48. Renee

I’ve been sleeping with Weston for a couple weeks on and off. Mostly on. And mostly everywhere.

At the arena, in the cheap seats at the top.

In the parking garage at the apartment.

At his place. At Sutton’s place. In the elevator, in his car, in a Four Seasons hotel room around the corner, just for a change of scenery.

Now, it’s Sunday morning. Weston is at practice, and I’m comfortably sore in all the best ways.

I’m borderline comatose in bed, snoozing in the sun coming through the blinds like a fat cat while smooth jazz plays on the sound system.

My phone starts ringing. I reach for it with an idea of who it might be, and sure enough, Sutton’s face is lighting up my screen. “Hey, girl! What are you still doing in bed?”

“I’m tired.” I yawn and stretch. “I’ve been… busy.”

“Busy banging the grump next door, you mean.” She laughs. “How is it going?”

“It’s going great. He’s incredible.” I smile because I don’t even have to pretend that that’s the case, like I did with Felix. Sutton hated him long before I realized how right she was. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s still Oscar the Grouch most of the day. But he can be sweet.” I blush. I sound like a lovestruck schoolgirl, like I spend every spare minute I’m not with him doodling Mrs. Weston Scott in my diary and dotting all my i’s with hearts.

“You like him?”

“We’re… buddies.”

I blush at that, too, but for different reasons. Mostly because the longer this goes on, the harder it gets to pretend that the “friends” part of “friends with benefits” still holds water.

There’s more there. I certainly feel it. I know he does.

But both of us are too gun-shy to call it out.

She laughs. “My, oh my, moncherie. How progressive you’ve become.”

“It’s more, like, I would call it… necessary. We’ve agreed to not let feelings into this thing. Other than jealousy and only on Weston’s part, anyway.”

I shiver at the memory of the car commercial escapade. That one has yet to lose its luster in the ol’ spank bank.

“Well, I’m proud of you, girl. You get all you can.” She giggles again. “Just don’t forget the birth control.”

“Have no fear. I’m back on my prescription and he’s using condoms now.”

“Very nice. Very responsible.” She clears her throat. “I haven’t seen your picture plastered on TMZ. So that’s good, right?”

Hell yeah, it’s good. I don’t need anyone—including the paparazzi—to make a big deal out of us. We’ve already decided: this is not dating. We just sleep together and eat together and hang out all the time and text each other when we’re apart.

But it’s not dating. It’s definitely not dating.

“We’re keeping it casual.”

“You know I’m happy for you, Nay. And I love that you’re getting laid 24/7.” I feel a but about to be said. “But…” Yeah, there it is. “I know you, and this isn’t a good setup for you.”

“Why? What about me makes it bad?”

“No, no, no, nothing like that. I just mean that you aren’t a friends-with-benefits kind of girl. You are a full-commitment, meet-the-family, matching-china-pattern-to-your-dining-room-curtains kind of girl.” She pauses. “Sex confuses things. That’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s smart to match the plate pattern to the curtain fabric,” I mumble.

I know that isn’t the point, and Sutton knows I know that. But I don’t know what else I can do to convince her that I’m fine and I’m being as careful with my heart as I am with my body.

“As for the rest of it… like I said, we’re keeping it casual. When it ends, it ends.”

“What I mean is that I think you need to protect yourself. If you even start to suspect that you’re getting in too deep, then get the fuck out as quick as you can.”

I sigh, suddenly feeling an overwhelming need to cry. She’s right and I know it, and I also know she’s saying it to protect me, to make sure I know what I’m getting into.

But I don’t need it. Not right now, anyway.

For once in my life, I just want to hope.

Don’t I deserve that?

Every year, the owners of all the teams in the hockey league get together with their players and pick a charity to sponsor. This year, the powers that be have chosen the Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles. Michelle, Danni, and I are responsible for driving the fundraising efforts. We schedule the appearances with the players, plan the events, and coordinate between the players and the public.

It’s time to rev up our efforts, so today’s agenda includes a planning meeting with Michelle and Danni over dinner at Dorel’s. It’s a five-star bistro in the heart of L.A. I dropped Weston’s name to get the reservation—per his insistence—and, to my surprise, I didn’t feel one bit guilty about doing it.

We grab our table, order some apps, then I pull out the trio of folders I put together after my call with Sutton and pass them out.

Michelle looks at me and smiles as she takes the stapled copy of papers and hands Danni hers. “Somebody did her homework.”

“I hate being the weak link,” I explain.

Because they’ve been a team for such a long time, I sometimes feel like I’m playing catch-up, like they have all of their ducks in a row and I’m busy chasing rabid squirrels around the playground.

“You’re never the weak link,” Michelle scolds. “As a matter of fact, most of the time, I think I’m the one that’s a few steps behind.”

Danni nods. “Me, too. You’re putting us old hens to shame.”

I know that they’re being kind. I’m the new girl and it takes time to make all the pieces fit. That’s why I came to this meeting prepared.

Danni flips through the pages, skimming over the details of what I put together. “I like it! God, I’m such a whore for color-coding.”

Michelle, a little more thorough of a reader, nods as she scrutinizes the first few items. “A player auction—love that. Every year, we give away hockey sticks, signed jerseys, memorabilia, all that kind of stuff. We bring in okay money, but this could be huge. Can you imagine having Amar Kazinski around for a day? You could get your gutters cleaned, make him scrub your toilet.”

It’s no secret that Amar is as big a player off the ice as he is on it. A love-‘em-and-leave ‘em-with-cab-fare kind of guy. There is a trail of broken hearts that stretches along the California coast from San Diego to L.A.

“What about Jonah Martingale?” Danni smiles wistfully. “I’m not ashamed to say I would pay for that shit. My ex-husband didn’t really make sure I was… how do I say this? I always finished myself while he was showering up after, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Ooh,” I commiserate. “That’s rough.” Not that Felix was any better. I usually finished after he went to work.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind a few long hours of alone time with Jonah.” Danni grins again. “When I came to L.A., he was the first guy I met.”

“Jonah? Really?”

“Yeah. Funny story. I was at a bar near my place and he was sitting there, looking miserable and gorgeous. He was new in town, too. Said he’d just been traded. But you know these guys: they all have those long, lean, athletic bodies and so I was thinking more along the lines of baseball because it was an off-season trade and I really didn’t have any idea who he was or why he was so unhappy about being in L.A.” She shakes her head. “So, anyway, we talked and drank and danced. He ended up at my place. Naked and glorious. All sleek body lines and giant… attitude.”

I giggle. “And after?”

“Next morning, I send him away because I have to get to work. Then I get to the arena. First day on the job, so I’m nervous and excited and following along like a puppy while Michelle is giving me the tour.”

“Uh-oh,” I say with a wince. “I see where this is going.”

“Turns out, Jonah hadn’t even gotten a hotel yet when he stopped at that bar for a drink. So he needed a place to shower. And as we’re walking through the locker room, I see a nameplate on his locker. Says ‘Jonah Martingale.’ And I think, No way. That’s too big a coincidence, right?”

“But it wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

“No, it was Fate being a mean little bitch. Because no sooner do I read this name plate than here he comes walking out of the shower with a towel around his waist, looking like God’s gift to women.”

“Oh, no! You poor girl. What did you do?”

“Ran out of the locker room, down the tunnel to the ice, and fell. Cracked my head open. First bit of blood on the ice that year was mine.”

“What happened with Jonah?” He’s such a sweet guy. I can’t imagine that he was the kind of asshole who pretended he didn’t know her.

“After I came back to work, he found me. And I stupidly?—”

“Super stupidly,” Michelle chimes in.

“Super stupidly told him I didn’t want to get all mixed up with work and play. He agreed.”

“Way, way too quickly.” Michelle tilts her head and Danni’s red cheeks say a lot more than the words. “He told her to go out with the paramedic who sewed her up, actually.”

Danni shakes her head. “I should probably kick his ass for it all, considering how I ended up high and dry yet again after the medicine man ducked out with his ambulance driver.” She rolls her eyes. “Classic American love story, right?”

I sigh and I’m not sure who I feel worse for, her or Jonah. He lost out on a great girl and she ended up with an asshole who did her wrong. No one won the day.

But as I watch the way Danni’s face changes when she talks about Jonah, I can’t help but wonder if mine does that when I talk about Weston.

It occurs to me, not for the first time, that Sutton was right: maybe I need to protect myself. Wrap my heart up in some bubble wrap, impose a little distance between us. Should I find a new place to live? A new apartment, at least a little farther away?

All I know is that I can’t afford to spill blood on the ice like Danni did.

I’ve left too much of myself out there already.