Chapter 13

13

BEN

Sunday morning I head into the bathroom and stop on seeing a lacy bra draped over the towel rack.

I sigh.

This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered Mabel’s underwear. Why does she have to leave her lingerie lying around? It annoys me.

Okay, it annoys me because… it’s hot. Sexy. Feminine. Sometimes it’s a pair of gray cotton panties, or a tank top. This particular garment is purple, mostly sheer and trimmed with lace. I stare at it for a moment, picturing it on Mabel.

I don’t need any more encouragement to fantasize about Mabel.

I scrub a rough hand over my face. I have to stop this.

Does she have matching panties?

Fuck! Stop it, you perv.

I have to keep twisted thoughts about my friend’s sister out of my goddamn head.

Feeling guilty, I trudge to the kitchen to get something to eat. To my surprise, Mabel’s up and dressed. I’ve learned she’s not an early riser.

“Morning,” I say, heading straight to the Keurig. “Why’re you up so early?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up.” She sits at the counter with her phone and a pop tart on a plate. “That was fun yesterday.”

“Yeah. It was.” I lean on the counter waiting for my coffee, trying not to think about purple lace.

“I noticed you were out of chocolate milk,” she says. “So I picked some up for you.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

She smiles and nods.

“How was your bartending class?”

“It was fun!” She looks up from her phone. “We learned how to make Whiskey Sours, Daiquiris, Mojitos, and Cosmopolitans. They all have different mixology techniques.”

“Like what?”

“Like, muddling, which you do with the mint for the mojito. Also double-straining, and using essential oils from fruit peels. Some time I’ll make mojitos for you guys.”

“Cool.”

“Then we stayed at the bar for a couple more drinks. It was fun.”

“It’s good that you’re making friends so fast.” It’s a good thing I have a team full of buddies, because if I moved to a city where I knew no one, I’d be alone forever. But of course, Mabel is making friends without even trying.

“What are you up to today?” she asks.

“Hmm. I dunno. I was thinking about going to buy some stools.”

“Stools?”

“Yeah. Like those.” I nod at the five stools lined up along the counter. “My condo’s the same layout as this and I don’t have stools.”

“Oh. Cool. I’ll come with you.”

I don’t say anything. In my head I have many comments.

Why?

Also, Okay, great!

And, You don’t have to do that.

“Oh.” She purses her lips. “Sorry. Maybe you have other plans. I was just…” She shrugs. “Sundays are hard.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like being alone and I don’t have a job or interviews or anything to keep me busy.” She lets out a small sigh. “But it’s fine, I’ll find something to do.”

“Maybe another full moon circle.” I poke my tongue into my cheek.

“There’s no full moon… ohhh, you’re joking.” She laughs.

“You can come with me if you want. I don’t think shopping for stools is very exciting, though.”

“We’ll make it exciting!”

She seems so genuinely thrilled to be coming furniture shopping. It makes something funny happen in my chest region.

So a couple of hours later we’re in my SUV headed to Target. Mabel is wearing Doc Martens, baggy jeans, and a fake fur coat in a shade of tan that reminds me of a teddy bear. It’s ridiculous.

“Target?” She turns big eyes on me. “You’re going shopping at Target?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Well. I’m surprised. I thought you hockey players with lots of money would shop at high-end designer stores.”

“I looked online and they have these leather stools – well, I guess they’re not real leather – that match my other furniture.”

“Okay.”

“I guess I could spend a little more.”

She pulls out her phone and starts swiping. “We could look at the Target ones, at least. Then you have something to compare to.”

I wasn’t prepared for the Target trip to turn into a major shopping expedition. Mabel ends up with a cart and loads it up with a bunch of shit like make-up and shampoo and candles. She has to look at everything in the goddamn store.

But I don’t even mind, because she’s kind of cute as she admires a set of dishes and then cushions that she ends up buying for Smitty.

They only have two of the stools I looked at, and I want five. That’s how many fit at Smitty’s counter.

“How about Pottery Barn?” Mabel suggests, looking at her phone.

“Sure.”

So we head into Manhattan to find that store.

Again, Mabel wanders around like she’s in heaven, exclaiming over bed displays loaded up with puffy comforters and pillows, brushing her fingers over upholstered chairs, sighing at a room display that she loves.

“I need my own place,” she says with a wistful smile.

“I know the feeling.”

She glances at me. “Yeah. You do. You need your space, too.” She slips her arm through mine in a gesture of camaraderie that startles me, and we walk through the store.

I find the exact stools I want. They’re almost like the ones at Target but real leather, and I admit they feel sturdier, which is probably good when my friends all weigh close to two hundred pounds. They have to order me five, but that’s okay because I don’t need them for a few weeks, and I arrange for delivery to my new place.

“Okay, you were right,” I say to Mabel as we leave.

She bounces with satisfaction. “I usually am.”

I laugh. It’s an arrogant thing to say but she’s so funny and cute it doesn’t come across that way.

“What should we do now?”

“Um… go home?”

“Oh, come on! It’s your second last day of vacation. Also, I’m hungry. Let’s get food.”

“Okay. I’m hungry, too. Any ideas?”

“No. It’s New York. Let’s just walk.”

I frown. “Like, just randomly?”

She laughs. “Yeah. There’s a pub on every block. We’ll find something.”

“But it might not be good.”

“It’ll be fine.”

We set out down Fifth Avenue and when Mabel spies a place called Carrigan Ale House, she points. “There.”

I shake my head but we go in. It’s a dark little place, long and narrow, with a busy bar and most tables full. There’s a big, long table down the middle with two empty seats, so Mabel pauses next to them and smiles at the guys sitting there. “Are these seats taken?”

“Nope.” They smile back at her. Of course they smile back at her. Everyone smiles back at her.

I go around the table to sit on the other side. We hang up our jackets and settle onto wooden stools. The guy next to me slides a menu over the dark wood table toward me.

“Thanks.”

“We can share a pitcher of beer,” Mabel says. “How about a Belgian white?”

“Okay.” I look over the food selections.

“Oooh, fish tacos,” Mabel says.

“They’re really good,” says the man beside her with a smile.

I frown.

“Yeah? Okay then.” She slaps down her menu.

I order a French dip.

“You guys have accents,” Mabel says to them. “Australian, right?”

“Right.” The guy grins. “I’m Scott. This is Jeff and Oliver.”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Mabel, and this is Ben.”

They all shake hands with us.

“Are you on vacation?” Mabel asks them.

“Yeah. Big trip to the USA. It’s our last day.” He lifts his beer.

“Where have you been? What have you done?” Mabel fixes an interested gaze on them, and they launch into a series of hilarious stories about their travels.

I didn’t need to worry about them flirting with Mabel, though, because it quickly becomes obvious they’re all gay, and two of them are together.

Wait, why was I worried about them flirting with Mabel?

Jesus.

She’s not my girlfriend. Or even my date. She’s my coach, ha ha. I should be paying attention to how easily she struck up a conversation with these men and learning from it.

After we eat, we’re having so much fun we order another pitcher of beer and the conversation gets louder and more animated. Even I get involved in the discussion.

“Where in Australia are you from?” I ask. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“We’re from Sydney,” Jeff says.

“Nice.” I nod. “Have you always lived there?”

“Yeah, mate. Born and raised.”

These guys are nice and funny as hell. They tell us about having to get used to tipping, leading to a discussion about tipping culture and their belief that people should be paid enough that they don’t need tips, which Mabel and I don’t argue with. They criticize our coffee and the fact that the price tag on items is not what they end up paying.

“I felt like I was in a movie the whole time we were here,” one guy says with a laugh. “It’s so familiar in some ways, and then in other ways so foreign.”

Somehow, we end up doing shots of tequila because the Aussies think it’s American, and I guess it sort of is?

They’re fascinated when they learn I’m a hockey player. An ice hockey player. Apparently, hockey is getting more popular in Aus. We drink more as they quiz me about hockey.

Much later, as we all rise unsteadily from our stools, Oliver says, “I can’t believe we got fuckin’ maggotted our last day here.”

Mabel and I crack-up laughing at that.

“Is that Australian for drunk?” I ask.

“Yeah, mate.” He grins loosely.

“I’m fucking cactus,” Jeff says.

“You are,” Scott confirms. “Gone tits up.”

“I’m feeling no pain myself,” I admit. “Oh, shit. I can’t drive home.” This is so not like me.

Mabel waves a loose hand. “We’ll Uber home.”

“What about my vehicle? All your stuff is in it.”

She makes a face.

“I’ll drive you home,” Scott says.

We all gape at him.

“I had one beer,” he offers. “Someone has to stay sober for these dags.”

I assume he’s referring to his friends.

“Oh, that would be great!” Mabel says.

I frown. I’m supposed to let a stranger drive my Lexus SUV home? Also, a stranger who drives on the wrong side of the road? “You have a drivers’ license?” I ask him.

“Yeah, mate, no worries.”

“How will you get home?” I ask.

“We’ll Uber. Where do you live? Is it far?”

“Across the river. Hoboken.”

“Hoboken!” They’re all amused by this.

“You’ll have to give me directions,” Scott says confidently as we head out.

I’m not feeling so confident, but what the hell, I’m going with the flow. Also not like me.

During the ride home, Mabel exchanges numbers with these guys so they can keep in touch. Really?

There are a couple of near misses when Scott forgets he’s supposed to be on the right side of the road, and then all three of them freak out when we enter the Lincoln Tunnel.

“We’re not driving under the water?” Jeff shouts. “Fuck me.”

“It’s fine,” Mabel assures him.

We park in the underground parking beneath our building and take them to the front entrance. Scott has his ride share app open on his phone and we wait with them for the car to arrive.

“Thanks for an entertaining afternoon,” I tell them.

“Yes!” Mabel agrees. “It was so fun talking to you.”

“You both come to Sydney and we’ll show you all around,” Oliver says. “You’ll love it.”

“I’d love to go to Sydney!” Mabel clasps her hands.

“Yeah, me too,” I say.

We exchange hugs and back slaps when the car arrives, then they climb in and wave as they drive away.

I look down at Mabel. “I can’t believe what just happened.”

She grins. “It was fun!”

I have to smile. “Yeah. It was.”