Overnight Sensation(39)

A shy smile creeps across her face, and she shakes her head.

“I predict that Heidi’s next year will be full of new challenges, new victories, and a few glasses of bubbly, rosy wine.” I raise my glass higher. “Here’s to Heidi.”

“Hear, hear!” O’Doul echoes, raising his own glass. “To Hot Pepper.”

“To Hot Pepper!” the whole bar shouts.

“Thank you,” she says, her face pink. I watch her take a very ladylike sip.

One by one, my teammates wish her a happy birthday, and she looks pleased by their attentions. I try not to notice how infectious her laugh is when Silas tells her a joke. Or the way her tits bounce.

Giving myself a mental slap, I look away. I really don’t know what to do with my attraction to Heidi. It’s not good for either of us. If I could just shut it off, I would.

Instead, I sit on the barstool beside her to welcome her twenty-second year on the planet. We drink our champagne slowly, and I apologize again for chasing that dude away from her. “That was a dick move.”

“And hypocritical,” she adds. “But thank you. We should go home. We both have open practice tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah? You working with Georgia on publicity?” Open practice is when the public is allowed to come and watch. It’s kind of a circus.

“Not exactly,” she says, sliding off her barstool. “Maintenance.”

“What does that entail?”

“I don’t even know.”

I hand Pete my credit card, and we have to wait a couple of minutes while he closes out my tab. “Sure hope next week is easier than this one.” That’s the thing about Heidi—I don’t feel like I have to be this perfect guy for her. She already knows I’m a moody, superstitious asshole. And she still puts up with me sometimes.

“You definitely had a rough week,” she agrees. “But it’s going to be okay, even if the strawberry jam isn’t really getting the job done right now.”

“Don’t mess with my sandwich,” I warn, just in case she’s got some big ideas for how to fix me. Everyone else seems to.

“I would never.” Heidi gives me frown. “How’d that get to be your pregame ritual, though? I guess it’s more sanitary than always wearing the same pair of ancient socks, like some guys.”

“The sandwich? A high school friend made it for me before my last game at home.” It was my high school girlfriend, actually. But I never talk about her. “We won that game five to nothing against our rivals. And the next day I got a call from the Harkness coach, inviting me to play for him.”

She whistles. “Nice timing.”

“Yeah. I’ve been eating that sandwich ever since.”

“Well then, let’s see…” She tucks her bag onto her shoulder as Pete hands me the slip to sign. “I’m not very superstitious myself. But sometimes you need a little mysticism in your life. Maybe you could jumpstart the magic. What if you call up the old friend and ask him to FedEx you another sandwich?”

I can’t, because she’s dead. “That’s not gonna work. I’ll just have to bring back the magic some other way. Here you go, Pete.” I hand back the check and wish him goodnight.

“Better luck on the road, kid,” Pete says. “I’ll be watching.”

“Thanks. I’ll try not to let you down.”





15





Heidi


Jason offers to get us a cab, but I want to walk back to the Million Dollar Dorm. It was raining earlier, and now the nighttime sidewalks look freshly washed, and the air is misty. As we walk down Front Street, I hear the low honk of a boat on the river.

The champagne has made me feel pleasantly buzzy. And—if I’m being honest—the eloquent toast Jason made in honor of my birthday didn’t hurt, either. I’m still annoyed with him that he’s friend-zoned me. And that he treats me as if I’m his kid sister he has to protect from Stranger Danger.

My crush on him knows no bounds. But sometimes I feel sure it goes both ways. He drools like a Doberman when I walk around his apartment in my sleep shorts and the see-through tank that I keep laundering so I can wear it every night.

And when he’d said those nice things about me tonight, I’m pretty sure he meant them.

“Feliz cumplea?os, as my father would say.” Jason touches my hand lightly. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. Do you speak Spanish?”

“Barely,” he says with a wince. “I did when I was little. But we lived in Canada and then Minnesota. The other kids in preschool didn’t speak Espa?ol. So I started always answering Papa in English. Kinda regret it now. What do you want for your birthday?” he asks suddenly.

We pass a couple who are holding hands and laughing, and I feel a twinge of jealousy. “Nothing you can wrap in a box. And we’ve been over this. You know exactly what I want from you.” To make my point, I reach over and give him a little pat on the bottom.

“Stop that,” he growls.

“Oh, please,” I complain. “The way you look at me is illegal in seven states. You’ll look, but you won’t touch?”

“That’s right,” he says primly.

“Why?”