2. Berkley
Always Leave 'Em Wanting More
“Someone remind me why I wanted to become a lawyer!” I yelled.
I didn’t have an exact audience in mind, but I knew one of my roommates would respond.
Right on cue, Amelia shouted back from downstairs, “Because you’re an overachiever, and you’re too smart to do anything else!”
“I am not an overachiever,” I groused as I once again settled my fingers on my laptop keyboard.
“Yes you are!” Kimber hollered from down the hall. “Predictable, too.”
“I hate you both! I’m glad I’m moving out!”
“Rude!” they yelled in unison.
I chuckled as I returned my attention to my desk, desperately trying to clear the cobwebs where my inspiration for writing normally lived. I had a paper due the next day for my professional responsibility course that wasn’t going to write itself. Unfortunately, I was running out of time, and my motivation was sorely lacking.
Canned laughter from whatever ensemble comedy show Amelia watched floated up the stairs, her real laughter drifting with it, and that certainly wasn’t helping matters.
I grumbled as I got up to shut the door. Truthfully, even on nights like this when they ribbed me and made getting any work done difficult, I would miss them both when I left next week. I was only moving across the city, so it’s not like we’d never see each other again, but they’d been my roommates for six years. Going from the constant chaos to peace and quiet would be an adjustment—but I was more than a little excited about it.
Even the closed door didn’t dim the background noise enough for me to focus, so I rifled through my backpack until my fingers closed around my AirPods case. I put them in and a few quick taps had my favorite playlist filtering into my brain, blocking out everything but the computer in front of me. Over the sounds of OneRepublic singing about chasing stars, a tiny ping alerted me to a notification from one of my social media profiles. Without checking it, I put my phone on do not disturb, tossed it onto my bed across the room, and got to work.
By ten, nearly three hours later, my paper was finally complete. After giving it one last read through, I submitted it to my professor through her online homework platform and leaned back to stretch.
Each shift of my spine had the joints in my neck, back, and shoulders popping deliciously, and from five feet to my right, my bed beckoned, inviting me into its soft and fluffy embrace. Since I didn’t have any classes tomorrow, it was the perfect opportunity to catch up on some much needed rest.
With a final wistful glance and a resigned sigh, I rose and headed out of my room.
Halfway down the stairs, I was greeted by the unmistakable music of the Warriors’ pregame show.
“I texted you like five times,” Amelia said when I reached the living room. “I thought you were going to work right through the game.”
I laughed as I padded past her and into the kitchen. “Me, miss a Warriors’ game? Never,” I shouted back to her as I surveyed the pantry, then the fridge, weighing the merits of having a beer or a piping hot mug of cocoa.
Ultimately the cocoa won out, and I returned to the living room with the steaming mug, the heated ceramic warming my chilled fingers.
“Where’s Kimber?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “She went upstairs.”
I chuckled knowingly. Kimber had been born and raised in southern California. At eighteen, she’d picked up her entire life and moved to Michigan for college and had adapted easily to the Midwest lifestyle. Still, whenever the Warriors played West Coast teams, she disappeared, not wanting to confuse her loyalties.
I dropped into my favorite recliner and cuddled up with my favorite blanket—a Michigan State tie blanket my mom had given to me for Christmas my senior year of high school, right after I’d been accepted. It was early October, but the apartment was cool despite having the heat turned up to seventy. We blamed the drafty windows in this old townhouse, but our landlord refused to do anything about them despite our many complaints.
Giving into a shiver, I tucked my feet under me and sipped my cocoa.
“Can you believe this is your last game with us as your roommates?” Amelia asked with a frown.
I groaned. “Let’s not talk about it. I don’t want to be sad right now.”
“You don’t want to be sad?” Amelia said. “You’re the one leaving us. You’re lucky we can afford rent without you, or we’d be really mad.”
“You could always get another roommate.”
“Absolutely not,” Amelia said quickly. “It wouldn’t be the same, and you know it.”
I winced, because Amelia had a point.
As I mentioned before, I’d lived with these girls for over six years. My freshman year of college, I walked into my dorm room and was greeted by a tall, lithe brunette. Instantly, I’d known that the few seconds Lexie Monroe had looked me up and down would make or break our friendship, would decide if I had a friend or a foe going forward.
“My God, you’re tiny.”
“Don’t worry,” I said flippantly, tossing my bag onto the unoccupied bed. “I make up for it with my personality.”
My new roommate barked out a surprised laugh and extended a hand. “Lexie Monroe.”
“Berkley Daniels,” I said, accepting her handshake.
“I think we’re going to be good friends, Berkley Daniels.”
The rest was history. Amelia and Kimber had lived across the hall from us, and once we’d crossed paths that first day, we were rarely separated. We’d spend our nights in study sessions or convincing some upperclassman—Lexie usually handled that—to buy us bottles of tequila that we’d pass around and share stories from our childhoods. That first year had been a blur of late nights laughing, hangovers, boys, and forming friendships with the best girls I’d ever known. Once freshman year was over and we were allowed to move off campus, we got a house together and lived there for the next three years.
I don’t know what I would’ve done if they hadn’t all decided to follow me to Detroit. I’d been accepted to a few law schools—Michigan State included—but I’d wanted a change of scenery. Since she was gone so much for work, Lexie had gotten her own place, telling us she hadn’t wanted to be a burden with her odd hours. Really, I think she was just ready to get rid of us, and I didn’t fault her for it.
I had reached that point, too, which is why, unbeknownst to Kimber and Amelia, I’d secretly started searching for my own apartment at the start of summer. After months and months of looking with a realtor, the perfect place became available a few weeks ago. I’d told the girls the day before I signed the lease, and next week, I was moving out at last.
I would miss Kimber and Amelia, of course, but I turned twenty-five next month, and it just seemed like time to have my own space.
Shaking my head, I pulled myself from those thoughts, focusing on the TV, where the announcers discussed how the Warriors had finished the previous season and what they expected from the team in the new one.
“The Warriors made several important off-season moves, including signing playoff call-ups Hank Ratelle and Tommy Grey to contract extensions, as well as picking up some great players on the free-agent market,” one announcer said. “But the return of some key offensive players such as Brent Jean and Cole Reid will make all the difference. And of course, Mitch Frambough and Chase Olsson will once again be leading the defense.”
“They’re talking about your boy,” Amelia said, smirking.
I pulled the pillow from behind my back and chucked it at her. Amelia ducked, narrowly avoiding spilling her glass of red wine all over the beige couch.
“Remember how you drunkenly told him he was even hotter in person?” Amelia snickered.
I groaned at the thought. “God, don’t remind me. I shouldn’t be allowed out in public when I drink.”
“Personally, I think it’s great. It was about time you manned up and made your move. I’m only sad I wasn’t there to witness it myself.”
“Clearly, I didn’t make a lasting impression,” I reminded her. “He didn’t even ask for my name or number or anything.”
I wondered why that was, turning the interaction over and over in my mind exactly as I had so many times over the course of the last five days. Despite the indeterminate amount of tequila Lexie and I had consumed, I hadn’t forgotten a word we’d exchanged.
Brent Jean had definitely been flirting with me.
“Maybe he’s shy,” Amelia offered.
“Please,” I snorted. “With that face? And body? And fame? He has nothing to be shy about.” I sighed, then added, “It’s probably better this way anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m me”—I gestured to myself, to the oversized hoodie I’d stolen from my older brother ages ago, the ratty sweatpants I’d had since middle school, the messy bun I’d tossed my day three hair into—“and he’s him.” I pointed at the TV, where Brent’s face overtook the screen as the in-arena announcer went through starting lineups.
“That’s a terrible attitude,” Amelia said. “And so unlike you.”
I shrugged. “I’m being realistic. And you know I’m right.”
Bars—and alcohol—tended to level the playing field, and that night, I’d been emboldened to approach him, reaching his side before I’d fully formed a plan. I blurted the first thing that came to my head when confronted with Brent Jean, up close and personal. I wasn’t going to get any grand ideas that Brent and I had a thing now simply because of one shared flirty conversation at The Backdoor. He surely had those kinds of conversations with women all the time. I wasn’t special.
Amelia opened her mouth to retort, but the puck dropped, and all conversation ceased.
About halfway through the first period, Brent scored when he found an opening while the Eagles were on a line change. I was instantly out of my seat, screaming and shouting, celebrating right alongside Brent and his teammates. Even before the interaction at the bar, he’d been my favorite player since college.
I could help grinning at the memory of him stepping into my personal space at The Backdoor, exactly as I’d imagined he would a thousand times before. The way he’d enveloped me in his crisp, clean scent. The way he’d told me he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off me.
Damn. The entire thing felt surreal now. I couldn’t be wrong in thinking there’d been something between us, could I? You couldn’t manufacture that kind of chemistry, and I swear, the air between us had sizzled, even if we’d only spoken for less than five minutes.
Brent went on to score two more goals in the game, earning him his first professional hat trick and leading the Warriors to a 5-1 win.
With an extra pep in my step, I bid Amelia good night and bounded upstairs to get ready for bed. Extensive skincare and oral hygiene routines complete, I returned to my room and picked up my phone for the first time in hours.
I had a decent social media following, particularly on Instagram, but I was still shocked by the number of notifications I’d received over the last several hours.
Clicking into the app, I quickly realized it was because my favorite online boutique had shared my post from earlier that day, where I was dressed head to toe in their clothing and posed in front of the glass and chrome building of Wayne State’s law school.
I scrolled through my notifications tab, noting all the new followers and responding to comments. I was just about to close out when a particular notification caught my eye, a follow from someone who I already followed.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed, fingers instantly shaking so hard I dropped my phone to the floor. Bending, I scooped it up and sprinted down the hall to Amelia’s room.
“Ames,” I said, too out of breath for having sprinted about ten feet. I really needed to start running again. “I need you to look at this and tell me I’m not imagining things.”
Amelia grabbed my phone and took a moment to study the screen. “It says Brent Jean followed you,” she said, giving me a confused look. I waited a beat and watched as understanding dawned, her mouth dropping open. “OH MY GOD IT SAYS brENT JEAN FOLLOWED YOU!”
Before long, we were jumping up and down, holding hands and screaming like we were at a Taylor Swift concert. Drawn by the ruckus, Kimber stomped into the room.
“What the hell are you two screaming about?” she asked, hands planted on her hips. The look she gave us said my roommates are children.
“Brent Jean followed Berkley on Instagram!” Amelia told her.
Kimber looked at me. “Really?” I nodded in confirmation, holding my phone out to let her see for herself. Kimber’s mouth formed a tiny “O” of surprise.
“You should message him!” Amelia said excitedly.
I mulled the idea over for about two seconds before deciding to go for it. Given that I’d been slightly obsessed with him for years—since I was an innocent freshman at Michigan State, and he was a sexy fifth year senior who had all the girls lusting after him—and he’d just had a career night, it’d be dumb to waste the opportunity. Not to mention, we’d spoken at the bar, and he followed me. At least he knew who I was.
“I think I will,” I told my roommates, already opening a message thread with Brent. My fingers quaked as my thumbs hovered over the screen.
“What are you going to say?” Kimber asked.
“Hey,” I read aloud as I typed. “Congratulations on your hatty tonight!”
“Perfect,” Amelia said. “Short, sweet, and to the point.”
I took a deep breath and pressed send, my stomach flipping in anticipation.
Though my eyes were barely open, I was already reaching for my phone when I awoke the next morning. It was shortly after seven, and I really could’ve used a few more hours of sleep, but I came fully awake when I found a notification from Brent.
@Brent22Jean: Hey, thank you! I might have been showing off a bit ??
@BerkDaniels: Oh really? For who?
I don’t know who the hell I thought I was, being so bold and flirty with him. With my long blonde hair a wild tangle around my head, my eyes bleary, and pillow creases on my cheeks, I was a far cry from the girl he’d met at the bar.
Then again, if ever there was a moment to shoot my shot, this was it. It wasn’t every day the hottest guy in the NHL was in your DMs.
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I got up and headed downstairs. When I walked into the kitchen for coffee and breakfast, Kimber was already at the long counter, a heaping bowl of Lucky Charms in front of her. I dropped my phone at the place beside her before moving toward the coffee pot.
“Morning, sunshine,” Kimber said.
Humming noncommittally, I prepared my coffee, then sat, scrolling Instagram as I sipped, silently willing a response from Brent to pop up.
Amelia joined us a few minutes later and wasted no time interrogating me.
“So, did Brent ever message you back?”
Smiling into my cup, I said, “As a matter of fact, he did.”
“Oh. My. God,” Amelia squeaked, dropping onto the stool on my other side. “What did he say?”
“Just thanked me and told me he might’ve been showing off a bit. It seemed kind of flirty,” I said as I opened the message and showed my friends. “Am I crazy?”
“Definitely not,” Kimber said. “That winky face is pretty suggestive.”
“How’d you respond?” Amelia asked.
“I asked who he was showing off for.”
My phone dinged with a notification, and three sets of eyes flew to it.
New message from @Brent22Jean
“Oh my God,” Kimber said, eyes wide. “Open it, open it!”
I did as I was told, leaning back in my chair and bringing my phone close to my face, not wanting Kimber and Amelia to read Brent’s words before me.
@Brent22Jean: There’s this blonde girl who ran away from me at the bar last week. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
“Holy shit,” Kimber and Amelia breathed in unison.
@BerkDaniels: You can’t possibly be talking about me.
“Berkley!” Amelia shouted, slapping my hand. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m right?” I said, though I wasn’t entirely convinced I was. “He’s Brent Jean, Ames. What could he possibly want with me?”
“Why don’t you play along and find out instead of outright dismissing the idea?” Kimber said from my other side, shooting me a glare when I met her eyes.
Before I could launch a counter argument, my phone pinged again.
@Brent22Jean: I don’t know how I could be talking about anyone else.
“Damn, he’s smooth,” Amelia said.
“Lots of practice,” I quipped.
@BerkDaniels: So why didn’t you ask for my name or number at the bar the other night?
@Brent22Jean: You ran away before I could.
@BerkDaniels: Psh, I didn’t run away. My friend wanted to leave.
@Brent22Jean: A likely excuse.
@Brent22Jean: We should get a drink sometime. I’ll make it up to you ??
I snorted. “He can’t be serious.”
I could feel Amelia’s gaze on the side of my face like a brand against my cheekbone before she ever spoke. “If he wasn’t serious, then why bother talking to you?”
I met her eyes then, and Amelia gave me a look that said, don’t be stupid.
“Boredom,” I answered with a shrug, affecting a nonchalance I didn’t feel.
Unfortunately, these two women knew me too well.
“Stop selling yourself short,” Kimber said. “Why are you acting like this? It’s not cute.”
“No,” I said, ignoring her question. “What’s not cute is falling for this guy’s games.”
“You don’t know they’re games, Berk. Why don’t you hear him out? What’s the worst that could happen?”
It would be so easy to give in, to do as my friends asked. Any normal woman would.
“I couldn’t even keep a loser like Lee interested,” I said quietly. “What do I possibly have to offer a guy like Brent?”
I dropped my head into my hands, and a warm touch pressed between my shoulder blades, grounding me, telling me my friends were there, by my side, even when I was acting insane.
Which, at the moment, I undoubtedly was.
“Listen to me very carefully, Berkley Daniels, because I’m only going to say this once,” Amelia started. “You are loyal, beautiful, ridiculously smart and talented, and a whole slew of other things that I don’t have all the time in the world to list. You have everything to offer a man like Brent.”
Unable to keep the tears at bay, I sniffed a bit, and Amelia’s hand rubbed circles on my back. When I finally spoke again, my words wobbled. “I just don’t even know if I want to date right now.”
Law school didn’t allow for a lot of free time, and what little I had, I spent trying to decompress. My dating life had taken a backseat to my education, but for good reason. I believed my career would fulfill me in a way a man couldn’t; it certainly would stick around longer.
What could I say? I’d been burned too many times not to feel a little jaded where the opposite sex was concerned.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Kimber said. “He’s not asking you to get married, Berk. It’s just a drink.”
“But drinks could lead to more,” I protested.
“I have an idea,” Amelia said suddenly. “Give me your phone.”
Apprehensively, I handed it over and watched Amelia type out a message.
@BerkDaniels: I’ll let you know. Good luck on the road this weekend!
I gnawed on my lip, fighting the urge to unsend the message. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You basically just blew him off.”
Amelia nodded. “Always leave ‘em wanting more.”
“You, my dear,” I said, taking my phone back and rising from my seat, “have been spending way too much time with Lexie. Besides, he’s not just any man. He’s Brent Jean.”
Amelia pursed her lips. “Still a man. Just one who happens to have a pretty face and be really good at hockey.”
“Plus, you should be happy,” Kimber said. “Since you’re not even sure you want to hang out with him.”
Rude, but not entirely wrong. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to hang out with him. It was that I was terrified what would happen if I did.
She exited the room before I could, and Kimber followed her out. I stood in the space between the kitchen and living room, staring at my phone.
I wasn’t convinced Amelia’s blasé attitude was the way to go, but it was too late to take it back now.