pucker bunnies or something?”
“Puck bunnies. Every sport has them, but the girls seem to go wild over the hockey players.” She issued a squeal like a few I’d heard while at the arena.
“Please don’t. If I see another pair of Daisy Dukes on a bottle blonde, I’m going to scream.”
“God, I’d forgotten about that expression. You should see them when they’re wearing mini-dresses that barely cover their butts.” Samantha grimaced.
“Trust me. I saw a few girls that if they dared take a breath, they’d expose everything their plastic surgeon enhanced.”
“Ouch. But you’re right.”
I sucked in my bottom lip to keep from laughing, but I couldn’t help my reactions around her.
She was a funny girl, managing to allow my usually sour moods to change.
We’d yet to find the time to unpack, boxes placed everywhere, including two being used as end tables.
But this was my new home, a place I could land after work with no need to worry about redeeming myself or my choices on a regular basis.
I’d been lucky to find the ad online the first day I’d started looking. Staying with my parents any longer would have turned me into a serial killer. Plus, being in the heart of Seattle saved me a forty-minute drive to and from work.
“So why are men bad?” I asked, curious as to what she’d say.
“Men are men, a little Neanderthal around the edges, messy almost always, and they have no capacity to understand even the simplest concept regarding romance.”
“Then why do we crush on them?” And yes, even I could admit there was something even hotter about a group of hockey players. All lined up in a row, they appeared like Greek gods, warriors eager for a battle.
“Because they provide the perfect delicious and highly sinful treat for our bad girl fantasies.”
I cocked my head, now able to give her a little ribbing. “You mean for your highly smutty, sometimes dark stories.”
Her shrug was almost noncommittal, but the spark in her eyes, the electric energy she brought with her everywhere she went was what had drawn me to her as a roommate, now as a friend.
In her day job, she was a copy editor making peanuts for a highbrow newspaper in Seattle.
But at night, she became the Smut Queen.
A phrase we’d adopted the night after we’d moved in and after we’d cracked open the second bottle of wine. Plus, being asked to read a page of the romance book she was writing had dropped us both into a fit of giggles.
Almost like what we were doing now.
“What is wrong with writing about the type of men all women fantasize about?” She sipped her wine, staring at me. Her question was legitimate.
“Nothing. At least not really.”
“Uh-huh. Why the long face?”
I could only imagine what my father would say if I dated a hockey player. He’d have a fit. Come to think of it, I might enjoy watching him squirm.