Hawke (Cold Fury Hockey, #5)(21)

So I bought a moderate-sized home here in Raleigh half the size of my previous, which meant I had to get rid of a lot of furniture as well. I just donated it to a veterans’ charity because it was easier than trying to sell it. Still, there’s plenty of room for a party tomorrow since it’s just my teammates and their better halves, and I have a kick-ass back deck that spans the entire length of the house. I’ll set tubs of beer out there, and with the mild, late-August evenings, people will congregate out there rather than inside.

It doesn’t take me long to clean up the rest of the kitchen. I break the boxes down, shove them and the newspaper into my large recycle bin in the garage, and glance at my watch. Just enough time to get a quick shower before heading over to Dave’s.

I wonder if Vale will be there. Considering what I know, I’m sure she’ll be working late even though it’s a Friday night. End of a workweek, and when everyone should be relaxing, I’m sure Vale will be working. And damn if that doesn’t twist my guts up. I hate thinking of her and Dave struggling. I hated even more seeing the look of disdain on her face when I offered to help. I hated it because it truly showed me that despite the olive branch—despite the truce—there are still hard feelings.

No clue why she’s the one that has them, but I’ll look past it. She’s got so much on her plate right now, I figure she’s just being defensive. And besides, I plan to hit Dave up tonight with the same offer. I expect he’ll decline, but he won’t be nasty about it.

When I hit my bedroom, I rifle through some boxes and pull out clean underwear, a pair of faded jeans, and an old vintage Mountain Dew T-shirt with a few holes in it. Not dressing to impress anyone tonight, so might as well be comfortable. Before heading into the master bathroom, I grab my phone off the bedside table and give it a quick check. I see a text message from Michelle and a quick smile comes to my face.

How’s life in Carolina?

I toss my clothes on the bed, sit down beside them, and text her back. Just finishing up some unpacking. It’s great here. Where are you?

She immediately responds, which is just like Michelle. As long as there’s cell service or Wi-Fi, the woman is always connected. Pittsburgh. Flew in yesterday.

Michelle is a sales rep for a large winery based out of the Hudson Valley. She flies pretty much all over the United States, but she’s originally from Pittsburgh and keeps a permanent apartment there. I met her at a party just under a year ago. Fucked her at that same party, as a matter of fact, and thus started a sort of friends-with-benefits type of relationship. We don’t get to see each other often; maybe every few months between both of our travel schedules. But when we do get together, we tear it up nicely between the sheets. Plus, she’s a really cool chick. Someone I could hang out with and have a beer—or a glass of wine, in her case. Our no-strings relationship was clearly defined early on and we operate on a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Still, when Michelle’s in town, she’s my preferred hookup just because she’s great in the sack and has no aspirations of anything more.

Before I can text her back, she sends another. Up for some company soon?

Ordinarily, I’d respond immediately with my schedule over the next few days so we could iron something out, but my thumbs hesitate before hitting the screen. I hold my position and stare at her words. My mind blanks and a feeling of foreboding wells up within me.

What the f*ck? I’ve got the next three days cleared before I fly out. I like to f*ck. I really like to f*ck Michelle. What’s with the doubt?

And before I can even fathom an answer, a picture of Vale bursts through my head. It’s of the younger Vale…the one I loved. Wild dark hair, facial piercings shining, a look of utter deviousness in her eyes that never failed to get me hard.

I shake my head hard to dislodge the image.

It’s an illusion. A memory that should be faded and not Technicolor. It’s of a woman who doesn’t exist anymore and shouldn’t ever be taking up residence in my conscience like that.

I force myself to text back to Michelle. Can you fly in tomorrow? Having a team party but I’ll clear everyone out early.

I wait with a feeling of anxiety for her response, praying she accepts. Hoping she will show up on my doorstep tomorrow and do whatever f*cking sexy mojo she can do to make sure Vale doesn’t cross my mind again like that. My heartbeat is racing in anticipation, and when her reply comes, I’m stunned at how I feel.

Can’t this weekend. But maybe next if I can clear some things.

Relief. Fucking relief that she’s not coming.

What the ever-loving f*ck is going on with me? Vale Campbell cannot be impinging on my sex life. She has no right. No business. She should be nothing to me other than a friendly acquaintance.

And yet, I still find myself hoping I get to see her tonight when I get to Dave’s.

—

I glance at my watch…again.

It’s 10:45 p.m. and Vale still hasn’t shown up. I’ve resolutely refused to ask Dave about her whereabouts, and besides, he fell asleep in his recliner going on two hours ago. That happened not long after we ate some chicken tortilla soup that Vale had made and he had a nonalcoholic beer I brought him, while I sucked back three Molsons.

The football game is almost over and I’ll have no reason to stay when it’s done. This sucks, because I’m a little worried about Vale and the fact she’s working so late. Does she even get to eat dinner?