Chapter 21 Freya
FREYA
Alow moan rumbles past my lips as I sink into the huge tub in Cole’s guest bathroom.
It’s incredible.
If I knew this was hiding back here, I might have tried to get myself an invite to stay sooner.
The hot water covers my body until I’m completely submerged up to my neck. It’s bliss.
Cole headed to the airport after breakfast this morning, leaving me in his apartment alone. Of course, it’s not the first time I’ve been here without him, but it feels…different. Tonight, I’m not just working here; I’m also staying here.
In Cole Hansley’s home.
Butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach as the sweet vanilla of the bubble bath I found in the cupboard fills my nose.
I sink as low as I possibly can and close my eyes.
I needed this.
The guys have a game tonight, and Casey and I are heading to a bar that will be playing it to start our night before continuing on to whatever club Casey has chosen.
Honestly, I’d quite happily watch the game here, from the comfort of Cole’s couch and huge TV screen, but I already know I don’t stand a chance. Casey has it set in her head that we’re going out dancing and drinking, and that’s what’ll be happening.
I’m sure it’ll be fun. I just…it’s been a long time since I did all that. I was a different person back then. A fun person with fewer worries.
Refusing to convince myself that I’m no longer cool enough to go out with a friend and have a somewhat wild night, I reach for the glass of wine I poured myself and take a sip.
Cole gave me free rein to eat, drink, and use everything in his apartment.
But while I believe him, I still went to the store for my own bottle.
I may have made use of his drinks’ fridge to chill it, but I wasn’t touching a single bottle in there that I hadn’t purchased.
I don’t know all that much about wine, but some of them looked fancy and expensive, and I’d never forgive myself if I unknowingly drank a bottle worth hundreds of dollars and didn’t savor every drop.
The cool, fruity liquid slips down my throat a little too easily, and I eagerly take another sip. I haven’t eaten yet, so I take it slow, but I’d be lying if I said the wine didn’t give me a little liquid courage.
By the time I step out of the bath, I’ve got a little buzz on, and some of my nerves over tonight have switched to excitement.
Grabbing my cell from the bathroom counter, I carry it through to my bedroom and switch my relaxing playlist to a party one I used to listen to when I was working in Vegas.
The second the beat of the first Flo Rider song hits my ears, nostalgia flows through me.
Flipping my camera around, I take a quick selfie and send it to Summer along with a screenshot of our playlist.
Freya: Reliving the old days.
With a towel wrapped around my body, I shimmy my ass toward the vanity to start getting ready. My bottle of wine sits there waiting, and I eagerly refill my glass.
Confident that I’m alone, I belt out each song at the top of my lungs as I blow-dry and curl my hair, and then I set about applying my makeup. Tonight, I want to embrace the old Freya, so I apply it like I used to.
Once I’m done, I sit back and just stare at myself. Recently, I’ve been feeling flickers of the old me coming through. But right now, I feel her more than ever.
My red lips twitch at the corners, and something twinkles in my eyes.
I think it might be happiness, but I’m terrified that if I identify it, I might scare it off.
With my confidence growing about tonight, I walk toward the three dresses that hang on the closet doors.
I have the safe option that looks more like a dress for afternoon tea than clubbing.
I was eighty percent sure that would be the one I’d end up wearing when I packed a bag for tonight.
There’s the slightly sexy dress that makes my heart beat a little faster at the thought of showing that much skin.
And then there is the dress I pulled out of the back of my closet that I haven’t worn since Vegas.
The reason I pulled it out…it’s Vipers’ green.
It’s short and fitted, low cut, and practically gives me palpitations. But it used to be my favorite, and everyone used to tell me how hot I looked in it. How the color suited me and was the perfect contrast to my strawberry blonde hair.
I stand there unsure.
Heartbroken and lost Freya wants the safe options.
But what does new Freya want? The version who has a job she loves, friends who support her, and a life she’s enjoying again?
My eyes are pulled toward the green dress as if they’re magnets drawn to the sparkles that cover it.
Can I?
With my heart in my throat, I rush for my cell.
Freya: What are you wearing?
I wait impatiently with my finger tapping on the side of my cell.
Casey reads the question fast, but she doesn’t respond straight away.
Still wearing only the towel, I lower my ass to the bed and open up another chat.
Freya: The bath in your guest room is INSANE. You may never get me to leave.
Assuming he’s busy getting ready for the game, I’m not expecting a response. I’m shocked when I immediately see the dots bouncing.
Cole: Can think of worse problems to have.
Cole: Are you all ready for your big night?
Freya: Kinda. Can’t decide what to wear. What about you? Are you ready to add another shutout game to your tally?
Cole: Love it when you talk dirty to me.
A girly giggle erupts the second his message appears on my screen.
Cole: Show me the dress options.
Freya: Don’t you have more important things to do than assist with my wardrobe crisis?
Cole: No.
I stare at my cell. At that single word.
He’s lying. He has to be. I glance at the time. The puck drop is less than two hours away. He can’t just be sitting around bored.
Aware that I’m possibly wasting his time, I hop to my feet and quickly video all three dresses hanging before me before sending it.
I chew on my lip as I wait for it to be read, my eyes locked on those little ticks. It’s not until they change color that I look up, and when I do, my heart drops into my feet.
I just filmed dresses hanging on mirrored doors while I’m standing in just a towel and sent it to my boss.
And he’s seen it.
Kill me.
Kill me now.
As I’m waiting for the ground to swallow me up, he begins typing.
Cole: Hands down, the green one.
“Of course,” I breathe.
Cole: You look beautiful, by the way.
“Oh my god.”
Cole: I’ve gotta go. I hope you have a good night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Freya: Thank you. Good luck. I’ll be watching and cheering you on x
I hit send and instantly regret the kiss.
For goodness’ sake, Freya. Why are you such an idiot with this guy?
You do not send your boss kisses at the end of messages.
To be fair, you also shouldn’t send videos that show you wearing nothing but a towel, but oh well, here we are.
I startle when my cell buzzes again, and I cringe, imagining what kind of response he might have to that.
But when I look, he hasn’t responded; he has read it, though.
It’s Casey with a photo of the dress she’s wearing tonight.
“Christ,” I mutter. It’s smaller than my green one.
Freya: Kodie will have an aneurysm when he sees you in that.
Casey: Why do you think I’m wearing it? He’ll only get to reap the benefits if they win, though.
Freya: They’ll win.
Casey: Oh, I like this confidence on you.
Casey: Wear the dress that scares you the most. It’ll be worth it. Promise.
I lower my cell and stare at the dress.
This could either be the best decision I’ve made, or the worst.
I guess only time will tell.
“Oh, you motherfucker,” Casey bellows as someone crosschecks Kodie and sends him flying into the boards.
“Oh god,” I whimper as Linc races over and gets in the D man’s face. “We need him on the ice, not in the freaking sin bin.”
We’re tied, and there are only five minutes left in the third period.
It’s the tightest game I’ve watched since working for Cole, and I don’t like it.
My heart is racing, I’m sweating, and I swear my entire body is trembling with adrenaline.
I’m not on the ice. I’m not even there. I’m in a sports bar in LA. There is nothing I can do to help, but every fiber of my being wants to do something.
Thankfully, Fletch drags Linc away before he starts throwing punches, and once Kodie is back on his feet, they take their positions for the face-off.
“Come on, baby. You’ve got this,” Casey cries.
But they don’t. Fletch doesn’t win the puck drop, and the Scorpions’ center quickly shoots to his left winger.
My eyes bounce between him and Cole, who is ready in goal.
He waves his arms up and down and wiggles his legs.
He’s got this.
The puck moves faster than I can follow. One second, they’re about to score, and then the winger is behind the goal, shooting around to the other side.
And then he goes for it.
I swear, my heart stops the second that bit of rubber leaves his stick.
It goes flying through the air, directly at Cole.
Come on. Come on. You’ve got this.
A cheer erupts around the bar the moment the puck lands in Cole’s glove.
“HE DID IT,” I scream. “HE DID IT.”
Casey glances over at me with a proud smile.
“Of course he did. He’s Cole fucking Hansley.”
I can’t help but laugh, though my attention is soon back on the screen as they get into position for what’s probably going to be the final face-off of regulation.
If we can’t find the back of the net, then this continues until someone does.
I’m not sure my nerves can take it.
Fletch wins it and takes off, faking a right to Linc but actually shooting left to Kodie.
The clock continues ticking down, but the guys remain cool as they move the puck toward the goal.
Unable to stop myself, I cross my fingers.
And then it happens.
“FUCK YES,” Casey screams as the rest of the bar erupts as Kodie finds the back of the net. “Oh, that man is getting so freaking lucky tonight.”
As the guys all pile on Kodie on screen, Casey turns and drains her drink.
“We need shots,” she declares.
“Uh…”
“You only live once, Freya. And we’re celebrating.”
Before I know it, a server appears with a tray containing four shots and two more cocktails.
Thank God for the food we consumed when we first got here.
“To our boys,” Casey says, lifting the first shot in the air.
I tap my glass to hers, and we simultaneously swallow them.
“Oh my god,” I complain as it burns down my throat. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a very long time. When I was in Vegas, shots were as commonplace as coffee.
“We’re gonna win the fucking league,” Casey continues with the second shot.
I follow her actions, my throat on fire as I do.
“Right, we’re gonna have these,” she says, pointing at the cocktails, “watch the post-game, and then we’re going dancing.
But first…” She pulls her cell from her bra and snuggles in close to take a selfie of the two of us.
Seconds later, it’s up on Instagram with a few others she’s already taken tonight.
At least it’ll give us something to remember the night by, should she continue ordering us shots.