Page 14 of One Night Only
I wish I could tell him. Even though he’s only been playing on the team for a couple of months, in that time, Robbie’s become one of my closest friends. He’s been through a lot this last year. He went from winning the Stanley Cup with his old team, to getting released during the pre-season, picked up by the Thunder, and then almost dropped from the league entirely after a messy run in with Fran’s psycho ex-boyfriend. Poor guy has been through it, and he knows a thing or two about a thing or two, for sure. Plus, he’s also the only guy I know who’s currently in a solid relationship, so I know he’d be able to give me some advice. But I can’t risk it. I said I wouldn’t say anything, and I’m a man of my word.
Me: Yeah, all good, brother.
Mason: You know where I am if you need to talk.
I toss my phone onto the bed beside me and force myself up to continue packing. It’s the least I can do not to drive myself crazy over a certain blonde who seems to have taken up permanent rent-free residency in my mind.
CHAPTER 5
EMILY
I’ve come to the conclusion that Dallas Shaw is every boy your mother ever warned you about. You know the one. Tall, handsome, funny, charismatic,butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth. A chaotic mix of good, bad, and downright insufferable, all rolled into one undeniably pretty package. He’s the kind of man who, with just one look, can make panties drop and inhibition fly out the window. A self-professed playboy, he makes good use of his country boy charm, fooling women into believing he’s one of the good guys when, in actual fact, he’s quite possibly the biggest man-whore in all of Manhattan.
How do I know all this? Thank God for the internet.
By the time Ifinallymanaged to convince my parents I wasn’t embroiled in some tawdry affair with a married MLB player, I finished up a few last-minute items for Andy and headed home. With a bowl of mac and cheese and the biggest glass I could find to fill full of wine, I began my journey down the Dallas Shaw rabbit hole, where I am now, four hours later. And, for the record, I hate it here.
Sure, Dallas Shaw is hot; there’s no denying that. And, from what I’ve seen, he can wear a pair of tighty-whities like nobody’s business, if the underwear campaign he featured in last summeris any indication. But he’s also twenty-six.Twenty-six.And he’s rumored to have slept with over five-hundred women. Five-hundred! He was quoted in an interview as saying he has a roster of women in every city he plays in, ready for the call up. Disgusting.
God, I’m almost ten years older than the guy, and I can count the number of men I’ve slept with on one hand. Well, one hand and a thumb now; thanks a lot DallasWhore.
I hear the front door open, followed by my sister’s drunk hyena laugh ricocheting down the hall. Slamming my laptop shut, I try to act normal as Tess and her wife, Bron, walk into the living room. Unfortunately for me, I can see it written all over their faces the moment they see me. They know something’s up.
“What’s wrong?” Tess asks, worry marring her pretty face.
“What’swrong?” I scoff. “I hooked up with a twenty-six-year-old man-whore.”
Bron’s jaw drops, a look of wonderment spreading across her face.
Tess’s eyes go wide as she scans the room like she’s looking for evidence. “What? Like, tonight?”
“Yeah, Tess, he’s currently naked and hiding under the coffee table.” I roll my eyes. I swear to God. “The guy I went home with that night. Dallas Shaw. Goaltender for the New York Thunder.”
Tess and Bron both stare at me, clearly confused.
“He’s twenty-six!” My frustration is only aggravated further by their inability to respond. “Um, can either one of you please be incredulous with me?”
Bron offers a knowing smirk. “This sounds like a ‘sister’thing,” she says with the added emphasis of air quotes before leaning in with a chaste kiss to Tess’s lips. “I’m going to bed.”
Tess slaps Bron’s ass before rounding the couch and flopping down next to me.
“You smell like a winery…” I murmur.
“You smell like an old man’s ball sac,” she quips.
I shove her. She shoves me back. Suddenly we’re wrestling one another on the couch, in a fit of giggles and muttered curses, like the mature thirty-somethings we are.
Tess isn’t just my sister; she’s my best friend. She’s four years younger than me and so much cooler than I ever was. A brand manager for a high end cosmetics line, Tess is all about partying and VIP events, being seen at all the most exclusive clubs and bars around the city; in a nutshell, Tess is the polar opposite of me. I’ve often wondered how we’re even related, but that’s the thing—we’re not just sisters; Tess is like my other half.
When my life turned to complete shit a few years ago, I was not in a good space, mentally or physically. I was forced to move back to our family home in Staten Island for a while, living in my parents’ basement. But when Mom became overbearing, mollycoddling me and treating me like a baby, it was only making everything worse. Tess and Bron stepped in, and they brought me to live with them, here, in their two-bedroom condo on the Upper West Side. And sure, it sucks being woken up at the crack of dawn to the sound of them having sex through the walls, but I’m eternally grateful for my sister. She helped pick me up when I was at my lowest. And I really do owe her my life.
“Okay, show me.” Tess snaps her fingers, indicating my laptop. That’s another thing about Tess… she knows me too well. It’s scary and often inconvenient.
Sighing, I lift the screen, handing it over.
“Holy shit—he’s hot!”
I scoff, snatching my laptop back. “Okay, firstly, you’re gay.”
