2. Stevie
two
stevie
I NEVER THANKED Hunter last night.
It’s the very first thought I have the next morning.
I didn’t thank my rescuer. If anything, I was rather rude.
My second thought is that now I’m firmly in his debt.
My third thought is, I hope I never see Joe again as long as I live.
I snuggle deeper under my covers, wishing the assault never happened, but thankful someone was there to help me. I have to track Hunter down and thank him properly. He pretty much saved my life.
There is no greater debt you can owe someone.
I have one afternoon class today, but otherwise I’m free. Technically, I have a shift at the diner right after class, but, of course, I’m not ever going back there.
Allowing myself to wallow in my misery for another half hour, I listen to the sounds of Becca getting ready to leave. I kind of want to tell her what happened, but also…not. Wanting to forget is stronger than any other desire.
I wish I could just drive home and cry on my mom’s shoulder.
She lives in Hartford, and it’s about an hour and a half’s drive from here. But telling her what happened would only worry her. She’d probably insist I move back home, and I don’t want that. I can’t let what happened derail all my plans.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
Shake it off.
I will find Hunter Cruise and thank him, offer to repay him somehow.
I will look for a new job. A few weeks ago, Becca cast an abundance spell for me using a green candle and citrine and green aventurine crystals.
At the time I was trying to promote my fledgling jewelry business and looking for a side gig.
If there’s ever a perfect time for that spell to work, it’s now.
Getting out of bed at last, I take my time doing my skincare routine, then fixing my hair. Following both multi-step routines brings me a much-needed sense of control.
Then, I look up Hunter online.
His profile page on the university’s hockey team website shows his stats and his major (finance), along with a devastatingly handsome picture of him. He’s the captain of the team, a center. He’s 6’3”. Because of course he is.
As if I wasn’t intimidated enough.
The butterflies in my stomach whip into a frenzy.
I wonder how I might find him. Would it be insane to walk around his part of campus and hope to bump into him? Should I DM him on Instagram? Go to a hockey game with a homemade sign that says THANKS?
Then I remember Melanie. If anybody can track down one of the hockey gods, it’s got to be her. I shoot her a text.
Me
Meet me at The Roast today after class? I have to ask you something.
Melanie
Sure!
“What did you want to ask me?” she says when we meet up. “The suspense has been killing me.”
I bite down on my lip in the order line. Might as well get this over with. “You know that guy Hunter Cruise?”
Her eyes light up. “You mean the Ravens team captain and number one hockey god? The nightly star of my filthy dreams?”
I struggle to keep a neutral expression. She’s hilarious. “Yes. Him.”
Mel leans closer. “What about him? Oh my god, did he ask you out or something? I told you he was staring at you!”
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
“Um, I guess I just thought he was cute and –”
“Cute?” She cuts me off. “Stevie, he is more than just cute. He’s stunning. Breathtaking. A Greek god.”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh. “He’s gorgeous.”
“Damn right he is.”
“I just –”
“You want his number? You want to go out with him? You want to climb him like a tree?”
I roll my eyes playfully. “No. None of that. I just wanted to know more about him.”
“Yeah, wanna know more about him so you can climb him like a tree.”
Deciding I might as well play along and pretend I have a crush on Hunter (what red-blooded straight woman wouldn’t?), I smile and nod. “Okay, yes, I might have a little crush on him after last night.”
“Join the club, sister.”
It’s our turn to order. I get a vanilla latte for me and a caramel latte for Melanie. We sit down at an empty table by the window. “Do you, um, would you happen to know where Hunter hangs out?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Mel says. “If he’s not at the arena, which is most of the time, he’s at Finnegan’s with his teammates. Oh, and they usually party at Club Madness after a win.”
Finnegan’s is the most popular bar in town. I’ve never gone because 1) I don’t really drink, and 2) I’ve heard rumors that it gets extremely rowdy most nights. I prefer peace and quiet, and I’ve never been a partier.
Melanie eyes me with interest. I realize I’m staring at my drink, my lips pressed together, and I probably seem so weird to her right now.
She takes a sip of her drink and says, “Did you want to ask him out or something?”
“Oh god no.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve never asked out a guy. And he’s so intimidating.”
She nods. “He is, but, like, YOLO, right?”
“You only live once?”
“Yep.”
I shake my head. “I’m not interested in dating him.”
“It’s okay, you know,” she says. “Just because I’m into him doesn’t mean you can’t have a go. And if you end up dating him or become one of his fuck buddies, I’ll get to live vicariously through you.” She beams, looking more excited by the prospect than seems healthy.
“If you like him, why not just go after him yourself?”
Mel’s eyes widen in horror. “Are you nuts? I would melt into a puddle and forget every word in the English language if he ever looked at me. Those eyes, Stevie. They can see into your soul.”
A laugh bursts out of me.
“But you,” she reaches over and puts her hand on mine where it rests on the table. “You’re gorgeous and you’re honestly his type. He loves blondes. You can snare him.”
Her words send a frisson of excitement through me.
But they shouldn’t. I have almost zero experience with men, and Hunter exudes a type of effortless confidence that would give lesser mortals a profound inferiority complex.
All I want to do is thank him, anyway. That’s it.
I’m not trying to “snare” him. If I were to date someone, it would be a nerdy sort of guy, quiet and unassuming, someone who would never make me feel uncomfortable.
“I’m not trying to snare him, Mel.”
“Right. That’s why you had me meet you today to talk all about him.”
I sigh. She has a point. “I actually kind of owe him a thank you.”
Melanie leans forward, intrigued. “What? Why?”
I play with a lock of hair between my fingers, wondering how much I should tell Mel. And even though she never complained about Joe coming onto her or anything, she needs to know what he’s capable of.
“Last night when I was closing, Joe came onto me. Hunter happened to be there, and he scared Joe off.”
“What? Are you serious? What the hell does that creep want from you?”
Feeling a little guilty for giving her a very watered-down version of events, I shrug. “Who knows. He’s an asshole. Be on your guard around him.” Now that I’m gone, that prick might make Melanie a target.
Mel leans back in her seat, a contemplative look on her face. “That’s crazy that Hunter was there.”
“Yeah.” It’s true. It was crazy. Or very, very lucky.
“Well, don’t wait too long to thank him,” she says, a teasing smile on her lips.
I roll my eyes at the innuendo.
After we part ways, Melanie’s words won’t leave my mind.
How she said she would turn into a puddle of goo if she ever attempted to flirt with Hunter, or how she’d like to live vicariously through me if I were to date him.
Ha! As if. I could never date campus royalty like Hunter.
I can only imagine how many broken hearts he’s responsible for.
But that doesn’t really matter. I just have to thank him for saving me and be on my way.
I hurry home after class and wait for Becca. I’m itching to go to Finnegan’s, but I sure as hell am not going to do it alone.
Becca is from Los Angeles, and my complete opposite, but we get along great. She loves to dress up sexy, go to parties, and stay out all night. A typical extrovert. She’ll be the perfect wing woman tonight.
The moment she walks in the door, I pounce.
“Can you come with me to Finnegan’s tonight?”
Becca looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Excuse me?” She toes off her sneakers and puts on her house slippers, still looking at me like I’m insane. “Who are you and what have you done with Stevie?”
“Shut up. Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean I can’t go to a bar.”
She looks at me intently, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. “You know what, I’m not even gonna ask. This is such a rare occurrence, I’m just gonna go with it.”
I squeal. “Thank you! You’re the best.”
“Yes, I know. You’re going to need one of my fake IDs though.”
A couple hours later, we’re in my car, driving across town to Finnegan’s. I’m wearing jeans and a white tee, but Becca got a little more adventurous and put on a black crop top, dark jeans, and gold statement necklace. She looks sexy and confident. I just look boring.
My stomach is in knots as I drive to Finnegan’s. I’m nervous because I’m stepping completely out of my comfort zone. I’ve never been to a bar, let alone a popular college bar full of people. Becca’s fake ID is in my sweaty palm and I keep looking down at it.
“Bec, I don’t look anything like the girl in this picture.”
“You don’t have to look like her. You just need an ID that says you’re over 21. The bouncers don’t care.”
“How come?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. And I don’t care. As long as it gets us in.”
Clutching the fake ID in my hand, I don’t say anything else the rest of the way. I’m convinced I’m going to be thrown out by the bouncers, but Becca turns out to be right. The bored, burly guy at the door barely spares me a glance after checking my ID, and then Becca and I are in.
Finnegan’s is packed to the brim. There are TVs all over the walls, showing different sporting events on each one.
College students crowd the bar, lines deep, ordering drinks and shouting over each other.
Becca leads the way through the throng, holding my hand.
I watch as several guys give her interested looks, but she ignores all of them.
We join the long line of people waiting to order drinks. Becca turns to me. “So, what do you wanna drink?”
“A lemonade,” I answer.
“A lemonade,” she deadpans.
“Yeah.”
“We came all this way and I gave you one of my precious fake IDs for a lemonade, Stevie?”
“Bec, you know I don’t drink.”
She blinks. “Um, so why are we here?”
I fidget. But I might as well be honest. “I wanna see if Hunter Cruise is here tonight.”
That statement sharpens her gaze. “Oh? And why’s that?”
Squirming on the inside, but keeping my cool on the outside, I tell her, “I have to thank him.”
She cocks her head. “Curiouser and curiouser. Thank him for what exactly?”
“For intervening when my disgusting boss came onto me last night.”
Becca is now fully intrigued, so I give her a very abbreviated version of what happened.
I don’t know why, but I don’t want anyone to know how much Joe actually hurt me.
That he choked me and made me think he was going to kill me.
Or how Hunter’s arms had come around me and his voice had soothed me after the attack.
I feel like that’s just between me and Hunter.
Becca takes everything I say in stride. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she says sympathetically. “Good thing Hunter was there.”
I nod. She has no idea.
She grabs my wrist suddenly and steers us out of the line for drinks. “Come on,” she says, a gleam in her eye. “I know where Hunter usually hangs.”
Does everyone know everything about this guy except me?
I follow Becca as she weaves through groups of people.
So many people. So much noise. And there are way too many drunk guys in here, which is to be expected, but it makes me uneasy.
How can a rowdy, overflowing bar be anybody’s idea of a good time?
Prude. A guy called me that once on a date when he tried to kiss me, and I pulled away from him. I shake the memory away.
“There,” Becca says, coming to a halt. I follow her gaze, and sure enough, there he is. Like a king on a throne. He’s even more gorgeous than I remember, and I’m momentarily mesmerized. I take him in like a cold drink on a hot day.
He’s wearing a long sleeve tee with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his toned forearms. His long fingers are curled around his drink. His perfect teeth and bone structure and body make him look like he just walked out of GQ magazine.
“Ugh, he’s so fucking hot,” Becca says. “Well, here’s your chance to thank him.”
I nod, barely registering what she’s saying.
Hunter is surrounded by a bunch of people, girls and guys, in a booth near the back entrance.
He commands the small space, and I watch as a beautiful brunette in a teeny tiny mini skirt runs her fingers through his hair.
Oh shit, is that his girlfriend? I didn’t find anything online about who he might be dating.
“Stupid puck bunny,” Becca mutters.
“What bunny?”
“Puck bunny. You know, the girls who throw themselves at any and all hockey players.”
“They’re called puck bunnies?”
“Yup.”
I scrunch up my nose. “That’s…offensive.”
“They love it! It’s like a badge of honor for them. Trust me, their main goal is to sleep with as many athletes as possible.”
“So that’s not his girlfriend?”
Becca scoffs. “Not even close. It’s just another one of his hangers-on. He has dozens.”
I’m suddenly hyper aware of how Becca and I must look, standing and staring at Hunter and his entourage, obviously talking about them.
“I don’t think I can go up to him when he’s so surrounded,” I say, feeling small and inconsequential. A nobody. I want to run and hide.
There’s this aura that surrounds Hunter’s booth. Even if you had no idea that he and his friends were star hockey players, you’d know they were special, superior.
And everyone else here is staring at them and wanting to be them.
I was feeling a lot braver before we got here. I thought doing this would be a breeze. Now, I want to hightail it out of here. “Maybe I shouldn’t bother him,” I say, biting down on my lip.
Becca frowns. “I know he looks intimidating, but he’s not going to bite your head off for going up to him.”
“Right.”
“C’mon, don’t chicken out. You got this.”
“Right. You’re right. I can do this.” Squaring my shoulders, I take a step toward Hunter’s booth.