Chapter 8
Ivy
In the tunnel, I replay the last few things The Viking said. I thought we were discussing skating, but then it seemed like he was flirting.
Is he the Henley guy from earlier? The hopeful guy? A Henley’s a broad qualifier though.
The bigger concern about Stefan is, oh, you know, he has a freaking fiancée. My jaw ticks with irritation. Is this how Xander romanced Simone? Did he flirt with her while he was dating me?
“Are you still enjoying Pacific Heights?” he asks as we near the ice. “We were talking about a new Turkish café on Fillmore that you wanted to try when we last spoke.”
You were with another woman when we last talked.
But I bite back the words. I can’t be pissy with the team captain. That’s not a good look for the new mascot. “The café is great,” I say, with false cheer. I mean, the café is great. “And how’s everything with you?”
Maybe that will remind him he’s involved.
But his smile is pure flirtation. “I can’t complain about a thing. How’s your dog? Is she liking the neighborhood as well?”
That feels flirty too. He says it like we’re on a date. Like he’s checked out my personal social and all my pics with Roxy. What’s his deal?
“She’s a big fan.” It comes out cold, and that’s no good either. I try to let go of my annoyance at, well, men. “She’s practically the neighborhood mascot.”
When his crystal blue eyes meet mine, they glimmer. “A mascot and a mascot. I like that very much,” he says, full of charm but also something subtler. A late-night charm. A late-night gaze too.
Maybe he’s just being friendly. As the team captain, he’s the face of the team, does a ton of press interviews.
It makes sense he’d want to chat with the mascot since I have to work the promo angle hard.
I fasten on a professional smile. “Thanks again for the mascot protection services. They were much appreciated.”
“Anytime. I’d be happy to help,” he says. “Speaking of, would you—”
A deep, Barry White-esque voice calls from the rink. “Oh good, you’re here.”
I snap my gaze to a lithe man in a purple turtleneck and leggings who’s skating to me at the edge of the rink. “I’m Moses, head of the Ice Crew. You must be Ivy. There are skates for you on the bench. Lace up and come join us.”
“I’d love to,” I say, then I turn back to Stefan, ready to put my uncertainty and frustration behind me. I can’t make enemies. I need this job. When he hands me the costume, I take it with a smile. “Thanks for walking with me.”
“I’m here for all your needs,” he says in a smooth, sexy voice that has me questioning everything.
Especially since he’s already walking away in that damn Henley.
* * *
At home that night, I try out a baked feta pasta recipe that Aubrey sent me and try to make sense of this afternoon at the rink.
Going from Hayes to Stefan felt a little like whiplash.
One guy was all I want you but can’t have you, and the other was pure charm.
As I set the dish in the oven, Roxy stares forlornly up at me, attempting to use cuteness to sway me to enlist her as a taste tester.
“You can’t do that to me. I have no willpower when it comes to your face,” I say, then tell her to “strike a pose.”
She turns to the side, giving me her best three-quarter profile. “There. Now I’m not spoiling you,” I say, then give her a tiny piece of cheese. “This is just compensation for the user experience you provide.”
She wolfs down the treat, then as the dish bakes, I retreat to the couch with my phone. Roxy follows me, wagging her tail hopefully. I peel off my sock and toss it her way.
Excitement flashes in her doggie eyes, and she grabs it from the floor, then scampers to the bedroom to drop it in her sock collection.
She trots back, sockless, and I scoop her up so she doesn’t jump and miss the couch.
Her little legs aren’t as strong as they were.
She curls up next to me with a sigh that suggests she had a long, long day and is so relieved to finally relax.
Well, being a spoiled Chihuahua-Beagle is hard.
Jackson’s out with some friends, but instead of catching up on my book club reading, I turn to my texts, sending a quick note to check in with my sister Katie. She tells me she’s learning so much, and loving every day, so I bring up my group chat with Trina and Aubrey. I need some girlfriend time.
Ivy: I was today years old when I discovered I now work with the guy I secretly saw naked last night.
My phone lights up seconds later.
Trina: I’d like the dick details, please.
After I give the rooftop striptease debrief, Trina replies.
Trina: Well, that’s a lot to unpack.
Ivy: Yes, it was a lot.
Trina: And did you say that when you saw him at work?
Aubrey: Or did you add a personal touch? Like, That’s a real nice cock. Can you smack me in the eye with it tonight?
Cracking up, I dictate a reply.
Ivy: I didn’t hit on his dick at work. Or him.
Aubrey: Try harder next time, please!
Trina: Also, which player was it??? I need to know.
Trina knows pretty much all the hockey players on both the city’s teams. She’s not only involved with my brother; she’s with Jackson’s brother, Chase too.
More than a year ago, they fell in love with her, and she fell for both of them.
They all quickly moved into Chase’s place, and I moved into Ryker’s here in this building—at a bargain basement price.
All I needed to do was give my brother a kick in his pants and tell him to go after his unconventional arrangement.
Their throupling has garnered a lot of attention amongst hockey fans and romance lovers alike.
It’s unconventional, but it works great for the happy threesome.
They’re living their life out in the open, and it’s seriously refreshing to see—and refreshing how far the media and the sports world have come in their acceptance of them.
At events, photographers post pics of Trina and her two NHL superstar boyfriends, tagging and captioning the pics just the same as they would any other player and a significant other. As it should be.
The three of them have also become passionate advocates for rescue dogs, and they work together to raise money for several shelters.
No doubt some people shake their heads behind closed doors at their arrangement, but that’s people for you.
For the most part, the boys have paved the path by living in the public eye with Trina as their girlfriend.
Ivy: Hayes. The new guy.
Trina: Oh, I thought you were going to say Stefan, since he owns the penthouse in your building!
Huh. But that makes sense. I’ve seen him around from a distance a few times.
Ivy: Is there nothing you don’t know?
Trina: When you go to hockey events for two teams, you learn all the details. Also, Hayes is hot, but so is Stefan…and did you hear the news about him?
Ivy: Tell me.
While I wait for her reply, I spot an envelope icon winking at me. Maybe it’s a response from one of the editors I queried about fashion writing. Or maybe a designer with a marketing opening.
Instead, it’s a notification that I have new comments on my post about today’s fashion rules. Well, that’s good too.
The first is from a user I don’t know, saying This is why I shower before I leave the house.
I laugh, then reply before I open the next one, which is from my grandmother.
Her handle is CardShark, and she writes: Same rules apply in the place where I live too.
What if I run into the cute widower who can still drive at night?
A lady can’t shuffle around in her jam-jams. Linen is my friend, as my granddaughter taught me.
I smile, grateful for her support. The next one is from the hopeful guy. Intrigued, I click on it.
Number18: The timing wasn’t right. But I’ll try again.
YourScrappyLittleFashionistaFriend: Timing is everything.
Number18: Timing is the only thing.
YourScrappyLittleFashionistaFriend: Truth.
Number18: But I love a good challenge. And I’m up for one.
Well, someone is definitely confident. And while the last thing I need in my life is an online flirtation with a stranger, I write back anyway.
YourScrappyLittleFashionistaFriend: And you know how to dress for one. In a dark green Henley.
Wait. Shit. Did I just post that? Stupid subconscious. I meant Henley of an unspecified color. I edit my faux pas quickly, then close out of the comments. No more flirting with anyone.
Speaking of flirts, I decide to follow up on the Stefan situation. I need to know if I should secretly loathe his philandering ass or not.
I look him up, poking around on his social, checking out his recent pics.
There are some moody city shots of San Francisco.
Some others of Copenhagen. He’s in one of those pics, a shot of him at a river, Scandinavian buildings in the backdrop, and Stefan, with his typical Nordic complexion, fitting in perfectly.
I jump to Annika’s social.
Oh. Ohhh.
They’re no longer following each other. She no longer lives here, having returned to Copenhagen. And she’s no longer wearing that gorgeous rock on her ring finger.
Then, I go back to Stefan’s bio and team photo, and I gasp.
Holy shit.
How did I miss it?
He’s Number Eighteen on the team. Did he wear that Henley…for me? Am I the certain someone he’s been hopeful about?
I fly back to the group chat in time to read Trina’s newest note.
Trina: His fiancée broke it off last season.