Page 3 of Wilder Puck
He’s waiting for me to speak, but I take the last sip of my coffee instead.
He’s watching me, still waiting.
I wipe my lips and say, “I’m not arguing, but you’re not paying a dime because the last thing I need is your dad thinking I’m after your money.”
He lifts a brow because he knows I’m right. Coach Wilder is an asshole, but he is Ryan’s NHL coach and his father. He thinks everyone is after his children’s fame and fortune.
He shakes his head. “It’s coffee.”
I continue, “I appreciate you too, Ry.”
We sit in silence as he observes me. I feel like I’m under his spotlight, so I stand. “Now it’s time that I leave because Hailey is coming by for the weekend, right?”
He nods, glancing at what’s in front of him. I don’t think he’s very excited about that, but I don’t press.
“I’ll see you on Monday for our run.”
He nods.
I tap his shoulder and smile at him, avoiding a kiss on the cheek, and then I leave.
My fingers burn under this scalding hot paper bag filled with one croissant and one donut. I’m balancing a tray of two extremely hot coffees. The steam filtering through the tiny hole on the lid reminds me that if I don’t balance this correctly, it will burn me. But I’m the best friend anyone could ever ask for, so Ryan better thank me the moment I can get this door open.
I wince when I turn the knob because the splattering coffee has no remorse.
“Fricking crap,” I hiss, finally pushing the door open. I step into Ryan’s ridiculous house. It shouldn’t even be called a house because it’s bigger than that. Immediately the scent of him hits me with the wind. This smell is like coming home after a long day. But it’s morning, and this isn’t my home. My elbow slams the front door closed, which I instantly regret because the coffee spills on me again.
A figure in the kitchen jumps and makes a frightened high-pitched noise, and I’m not surprised it’s not Ryan. There’s a woman in a purple spaghetti strap with matching short shorts clutching her chest like I’m an intruder about to attack her. She’s leaning against the counter, terrified.
“Don’t!” she shouts, and I roll my eyes, ignoring her to set down the coffee on the kitchen island separating us. I need to grab a paper towel or something to clean my hand. I glance up at the woman. Why does she reach for the nearest pan? When she’s white-knuckling the handle, I laugh at her.
Hailey Fischer.
Yeah, I know her name. I even know her birthday because Ryan tells me everything. Let’s see, they’ve been together for almost two months. She loves raspberry sherbet, pees every fiveminutes, and can’t cook a steak. I eye the pan in her hand as I wipe the coffee off me. If she thinks she is intimidating me with that look on her face, she is so wrong.
“I’m Addison.”I’ve been Ryan’s best friend since forever. The person who can waltz into his home without knocking because well, it’s me.
She’s still holding the pan firmly. I would love for her to give this a go. I did not know she was here, so there’s only food and coffee for two.
“Addie?” I try again, hoping it rings a bell.
“Oh,” she chuckles. “Baddie.Addie.Yeah.” She lowers the pan. “I wasn’t expecting you. Ryan didn’t mention it.”
“Where is Ryan?” I ask, keeping it short. It is six on a Monday morning, and I know for a fact he’s awake. He just hasn’t heard me yet. There’s only one other person I know who is an early bird like Ryan, and that person is me. Hailey doesn’t seem too excited to be awake this early. Her eyes are tired as she reaches for the coffee maker.
“He’s upstairs.”
Upstairs? Shouldn’t he be ready for our run?
Hailey doesn’t look pleased as she starts making herself coffee. “We already made coffee.” Her eyes peer down at the two coffee cups I brought. “But I accidentally spilled it on him, so yeah,” she points, annoyance in her tone. “He’s in the shower.”
I don’t reply as I take the croissant out and peel the corner. I throw it in my mouth, glancing anywhere but in her direction. Ryan’s kitchen is double the size of mine. A lot prettier too. White with gold accents, a drawer for every cooking tool anyone would ever need. The window overlooks his incredible backyard. There’s a fire pit that brings back fun memories from his housewarming several months ago. It’s much more comfortable in here than at my dump. But my dump affords mea ten-minute drive here and a five-minute drive to my coffee shop, so I’m not complaining.
“If he doesn’t throw his clothes in the washer right away, it’ll stain.”
She dries the two coffee cups that were recently washed. “He already put it in the wash because I told him to.”
I plop another piece of croissant into my mouth and smile. I grab my coffee, warm my hands with it, and take a sip under Hailey’s gaze. I need to get started on our breakfast if I’m going to awkwardly wait for him to get out of the shower.
