“You have a hot tub?” I ask.
“On the roof,” Nash says as we pull to a stop in front of Washington Street and I get an idea. “It’s private. There’s a pull-down staircase to the left of my bed. You didn’t see the cut-out when you were in my room the other night? Or showering today?”
“The other night I wasn’t looking at your ceiling. I was looking at your naked body.” I probably shouldn’t have said that, but it’s the truth.
His head whips around and he stares at me, shock all over his face. I shrug. “Look, I may think you’re as bland as unflavored tofu, but that body of yours is a fucking wonderland. Even I can’t deny that.”
Someone honks. The light has turned green but neither of us noticed. Nash jerks his head back to the road and hits the gas. I dig my phone out of my purse and pull up DoorDash. My order is quick and cheap but I hope it does the trick. I know it solves most of my problems.
“If we’re being honest, your body is a wet dream,” he says a couple minutes later.
Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Shame your personality is attached to it,” he adds, and I smile. Because I’ll always appreciate a good chirp, even at my expense. “You’re smiling? At that?”
“Yeah because I can’t believe you came up with that yourself. It’s a great chirp,” I reply, still smiling. “Did you spend the whole game thinking of that? Is that why you played so badly? Because your brain was trying to figure out a way to insult me?”
“Shut up,” he barks but a smile is tugging the corner of his lips too. “It was a great zinger. So was the goat comment earlier today.”
"No way!' I argue hotly as he turns into the parking lot for our… his building. "For an insult to be truly great, you have to mean it. And we both know you don't think I sounded like a goat."
He slides into his stall and turns off the engine. I get out of the car and start toward the building. He follows. And as he’s walking behind me he has the audacity to make a goat sound. I gasp. He laughs and opens the front door. In the lobby he hits the elevator button and I hit him on the arm but it doesn’t knock the smug smile off his face.
When we step into the elevator two thirty-something dudes walk in the front door and rush to join us before the doors close. We step aside to give them room as one says to Nash, “Tough loss, Westwood. But you’ll get ’em in the end.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Both guys turn to look at me. I give them a wave. “Hi. I’m Mrs. Westwood. Do you guys live in the building?”
“Umm… yeah,” the taller one stutters. “In 2B. You… you’re married?”
He looks at Nash who nods, barely, and then he looks back at me. I smile brightly. “It was a whirlwind romance. Happened so quick I almost missed it.”
I laugh. They do too but awkwardly.
"Hey, do you guys know if anyone in the building has gotten a new pet lately?" Nash asks them suddenly. They both shake their head, confused. "I know it's weird but I swear to God I heard a goat the other night. Did you guys hear it? Like just after midnight?"
I’m going to murder him. The guys look at him like he’s insane, but Nash keeps an honest, inquisitive look on his stupidly handsome face. Then the guys look at me and I’m sure I’m the color of a tomato. I sigh. “Sorry guys. He’s been hearing things since he took one too many pucks to the head.”
The doors open on the second floor and both guys step out. Before the doors close again the tall guy says, "So good luck next game!"
And the other one says, earnestly. “I’ll keep an eye out for any new pets.”
Nash bursts into laughter as the elevator doors close. I whack him again on the shoulder and he laughs harder. “I swear to God I don’t know why I even try to be nice to you!”
“Because you want your documentary to succeed,” Nash says as the doors open and I march my way down the hall to his loft. He follows me, chuckling. “Maybe you’ll think twice before you dare a guy to marry you next time.”
“I didn’t dare you. You dared me,” I argue even though I honestly have no memory of how it happened.
“Well, wifey-poo, maybe don’t take bets you can’t make good on,” he replies and opens the door.
“I’m making good,” I mutter.
We walk into the loft and I immediately head for his office-slash-my-bedroom. I pull open the small closet. All my stuff, except for the decoy clothing I put in his room, is still in my suitcase because there’s nowhere else for them to go. He pauses at the door. “Where’d you get my jersey anyway?”
“I bought it at the team store,” I reply. “Like a fan girl, which by the way you don’t have very many of. There were tons of your jerseys available. Crew was almost sold out.”
“Bite me.”
