Overnight Sensation(24)

I’m officially speechless, but no less horny. I’ll be trying to fall asleep tonight while picturing Heidi zooming around a racetrack in a strapless dress.

The cop comes back with her license and a smile. “No outstanding warrants. No tickets. I’m gonna let you off with a warning.”

“Oh, thank you officer,” she says, giving him a big smile. “I promise to be good, sir.”

My dirty mind proposes recreating this scene later. Naked. I’d need some handcuffs…

“You have a nice night, now,” she says.

“Drive slow,” he adds, tipping his hat to her before he climbs back into his vehicle.

He pulls away, and we just stare at each other for a moment. “I thought you had no marketable skills? Getting out of tickets is nothing to sneeze at.”

She rolls her eyes. “I have a lifetime’s practice appeasing men. Now you’ll take me back to your hotel room, right? I’ll let you drive.”

I groan. “No can do.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Her face falls.

“We are not going to happen,” I say quietly. “I just spent the day telling everyone that you and I are not a thing. Rebecca. Tommy. My agent.” Now there was a fun call. “So we can’t be a thing. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“But I liked it.”

“Oh baby, I know you did.” I liked it a lot, too.

“We’d be so good together.”

“I’m sorry,” I grunt. “We’ll have to live with the mystery. Hand over that key fob. I’m driving back.”

“You’re a cold man, Jason Castro.” She pouts.

“You’re right. Exactly.” It’s time she knew. “Now get in the passenger’s seat, Miss Pepper. I’m going to enforce your curfew now.”

The ride back is silent. But at least nobody’s in jail.





8





Heidi


I’ve never tried to fit my whole life into a suitcase before, and it isn’t pretty. Most of my belongings are going to have to stay here in Daddy’s apartment. Do I leave behind my Theory cardigan, or my Burberry trench coat? It’s like choosing a favorite child.

My parents have no trouble choosing a favorite child. They’d pick Jana any day of the week. On that happy thought, I zip my giant wheeled suitcase closed.

As I wheel the suitcase out of the room, I realize what a pain it will be to haul this sucker down the subway stairs. I can’t afford to Uber to Brooklyn. I can barely afford dinner after laying out my first month’s rent.

“Heidi Jo? Where are you going with that bag?”

I freeze at the sound of my father’s voice. He’s not usually here in the middle of a workday. But when you run the entire pro hockey league, your schedule has some flexibility. So there he is, holding a copy of the Wall Street Journal and a mug of coffee.

Crap. I’d planned to make my exit while he was out, even though I hate myself a little for sneaking around. I’m twenty years old, I shouldn’t care what he thinks.

“I’m leaving,” I say, lifting my chin.

“I can see that. For where?”

“An apartment I’ve rented in Brooklyn.”

“You can’t afford an apartment in Brooklyn.”

“Not a very nice one,” I admit. “But I can’t stay here.”

“Sure you can. Don’t be foolish.”

Ah, but there’s the problem. “I’d rather not be foolish. But you insist on making me look foolish just to amuse yourself.” It’s been two weeks since he ruined my internship with the Bruisers. During the first week, I was assigned to the janitorial contractor at the stadium. I cleaned the women’s bathrooms during and after a Grateful Dead tribute concert. And last week I sold hotdogs during the hockey team’s preseason events.

I survived. It’s honest labor. No reason to be ashamed. Yet every time I come home on aching feet, smelling like hotdog water and spilled mustard, Dad is waiting here with a smug expression.

Like the one he’s wearing right now. “You can quit anytime, you know,” he says. “You can go back to school if you hate it so much.”

Trying to humiliate me into going back to school won’t work. That’s my father’s idea of parental love. So I’m outie. “Bye, then.” I roll my case a little nearer to the entryway.

“Where are you going?”

“I told you. Brooklyn. A rental.”

His face is full of confusion. It has never occurred to Daddy that I’d actually defy him. But that’s on me. Twenty years of obedience is a habit that’s hard to shake. “Where’d you find this apartment? Are you moving in with friends?”

“Nope. I found it on Craigslist.”

His coffee mug stops halfway to his mouth. “That’s dangerous, Heidi Jo. It’s unregulated.”

“I’m careful,” I argue. I couldn’t afford to use a rental agent, because they charge broker’s fees.

“Is this a ploy to get me to vest your trust fund?”

“You wanted me to learn to be independent,” I snap. “Here’s what that looks like.” I roll my suitcase onto the marble tiles in the entranceway and then march out of there.