I inhaled deeply. “Hmph. What do you do in Vermont in January?”
“No fucking idea. I’ve never been to Vermont at all. I’ve never even seen my house, but it looks amazing.”
“You want me to go to a house you’ve never visited?”
“Yeah. Be a pal and check out my investment for me.” He ignored my indignant scoff and continued. “My agent is from somewhere in the area. He says that Wood Hollow went from being a dying nowhere town on the brink of extinction to a thriving lakeside mecca. It’s next to Elmhurst or Elmburg or?—”
“Elmwood.”
“That’s it!” His white teeth gleamed in the dark interior. “How’d you know?”
“I read about it somewhere,” I replied. “It’s a hockey town. A bunch of pro players live there.”
“Exactly. But Wood Hollow is supposed to be nice now, too. New coffee shop, a diner, and…I dunno, maybe that’s it. There might be skiing nearby or if it’s flat land, cross-country skiing. Or hiking. Or you could read a fucking book. When was the last time you read a book?”
I flipped him off. “How far is the nearest city?”
“What am I…fucking Google Maps? Look it up.”
“You’re not selling this very well, Val.”
“You only say that ’cause you’ve got your head in your ass,” he countered. “Vermont could be a nice diversion from you know what. Keep your mind off bad shit, ya know?”
“Hmm.Why haven’t you been there?”
“No time. And now, Naomi doesn’t want to be in the snow with the baby. Butyoucould go…for a week. Or hell, the wholewinter.” Vally unfastened his seat belt as the car pulled up to a gate at the bottom of a long driveway. “At least until the shit with Alli blows over. How is she, by the way? Have you talked to her?”
“We talk all the time. She’s fine. Happier than ever.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, you’re only news ’cause it’s football season and Alli’s what’s-his-face is mega popular. No one will give a fuck about you in a couple of weeks. Hell, they won’t even remember your name. In the meantime, go to fucking Vermont.”
“I’m not going to fucking Vermont.”
“Worst friend ever,” he deadpanned. “Wanna come in and see Gigi? She’s really fuckin’ cute.”
“That’s ’cause she looks like her mom.”
“True.”
“Next time.” I offered my fist to bump. “Thanks, man.”
Vally opened his door and thanked the driver before turning to me. “You ever feel like talking, call me or text me. I know you get up with the fucking roosters to run, and I’m up early with the kiddo these days. Gigi’s teething, and I wanna give Naomi a break.”
“You’re a good guy, Val. Now get the hell outta here. I’m tired.”
“All right, all right. You’re a legend, Anderson. Don’t forget it.”
My lips curled in an almost-smile that wouldn’t have fooled anyone. But Vally was gone, trudging the steep path leading to his Hollywood Hills home.
I lived three short blocks away in a modern glass-and-concrete design that translated well in a magazine spread, but felt cold, lonely, and depressing as hell tonight.
I tossed my keys and wallet onto the marble console table in the foyer, kicked my shoes off, and fell onto the nearest softsurface—a white fluffy sofa that had cost more than my first car. It was lush and comfortable. I wondered why I never sat on it, until I remembered that Alli had insisted it was too nice for everyday sitting.
Everyday sitting. What the fuck did that even mean?
