Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Nolan

The last time I was this mortified was when I had attempted hot yoga to impress a woman on a first date. I slipped in a puddle of my perspiration, taking down an entire row of Zen practitioners like sweaty dominos. Coincidentally, everyone in that class was also half-naked.

I glanced at Zena, who looked like she was contemplating whether the sheet she was wearing could be used as a parachute for a quick escape off the 40 th floor. Mr. Dalton's face was turning an alarming shade of purple, while Mrs. Dalton seemed to fight a losing battle against her own amusement. Her eyes were flicking back and forth between my chest and my legs, and I wished I'd gone for the more modest footie pajamas instead of my current attire of almost nothing.

"Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?" Zena squeaked.

"Never mind that," Mr. Dalton said. "What are you all doing in the hallway naked? Have you been taking some hallucinogenic drugs or something?"

"It's not what it looks like," I said, trying to sound casual about all the skin he was seeing. "Zena and I got locked out of our room. That's all."

Mr. Dalton nodded as he eyed Zena's grunting caveman ex. "And you expect me to believe that you happened to also get locked out of your room?"

Mitch waved his key card in the air like a victory flag. "I'm not locked out. I was in the middle of my pregame routine and these two would not stop making ridiculous noises in their room. I came out here to shut them up."

"Dressed like that?" Mr. Dalton asked.

Mitch sighed dramatically. "I like to visualize scoring goals in my underwear. It allows my mojo to align properly with the cosmos, and the static electricity from the synthetic fabric of my underwear creates a conduit to amplify my psychic connection to the puck."

I can't believe Zena dated this guy.

"Fewer clothes is also more freeing," Mitch added.

"Well, thank you for not freeing Willy," I said, eyeing his briefs.

Zena snorted, and Mrs. Dalton lost it, dissolving into giggles.

"See that?" Mitch fumed as he jabbed a finger in my direction. "That's what I'm talking about! Nobody messes with my mojo before a game!"

"There's still plenty of time to find your mojo," Mr. Dalton said, checking his watch. "Well, maybe not. Looks like you need to get ready to head to the arena soon."

Mitch's left eye twitched and then he stormed back inside his room without another word, his door slamming behind him.

"You two—come with us," Mr. Dalton ordered. "We can call the front desk from our room to get you back into yours." He shrugged off his suit jacket and thrust it at me. "And cover yourself up, for heaven's sake."

I gratefully put on his jacket, but my stomach churned with a mixture of dread and embarrassment as we trailed behind Zena's parents. Once inside their room, Mr. Dalton immediately called the front desk and spoke with someone about our issue. After he hung up the phone, he spun around and faced us.

"Good news—they're going to send someone up shortly to let you back into your room," he said. "Now, let's talk about what I witnessed in the hallway."

Here comes the stern lecture …

Mr. Dalton's face broke into a completely unexpected grin. "Brilliant performance, you two!"

I blinked, sure I'd misheard. "I'm sorry, what?"

"This is exactly the state I want Mitch to be in before he hits the ice," Mr. Dalton said. "I can't wait to see what happens in the game. In fact, we'll get to witness it together since we have the seats next to yours."

Uh-oh, this will not be good.

Zena shifted uncomfortably beside me. "But you normally watch from the suite when you attend games on the road."

"It is usually my preference." Mr. Dalton gestured to Mrs. Dalton. "But your mother has been on a mission to add more zing and zip to our lives. This is what she wanted, to sit next to you in the front row this time."

Mrs. Dalton smiled. "I thought it would be fun. You can't get any closer to the action than that, and Lord knows I could use some action."

Zena hesitated, then said, "We won't be at the game, though."

"Why?" Mr. Dalton asked. "What happened?"

"We kind of gave away the tickets," she admitted.

I braced for the explosion coming from her dad.

Mr. Dalton's nostrils flared right on cue. "Are you insane? You can't just give away tickets like that! Do you have any idea how much those tickets were worth?"

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "According to the people we gave them to, about two grand a pop."

"It was a rhetorical question!" he said. "Zena, how could you be so stupid?"

Something inside me snapped.

"Hey!" I shouted, feeling a surge of protectiveness come to life from deep within. "Don't talk to her that way."

The hotel room fell silent.

Mr. Dalton slowly turned to face me.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "How dare you talk to me that way?" he said, his voice deep and menacing. "I told you before that you've got more spine than I gave you credit for, but that doesn't mean you can disrespect me."

"You mean, like you disrespected your daughter?" I asked. "Didn't it cross your mind that there must have been a good reason to give away the tickets? Insulting others is the fastest way to lose people's respect."

I was playing with fire, but Zena didn't deserve to be treated that way, not by her father, not by anyone.

I could feel her surprised gaze on me, but I kept my eyes locked on Mr. Dalton. The air crackled with tension as we faced off, neither of us willing to back down.

"Everett—this is not good for your heart," Mrs. Dalton said, appearing to be the peacemaker.

"My heart is fine," Mr. Dalton said, not taking his eyes off me. "And Nolan obviously has something on his mind. Go ahead, get it out." He crossed his arms and waited.

"You're right. I have something to say." I stood my ground, my heart pounding but my resolve firm. "First, I still can't believe you would talk to your own daughter that way. She's an amazing woman, in more ways than I can count."

Mr. Dalton ground his teeth. "Have you finished?"

"Not even close," I said. "It was my idea to give away the tickets, not Zena's, and I'll explain why if you'll listen without yelling, judging, or blowing a fuse."

Zena reached for my arm and squeezed it. "Nolan …"

"It's okay—I can handle this," I assured her. "And your father deserves to know the truth."

"You got that right," he said. "Let's hear it."

"Fine," I said. "If you want to know why I gave away the tickets, Mr. Dalton, it was because I was sure they would be put to much better use with someone else. Someone who really could have used them."

"Who would that be, exactly?" he asked.

"That's not the point," I said. "I did what I believed in my heart was the right thing to do and I would do it again if I had the chance."

"Me too," Zena said firmly. "Nolan asked for my permission to give away the tickets. Of course, I said yes."

"I also had a better idea to irritate Mitch, much better than taunting him at the game," I said. "It obviously worked. You saw it for yourself in the hallway."

Mr. Dalton huffed. "The proof is in the pudding and the final score, Nolan. He hasn't even played the game yet."

I shrugged. "Well, I guess we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

"You'd better be right." He paused, then surprisingly switched gears when he asked, "And why haven't you used the credit card I gave you? There's no activity on it. Zero."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"I track everything," Mr. Dalton replied, his tone making me feel like I was back in school, caught passing notes. "I told you to spend whatever money you need to make your relationship look legit, and to spoil my daughter."

Zena fingered the pendant around her neck, a soft smile playing on her lips as she glanced at me. "He gave me this."

Mr. Dalton peered at the silver octopus, scratching the side of his head in confusion. "Why didn't that show up on the credit card purchases?"

I shrugged. "Because I bought it with my own money."

Zena glanced at me, her eyes wide with surprise. "You did?"

"That is not part of the plan," Mr. Dalton said, his brow furrowing. "I told you I would cover all expenses."

"And I appreciate that, but I wanted the gift to be from me," I said, feeling the need to explain myself again. "If I used your money, it wouldn't have felt like a genuine gift."

"But the gift is still not real," Mr. Dalton said. "You're faking it. You're faking everything."

I was glad I'd called him out on his disrespectful behavior toward Zena, but this was definitely not the right moment to correct him and tell him I wasn't faking a thing or that I had feelings for his daughter.

"They have become friends, obviously. This is wonderful," Mrs. Dalton said with a smile. "I see nothing wrong with what Nolan did. It's not like it's a diamond ring."

A flicker of hope burned inside me, like she was on our side.

Zena bumped my hip. "That was sweet."

"That was a missed write-off," Mr. Dalton grumbled, extinguishing that hope as quickly as it had appeared. "What about lunch today? Didn't you eat?"

"Yes, and I paid for that with my money as well," I admitted, feeling like I was confessing to a crime.

Mr. Dalton's face darkened.

I could almost see the storm clouds gathering again.

"You're disobeying direct orders," he said.

I stood my ground. "Everything is going according to plan. Isn't that what's most important here?"

"It certainly is," Mrs. Dalton said with a smile, giving us a much-needed lifeline and escape. "You two should get going. That hotel employee will be in front of your door any minute."

"And I need to get out of this sheet!" Zena said. "Have fun at the game. We'll be watching it on TV."

She hugged her mother, but then her shoulders tensed as she passed Mr. Dalton. It wasn't anger I sensed, but seemed more like a resigned acceptance of their dynamic. He stood stiffly, his hands firmly at his sides, as if the concept of a hug was as foreign to him as losing a business deal. I'd noticed the same behavior at Island Prime, when we'd said our goodbyes after dinner. Zena's natural warmth and affectionate nature were obviously more positive traits she'd gotten from her mother.

As we made our way to the door, Mrs. Dalton gently grabbed my arm and squeezed it, catching me by surprise. Her eyes met mine, filled with warmth, and she mouthed a silent thank you . I gave her a small nod, acknowledging her gesture without fully understanding it, then followed Zena out the door.

Finally, back inside the comfort and privacy of our hotel room, I stopped in my tracks and gaped at Zena's bed. The bottom sheet was half-untucked, clinging to the mattress for dear life. The pillows looked like they'd attempted a jailbreak, scattered across the floor in various states of escape, while the comforter had sought asylum over on my bed, bundled up like a refugee from the mattress wars.

"Um, what exactly happened in here?" I asked, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.

Zena glanced at the chaos, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. "I had some technical difficulties with the sheet extraction process."

"You most certainly did," I said.

She spun around in her makeshift outfit. "But I showed some pretty impressive improvisation skills with my attire, don't you think?"

"I agree, and it was mighty bold of you to venture into the hallway like that." My eyes trailed over her sheet-clad form. "How daring are you underneath?"

"That's for me to know and for you to imagine," Zena said with a flirty smile.

I groaned. "That's all I've been doing for the last twenty minutes. You're killing me."

"Well, I almost had a heart attack when you stripped down to your underwear, so we're even." She laughed and playfully pushed me on the arm. "How fast can you be ready to leave the room?"

"Five minutes. Fully clothed. Why?" I replied, surprised by the question. "I thought we were going to watch the game here and order room service."

Zena shook her head, her eyes dancing with excitement. "No way. We need to go out to a sports bar."

"I'm game," I said. "Actually, let me take a quick shower. The proximity of Mitch in his underwear makes me want to clean myself with a scouring pad."

Zena smirked. "Go for it. I'll shower after you. Make it snappy."

I showered at warp speed, emerging with a towel around my waist. As I applied deodorant and cologne, a knock at the bathroom door startled me.

"Nolan? We're cutting it close," Zena called out from the other side of the door. "Are you almost done?"

"Almost!" I said.

"Put a rush on it!" she said. "I don't want to miss the beginning of the game, and I still want to shower."

"I can finish up out there, if you want," I said as I snapped the top back on my cologne bottle and grabbed my clothes.

"Perfect!" she said. "Let's switch places."

Opening the bathroom door, we awkwardly shuffled past each other. Zena snuck a glance at my body, stopping at the towel around my waist. Her mouth curved up into a smile, but she didn't say a word.

I pointed to my face and joked, "Eyes up here, lady!"

She laughed and closed the bathroom door behind herself.

I dropped the towel and reached for my boxer-briefs.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked back open.

"Wait—don't change yet because—" Zena's voice cut off with a yelp. "Sorry! So sorry!"

The bathroom door slammed shut again.

I froze, my bare backside on full display and my underwear dangling from my fingers.

"What just happened?" I called out, my face heating as I slid into a fresh pair of boxer-briefs.

"Nothing! I was going to get something out there and I changed my mind." Zena replied. "And I didn't see a thing." Her laughter was drowned out by the shower water coming back to life.

"Right," I mumbled to myself, sure I'd mooned her.

At that moment, I wrestled with conflicting emotions again. The "why" and "how" of this charade still didn't sit right with me, leaving a knot of unease in my stomach. But despite my misgivings, I couldn't deny the unexpected silver lining: spending time with Zena.

Still, as I got dressed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was woefully unprepared for this roommate situation. With the close-calls and mishaps already adding up faster than the check-out at Costco, how were we supposed to navigate the minefield of sleeping next to each other in close quarters? Something told me that tonight was going to be a master class in self-control, one I was doubtful either of us would pass.