Page 9 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
“Cool. Are we still on for New York?”
“Yep, I’ll see you then.”
I have plans to see my sister in New York in a few weeks. I’ll be coaching a youth hockey camp there for a few days, and since Nelle and Jaxon are close enough to visit, I’ll meet up with them afterward. I’m sure I’ll take them out to lunch and shopping or something. Maybe even play my nephew in some one-on-one. He learned how to skate recently, and I haven’t seen his skills in person, only via shaky cell-phone video.
Nelle and I say good-bye, and a few minutes later, I’m opening the front door to let Saint inside.
“Damn. Nice digs, homey,” he says, peeking over my shoulder at the sprawling entryway and sunken formal living room beyond.
We exchange a fist bump.
“Thanks, man. Come on in.”
I bought this place a few months ago, but only recently moved in. The house was built in the seventies and needed some major renovations. It was owned by some bigwig finance executive, and apparently he and his wife really liked wall-to-wall shag carpeting and gold window treatments. I worked with an architect to take this place down to the studs. Now the rooms are open and bright, and it all suits me much better.
I give Saint the grand tour. We stroll through the cozy family room with its oversize fieldstone fireplace and a view of the pool in the backyard, and the vaulted-ceiling dining room with seating for twelve. I’ll probably never even use this table, but the interior designer thought it would fit the room, and it does.
“You gonna host a dinner party or what?” Saint asks, running a palm along the sleek bamboo table.
I shrug. “Maybe a poker night.”
“Oh, man. Even better. I’m there.”
I show him into the rooms I use most often, which are my bedroom with its adjoining TV nook where I’ve fit a small sofa and a huge flatscreen, and the en-suite bathroom. Two huge walk-in closets are beyond that—his and hers. The hers closet is empty, which is totally fine with me for now. I’m not looking to jump into another relationship anytime soon.
We end up inside my bedroom where I have a half-packed duffel bag and some clothes scattered across my bed.
“You still planning on leaving in the morning?” Saint asks, taking a seat on the leather bench at the end of my bed.
“Yeah. It’s, what, a seven-hour drive?”
He gives me a sly grin. “Six, jackass. And you know that. You’re the one who gave Aspen that factoid. Practically twisted her arm to get her to agree to this.”
I become suddenly very interested in packing some extra pairs of socks. You can never have too many socks, after all. Then I grab a drawstring bag for my shoes, tucking inside an old pair of sneakers and some work boots, and shove it into the duffel.
“Did she make it okay?” I ask without glancing his way. Aspen had plans to drive up a few days ago, no doubt eager to put her couch-surfing days behind her and to put some distance between her and the city.
Saint makes a noise of agreement. “Cell service is spotty up there, but yeah, she called me when she was pulling into town. I don’t assume she had any problems after that.”
“Good to hear.”
“What’s the deal anyway?”
After shoving the socks into my bag, I turn to face him and shrug. “There’s no deal.”
“Liar.” Saint folds his bulky forearms across his chest and waits. He knows I can’t stand unfilled silence.
Bastard.
I roll my eyes. “I guess I could relate to the whole shitty breakup thing. Plus, the girl is practically homeless right now. Crashing at Eden and Holt’s place?” I shudder at the thought. “I figured she needed the gig more than I did.”
He weighs my words, still watching me closely, trying to figure out my angle.
“Dude, I don’t have a deal.” I hold up both palms. “I swear. Yeah, she’s cute as hell. But I’m literally only going to get away for a few days, and to help your ass out.”
Saint tosses me the spare key he brought with him. “Helping me out? You cost me five grand. Dick.”
I give him a sharp look. “Yeah, but you can afford it. And I thought you agreed to two?”
He scoffs. “That made me look cheap, so I gave her the five.”
I chuckle dryly and tuck the key inside my bag. “Well, remember I’m helping you out as a friend. Aspen isn’t. She deserves to be paid.”
As he shakes his head at me, I hope this game of twenty questions is almost over, because Saint has always had the uncanny ability to see straight through me. And right now, I really don’t want him to see how much the thought of being alone with Aspen affects me.
