I hadn’t been back there since the day we left, and I never wanted to go back. Maybe to dance on my parents’ graves when they were dead, but that was it. There was nothing but bad memories for me there.
He shrugged just as our PR woman, Lou, spotted us. “It’s the same but different. I didn’t stay too long. Just got what I needed and left.”
“There you two are.” Lou stopped to stare at me and raised a brow. “Dean Frost, are those hickeys I see on your neck?” She shook her head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. We’ll have those covered up. Your hair looks fantastic, though.” She reached out to touch it, but I pushed her hand away.
Didn’t I know it?
“Thanks. Sam did a great job, didn’t she?”
I hadn’t meant to say her name, it just slipped out, and Lou’s eyes narrowed into curious slits as she tried to figure everything out. Lou was good at her job, but sometimes she was a lot to handle. She was really going to freak out when she found out Maverick was engaged, and I kind of couldn’t wait to see that. We all thought she was going to burst into flames when Killian announced he was bisexual and had a boyfriend on Instagram.
“She’s just my hairdresser. She’s Beau’s sister.” Why was I still talking? I was digging my own grave.
Lou let out a long breath. “Who are Sam and Beau? Please tell me that Sam isn’t the one who left the hickeys on your neck? Did she at least sign an NDA? I’ve told you boys that you need to get those signed beforehand. It’s important. And don’t think I didn’t see that kid you posted pictures of.”
Jesus, fuck! Why did she make me feel like a teenager who got caught sneaking in past his curfew?
“Beau is Jackson’s teammate. The kid is his son, and he’s a big fan of Mulligan, by the way. And no, Sam didn’t leave the hickeys. Jesus, can’t a guy have friends or have fun anymore? She fixed my hair after I attempted to do it myself. She’ll be doing it from now on.” My temper flared, and I fisted my hands at my side.
Lou chuckled. “Always the wildcard. Come on, boys. Let’s get you pretty for your pictures.”
Fuck, I hated that nickname. If I ever met the stupid journalist who came up with it again, I would punch him in the face.
IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHTby the time I dragged myself into my house. My stomach growled as I made my way into the kitchen before I remembered there was nothing to eat. I pulled my phone from my pocket, ordered a pizza to be delivered, then moved into the living room to wait for it. I glanced at my phone again to see several missed texts and calls. Shit, it was late in Boston now. I couldn’t bother Beau, but I could at least let him know I was still alive.
Beau:Hope you’re doing all right, Pink.
Beau:This time difference thing sucks.
Beau:Text me when you get home just to let me know that you’re okay.
Dean:I know you’re probably sleeping. The photoshoot went longer than I anticipated. I hope you sleep well, and we’ll talk tomorrow. I promise.
Dean:I wanted to tell you that I miss you. And I miss Cole. And I miss Boston, too. I know that I wasn’t there long, but coming home was harder than I thought it would be. They putmakeup on my hickeys, and I hated it. They’re fading, anyway, but still.
I tossed my phone onto the couch just as the pizza delivery guy arrived. I suddenly didn’t feel so hungry anymore, but I knew I needed to eat something. I forced myself to eat two slices before I shoved the box into the fridge, made a mental note to order some groceries for when I got back from my trip, then took a quick shower to wash off the makeup from the photoshoot. Just as I crawled into bed, I saw my phone blinking at me.
Beau:I’ll give you more hickeys the next time we’re together, Pink, don’t you worry. And I miss you. It seems weird not to have you here with me. With us. I can’t wait to see you again. Hopefully, it will be soon.
I smiled at his message. I wasn’t sure what Beau and I were even doing, but it made me happy. I hadn’t been in a relationship since Helena, and it hadn’t felt like this. We hadn’t actually said we were dating, but I wanted that with Beau.
Dean:You’re up early.
Beau:And you’re up late. But that’s the life of a hockey player.
Dean:And the life of a rockstar.
I stared at my phone, watching as dots appeared and disappeared before a picture appeared. It was Beau, dressed in his hockey gear, a smirk on his face. My face heated at the look in his blue eyes. His nose was swollen and bruised, but he still looked good.
Beau:Now you, Pink.
I propped myself up against the pillows, snapped a quick photo, and sent it without thinking about it.
Beau:Fuck, you look sexy. And I see you’re wearing my shirt again. Don’t think I didn’t notice that it went missing from my closet.
Dean:I’m not even sorry. I like wearing it.
Beau:Mm, well, you get some sleep. I’ll talk to you soon.
