Page 38 of Hockey Boy
Approaching the door, Sara eyes me ruefully. “Only that he asked her out on a date.”
Anger floods me, and I clench my fists at my sides.
Sara rushes forward and grasps my forearm, trying to hide a smile. “She didn’t say yes.”
I blow out a breath. I can’t get ahead of myself. Just because she didn’t say yes to him doesn’t mean she’ll say yes to me. But I have to try. “Wish me luck,” I mutter as I stride down the hall.
“You don’t need luck when you have a fancy peen,” she shouts as I head toward the stairwell.
My shoulders shake with laughter.
My brother picked a good one.
I take the stairs up to Lennox’s apartment to give myself time to think. I contemplate popping into my place and grabbing a bottle of wine. In the end, though, I figure that’s a bit presumptuous. It’s possible she won’t even answer the door or that she’ll slam it in my face when I tell her the truth.
When I reach the top floor, I consider going to Gavin’s apartment instead, but before I can chicken out, I force myself to knock on Lennox’s door.
When she opens it, she’s in nothing but a robe. Her pink hair is up in a ponytail, and her face is wiped free of makeup.
It takes effort not to stumble back. The woman is absolutely gorgeous.
Blue eyes blink several times, and then she sighs and steps back so I can come inside. “You don’t listen well, Hockey Boy.”
As I step over the threshold, I can’t help but smirk. “I’ve been told that a time or two.”
I glance around the apartment, taking in all the changes she’s made since she moved in. Sara and Lennox both have loud personalities, but their tastes couldn’t be more different. When Sara lived here, she hung artwork with soothing sayings all over the place, and there was a candle on every surface. The place was cozy.
Now, there’s a bright pink glowing sign above the bedroom door that readsThis Is Where The Fun Happens.
On the counter is a big jar filled with coins and labeledHere for a good time. Purple and pink sequined pillows line the couch, and a shaggy white rug sits beneath a glass coffee table covered in magazines. It’s like a room at a sorority house. Though I suppose my penthouse would probably look like a frat house if not for Jill’s presence.
In Cincinnati, I bought a beer bottle opener that hangs on the wall and when you pop the top off, it drops and makes its way through a maze. If the top makes it all the way to the end, it sings one of many Britney Spears songs. It was awesome.
Jill stopped me before I even got a nail in the wall to hang it. Now it’s in Daniel’s apartment. I should really get that back.
Lennox sets a small box on the counter. A box with a photo of a blond woman on it. “You really are dying your hair?”
Ignoring me, Lennox sashays to the kitchen. “Want a drink?”
As she pulls two wineglasses from the cabinet, I snatch the box off the counter and silently watch her, waiting for an answer.
She sighs. “I have to attend a family event this weekend. The pink has to go.” She sets the glasses on the counter, then turns back for the wine and bottle opener. I take both from her, pop the cork, and fill each glass halfway.
“Why are you still changing yourself for your family?”
With a tilt of her head, she hits me with a glare. “Seriously? I understand that most people don’t get it, but you? I didn’t think you’d changed that much.” She stalks over to the couch and slumps into it. Then she tugs the chenille blanket thrown over the back down and covers her legs, hiding herself beneath it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, a lump forming in my throat, and settle into the oversized chair beside the couch. “That came out wrong. It’s just—you’re perfect, and I hate seeing you change yourself for them.”
“You need to stop saying stuff like that,” she whispers, wearing a pained expression.
I stare her down, unblinking and confused. I’m just being honest. “Why?”
“Why?” she mutters with a shake of her head. “The engaged man asks me why hehas to stop being so sweet.” Her quiet words get progressively louder as she picks at the blanket. “I don’t know, Aiden. Maybe because I’m your wedding planner, and you’re marrying someone else.”
I scoot to the edge of my seat and slide a coaster closer. With my wineglass settled there, I run my palms down my thighs and focus fully on her. “I’m not.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re not what?”