“Are you still living with that friend from work? Or did you find your own place yet?”
“I’m still at Adrian’s.”
“And is he another player? I don’t recognize that name.”
“No, he works for the team.”
“Is he there?” she asks, looking around behindme like he might have been waiting to pop out at the first mention of his name. “Can I say hello and thank him for his hospitality?”
I snort a laugh. “No, he’s still at work. We had a morning skate and are traveling early tomorrow, so I just did a light workout, but I have the rest of the day off. He seems to work all the time.”
“Well, make sure you thank him for me then.”
“I’ll get him extra chocolate tonight from you.” She nods, happy with that idea. “Actually, I should probably let you guys go so I can order our dinner.”
“Alright, sweetie, we love you so much, and we’re so proud of you.”
“Love you, too.”
I make sure to add both a piece of chocolate cake and a triple fudge brownie to our usual order. Adrian said he’ll be back in about an hour, so it should get here just before him, and I have plenty of time to shower and put away the load of dishes I started earlier so everything is ready for him when he gets home.
6
ADRIAN
I’m starting to wonder if the whole pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming thing is complete bullshit.
Because it definitely hurts when I pinch myself, but Hudson Roy is still living in my apartment. And he isn’t just living here—everything I told Beck the other day is true. He’s the ideal roommate.
He can’t possibly be real.
“Sorry, what did you say?” I ask when I realize I’ve just been standing in the entry to my kitchen, staring.
But really, it isn’t my fault. Hudson is moving around my kitchen, looking perfectly at home like he owns the damn place—which I’m obviously not complaining about. He’s shirtless, his muscles look like they’re carved from marble, his tattoos are on display, his hair is wet like he must have just gotten out of a shower, and to top it all off, he’s only wearing loose, gray sweatpants. Nothing is being left up to my imagination.
“Dinner got here just before you did, so it should be hot. Your stuff is on the table. I’m grabbing some real plates and we’ll be all set,” he says, flashing me his perfect smile.
Aren’t hockey players supposed to have bad smiles? Missingteeth and all that. Why does he have all his teeth? Asking that seems rude though… right? More of a personal question.
“You ordered me dinner?” I ask instead, focusing on my surprise that he did that. Hudson and I have eaten together a few times now, but always when we were already together beforehand.
“Yeah, I finally coordinated with my chef to deliver my prepped meals when I get back from the away games next Tuesday. But for now, I figured our favorite place would be good.” He gestures to the bag in the center of the table.
He said “our” favorite. As if it’s totally normal to lump the two of us together. I’m not imagining that, right? While he was talking about buying me food… My favorite food… Which he knows. As though he actually knows and cares about me in a way that goes so above and beyond what he needs to.
I’m not used to having anyone other than my best friends care enough to pay that much attention to me, and even with them, it took years before I trusted that they intended to be in my life long-term. I have no idea how to respond to Hudson doing it so casually, so I sit down quietly at the table across from him.
“I wasn’t sure what food you’d want me to request, but he said it’s no problem to add on meals for you as well.”
“From your chef?” I squeak out, making sure I’m still following. He nods. “Hudson, you don’t need to have your private chef cook for me!”Why the hell would he even think to offer that?“That’s so nice, but I wouldn’t like that healthy stuff anyway,” I remind him with an awkward laugh.
He laughs too. “Yeah, I know you’d hate my food. He said he’d make whatever youdolike. He used to do the same for Shelby. So if you have any menu ideas, I’ll give you his number, otherwise he can make suggestions. I was going to give him your number, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable with me handing it out, soI told him you’d reach out to him instead.”
My jaw is open, practically on the floor. I can’t remember how to shut it, and I’m probably going to really embarrass myself when I start drooling in a minute, but I can’t help it.
There is just no way this walking green flag of a man is real.
And did he just compare me to his wife? Ex-wife? God, I fucking wish our titles were comparable.
