Chapter 12
HAILEE
My heart lurches the second I see Hayden’s name flash on my screen.
It’s the first time I’ve heard from him since he dropped me off on Sunday.
Honestly, I’m amazed. I really thought he was going to be in my messages much sooner, even if it was just to say thank you again.
Was I disappointed when I crawled into bed that night without hearing from him?
I’d be lying if I said no.
But it’s been five days. Seeing his name shouldn’t make me second-guess opening it.
What happened…that was last weekend. We’ve both moved on.
Right?
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, twisting my hair up into a bun and then letting it fall down again.
Nothing happened. There is nothing to move on from. Just a few hours to forget and put behind us.
But I can’t seem to do that.
Every day this week, I thought of him. Wondered how he’s getting on. Second-guessed if I should send him a message and check on him.
But then I remember the situation I got myself in last time, and I push the thought aside.
But I can’t ignore him now. Can I?
I know where he is. Or at least, where he was. Brooke helpfully sent me some of her footage, titling her thirst trap, “The Hottest Players in the NHL are Vipers.” And if I’m being honest with myself, she isn’t wrong.
The sight of the five of them splashing around in the ocean shirtless…yeah, that’s the thing of a lot of women’s fantasies.
Not mine, though. I work with them. I can’t be lured in by a topless hockey player with water running all over his toned and tanned skin. Especially one who’s almost ten years too young for me.
Goddamn it.
Before I know what I’m doing, I swipe the screen, and there before me appears Hayden’s message.
Monroe: Hey, how’s it going? We’re all hanging out at the beach if you fancy joining us.
I sink back in my seat.
He’s…inviting me to hang out with them.
I didn’t see that coming.
Placing my cell down on the table in front of me, I look around at my surroundings before my eyes are pulled back to his message.
It would be so easy to take him up on it. I’m not that far away.
But…
As much as I might be tempted, I can’t.
I’ve already blurred too many lines recently. I need to keep this one clear and vivid.
I don’t hang out with the players. I certainly don’t spend time with the one I accidentally woke up in bed with the other morning.
But what if you did? a little voice asks. Would it be so bad?
I’ve already agreed to spend tomorrow dress shopping with Bea. Maybe I should throw my entire rule book out the window for the rest of the off-season and also spend the night on the beach with the people who keep trying to include me in things.
But what happens when they get tired of me? When they discover I’m too boring to hang out with them? When they replace me with someone else?
No. It’s better to stick with my MO: do not mix work with pleasure.
Ha. Pleasure. As if I have any of that to mix with anything.
As I’m trying to figure out what to reply, my dinner arrives.
I stare at the lobster I’ve been thinking about treating myself to all day, and suddenly, I don’t feel all that hungry.
This restaurant is my treat. I come here after hard weeks and indulge in some of my favorite foods.
And while this week hasn’t exactly been hard, in the grand scheme of things, I'm drained. And I know I only have one person to blame for that.
Forcing myself to ignore his message for now, I pick up the lobster crackers and set to work. I may no longer fancy it as I did earlier, but there’s no way I’m letting this baby go to waste.
When the server clears my plate a while later, I’m still thinking about that message, and I’m achingly aware that I need to respond.
There’s a good chance he’s already seen that I’ve read it, and the last thing I want is him thinking I don’t care.
It’s probably what I should do, but after what he’s been through, I can’t.
Hailee: Hey, I’m good, thank you. How are you? Thanks for the invite, but I’m busy tonight. Got a date with a lobster.
I almost delete it and start again, but then I remember that I have no reason to overthink it, and I hit send.
I stare at the screen, expecting it to be seen immediately, as if he’s waiting for me, and a little disappointment trickles through me when it’s not.
A self-deprecating laugh tumbles from my lips. Why would he be waiting for my message? He’s hanging out with his friends.
After finishing my wine and paying for my meal, I put my cell into my purse and walk out of the restaurant with the intention of turning left and heading home. But my legs don’t comply with my brain, because I quickly find myself turning right and moving closer to the beach.
They’re farther down, I could tell that from the video from Brooke, but the second I see them in the distance, I stop for fear of being caught.
They’re all sitting around with boxes of pizza surrounding them, booming laughter spilling into the evening air.
Watching them reminds me of the sitcoms I used to watch as a kid. The ones that made me believe that one day, I’d find myself in the middle of the most incredible group of friends who would choose me day in, day out, and always have my back.
It was nothing but bullshit. Or at least, it was for me.
I never found that as a kid, and now that I’ve hit thirty, I certainly don’t expect to.
I stand there watching them for the longest time as the sun sets into the horizon, turning the sky a beautiful orange.
When they look like they might be packing up to leave, I spin on my heels and race away. Being caught watching them from a distance and not even attempting to join them would be mortifying.
Hitching my purse higher on my shoulder, I embark on my walk home, hoping the peace and fresh air will bring me some clarity.
But as I let myself into my building, I discover it hasn’t done all that much. All I can think about is whether there’s a reply waiting for me.
Refusing to look, I abandon my purse and distract myself by cleaning my kitchen. It doesn't need it—I have a cleaner come in every week to take care of everything I’m always too busy or too tired to do—but sometimes, I have to pull on my rubber gloves, grab the bleach, and just go for it.
I scrub every surface within an inch of its life before embarking on my bathroom. By the time I’m done, everything is sparkling, and I’ve got sweat beading my brow.
I slump back against the bathtub, drop my arms to my sides, and take a breath.
Everything is going to be fine.
Training camp will start, then the season will begin, and life will return to normal, where I’m focused on my job, keeping the boys out of too much trouble, and not constantly thinking about a certain rookie.
With a groan, I gather up all my supplies and put them back under the kitchen sink before returning to my bedroom.
The packed suitcase I’ve abandoned in the corner taunts me.
“Fine,” I huff, marching toward it.
I need to start getting everything together for my first trip with the team anyway.
I lift it onto the end of my bed, undo the zipper, and flip the lid open.
“What?” I blurt, staring down at a suitcase full of men’s clothes.
No, not just men’s clothes.
Hayden’s clothes.
His scent hits me, and I take a step back as memories from that night slam into me.
My chest heaves as I stand there staring as if it’ll all magically disappear, my own things replacing it before my very eyes.
But unsurprisingly, that doesn’t happen.
With the suitcase still open on my bed, I march through my apartment to where I left my purse and pull my cell out.
Hayden: A date with a lobster, kinky
I shake my head, unable to stop the smile that emerges. I tap out a message and send it without giving myself a chance to question it.
Hailee: We have a problem…
This time, he reads it immediately and starts typing.
My heart jumps into my throat as I wait.
Hayden: I thought that when I woke up alone this morning. What’s a guy to do?
“Shit,” I hiss, abandoning my cell on the kitchen counter in favor of pouring myself a glass of wine.
I startle when my cell vibrates on the counter, and I lift my glass and swallow a huge mouthful.
Why did I message him?
I could have just taken the suitcase to the arena, and we could have exchanged them there. I clearly don’t need anything inside mine, or I would have noticed before now that I walked off with the wrong one. And I guess the same can be said for him.
I walk back over and glance at the screen.
Hayden: I’m sorry, that was out of line. What’s the problem? Anything I can help with?
I swallow another mouthful of wine before picking my cell up and sending another message.
Hailee: I think I have your suitcase.
Hayden: You think?
A laugh erupts.
Hailee: I have your suitcase.
Hayden: I guess that means I must have yours
I stare at that winky face, suspicion flowing through me.
He was the one to point out that we had the same suitcase. He was also the one who took mine from me and put both of them in the trunk, and then took them out again.
He knew.
Hailee: I was planning on working from home over the weekend, but I can bring it to the arena on Monday. I don’t need mine, so just bring it when you can.
Hayden: Okay.
I nod, happy with that short and sweet answer.
Leaving my cell behind, I take my wine, swipe my book from my coffee table, and return to the bathroom, where I run a bath and sink into the bubbles, ready to finish my week off properly.
But as much as I try to relax, I can’t.
Despite the scalding-hot water, I’m tense. And as much as I might want to lose myself in my book, I keep reading and rereading the same couple of sentences.
My mind keeps drifting to Hayden and his sneaky little suitcase trick.
Okay, I might have jumped to conclusions. It might have been an accident. He wasn’t in a good place; it would have been easy to forget which side of the truck each case was on.
But despite that, I still don’t believe it.
He did it on purpose. I’d put money on it.
And the question is, what’s he going to do about it?