13. Vera

The knock on my hotel door comes precisely at six o'clock and I let out a sigh of relief. It's not that I thought he wasn't coming—okay, I thought exactly that—but as the time inched closer and closer to dinner; I caught myself worrying that he'd cut his losses and run back to his parents' house. Or maybe another hotel room.

I'm losing my grip on my sanity. Possibly on reality too, but I can't stop the slow slide into madness. I can't stop the way my lips tingle when he looks at me or the way my pussy clenches when he laughs. I don't know if it makes it worse, or better, that Robbie seems to be slipping with me, but I do know that I blew up Tandy's phone today with a million phone calls as I hiked my ass all around town to find an outfit for tonight. Because yes, despite my literal job with top-end designers, I didn't bring a single item to Kimmelwick that seemed good enough for dinner.

With my ex.

By the time Robbie knocks, despite having his own keycard, I am surveying myself in the mirror above the bureau and debating climbing up on the mattress for a look at the bottom half of my outfit. Who the hell designed a hotel room without a floor-length mirror? I'd like a word. The only thing actually stopping me is the nagging thought I will for sure brain myself on the overhead light. Short ceilings and tall girls do not mix. I glance over my shoulder one more time at my reflection, marveling that I'd found the most expensive linen potato sack ever made before taking the few steps to undo the deadbolt. Then I almost swallow my tongue.

I've seen Robbie in a suit before. As a kid: at some party my parents threw, at end-of-year school awards, and at his great uncle's funeral. As an adult, both during the NHL draft—although I pretend I didn't watch—and of course I've seen the photos of him headed for the team bus or plane, but none of those times in memory or print seem to matter. There is nothing left in my brain but the Kit Kat jingle, the way his pants shape to the width of his quads, and the slow stretch of his hands before he curls his fingers into his palm.

"You look incredible."

There's a ringing in my ears. Loud enough that I'm not sure who said it, me or him, but then Robbie says my name and his tongue sneaks out to wet his lips. I want to lighten the mood, say something flip and flirty like, "this old thing?" As I run my hand down my side, but I can't put the words together.

My hair is twisted into a claw clip, not done. I've washed my face but applied zero makeup. I'm barefoot on the flattened hotel carpet, wearing a linen tube of a dress that does absolutely nothing but make me look like a striped column, but he's looking at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted.

It's not arrogance to say I know I'm beautiful. Partly because I think everyone is beautiful in their own way—I mean it, try people watching sometime—but a good amount of that conviction has been built over a decade of being hired for my looks. The fashion world is harsh. The requirements for models are endless, but I've had my fair amount of praise as well. The better my campaigns did, the more I worked. After landing Cooper's line, it became easier to hear the positive voices over the negative.

And never, not once in all the photos I've posed for, all the catwalks I've stomped down, all the ads I've filmed, never has there ever been a time when someone looked at me the way Robbie Oakes is right now.

It's fucking delicious.

"We match," I say, sticking my leg out to show him the beige linen of my dress, broken only by vertical navy stripes. He slips his fists into the pockets of his beige linen pants, the move pushing back the edges of his jacket. I tell myself the movement is the reason I'm staring. I'm checking out his outfit choice and the collarless shirt looks soft and relaxed tucked into his pants.

It has nothing to do with the urge to sink my teeth into his neck, right where I can just see the edge of his oak tree tattoo sprawling across the left side of his throat. Between my choice and his trousers and jacket, we look like we could pose for the same resort-wear collection. Kismet. Fate. Invisible strings drawing us toward each other even after all this time.

I wonder if I could convince him to take some photos of me for my social media.

He nods, looking up at me from unfairly thick lashes. "Must be a sign."

And just like that, my heart turns over to expose its tender underbelly. The bitch even waves a white flag on her way down.

"I just need a few more minutes." I say, a hand coming up to touch the base of my head, feeling the soft strands of my hair.

Robbie shakes his head. Not a vigorous no, but a little etch-a-sketch clearing motion. Like smacking the side of a vending machine when it's eats the crumpled dollar bill and doesn't spit out a pack of crushed potato chips. Like he needs to reboot his thoughts.

"Take all the time you need, Vera. I'm not going anywhere."

"Right." I force a chuckle. "Because this is your hotel room too, duh." He frowns, his shoulders coming up and back as he opens his mouth to respond. I bulldoze on, "You didn't have to knock. You have a key."

I'm a bitch. A bitchy bitch bitch for goading him, sniping at him, whatever. I blame the butterflies tap dancing on my spleen. I blame the smoldering embers gaining traction every time our eyes meet, or I look at the breadth of his chest, or I think about his mouth.

"Every time I've picked you up for a date, I've knocked on the door." He says.

Date.

My stomach turns, and the ringing sound gets louder, and it's not that I don't want this to be a date. It's actually the opposite, and this was my idea. I put it out there. I told him I'd see him tonight, but I can't admit that. Not to myself, not to Robbie, not to anyone, because we're already eating through the days I have here. We're already burning the hours down to nothing and leaving is going to hurt.

I just think this might be worth it. He is worth it.

"Vera."

"Right. Just let me make myself presentable. Then we'll go." I spin on my heels, ready to bolt to the bathroom, but Robbie says my name again.

"Vera."

I turn my body back to face him, but keep my eyes about two inches above his shoulder. He waits me out with the same steady calm he shows on the ice, waiting out the goalie or the defense. Taking his time, looking for the perfect shot. I shift my gaze and there's a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Your phone."

Right. Not ringing ears at all. Actual ringing.

I spot it on the bedside table just as the sound goes silent. I don't move fast enough to swipe it up before it rings again; the vibration shuffling it across the wooden surface. It takes a fraction of a second to recognize Tandy's smiling blonde face as her contact info shows on my phone screen. It takes longer to decide if I should answer.

"Answer it," Robbie says. "I bet they'll just call again."

He's right. The phone goes silent in my hand and I can see that I have three missed calls from Tandy "Homeskillet" Davis.

"It's my best friend." I say to Robbie, regretting my words once they're out.

Robbie was once my best friend, and he doesn't give a flying pig's fuck who's calling you. I remind myself.

"We've been playing phone tag for since I got here." The phone rings again.

"It's okay, V," Robbie nods at my twitching cell. "Go ahead, I said to take the time you need. I meant it. Talk to your friend."

"It's a video call," I warn him, even as I turn away from him. I swipe to accept the call and Tandy's blonde hair fills my screen. Literally. Wild, gold waves are all I can see.

"Darling!"

My best friend is a blur of hot pink Lycra as the picture finally focuses on her face.

"You have roughly ten minutes before I'm late for yogalates and you know how Luz gets when we walk in late, but I miss you so effing much and I love seeing your beautiful face, and I want all the details on your reunion with Hottie McHockey."

There's a snuff of sound from behind me that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

"I don't—" I try to head her off, but Tandy is a bloodhound with a scent.

"I saw the photos. You can't lie to me. I know you saw Robbie Oakes at the Genosa Airport—talk about signs from the universe sweetie—and the rumor is he ripped your clothes off with his fake hockey player teeth and bent you over your suitcase for a happy welcome home."

Another snort.

"Well, that's a bit extreme," I say, but my cheeks are heating at the image she created.

"And you're blushing," Tandy grins, "So something happened. Spill."

Every word in the English language melts out of my head like a popsicle in the August sun. She's right. Something has happened, although not what she thinks. And yet, exactly what she thinks too. Robbie is standing feet from me. In my hotel room. He's picking me up for a date. Every time I look his direction I soak my panties and have to squeeze my thighs together. I climbed into his lap, and sucked on his tongue, and altered my brain chemistry.

And yet…

It can't mean anything. It can't. Right? I'm leaving. He's leaving. Even if we ride this train all the way to mutual orgasm station, it's just for right now. Once again, there's no future for us. Right?

"So, did you fuck his brains out?"

I don't answer.

"Oral?"

A jury of my peers would definitely acquit me if I murdered her.

"A handy at least?"

"Tandy."

"Vera." She throws her head back, her phone swooping in a dizzying arc, and laughs. "This is Robbie Oakes. You've been hung up on him as long as I've known you. Longer. He's your one babe, and he kissed you—okay, your cheek or something—the first time you come face to face? Maybe jumping him is premature, but I think it's very likely you're his one too. Okay? Promise me you'll give it a chance."

Somebody kill me now. Seriously. Stab me with my Ferragamo's, strangle me with my purse strap,suffocate me with my travel pillow. Something. There are no more sounds behind me, just a weighty silence, full of all the things I desperately tried to bury six feet deep for the last sixteen years.

"It's not—" I rub a hand over my forehead. There's an ache starting at my temples and a burn at the back of my eyes and I want off this phone call, which makes me feel like a bitch in the first degree. I spent the last two days trading missed calls with my soul sister, and now that I have her on the phone, I want to hang up and pull the covers over my head. I want to sprint for Genosa, roadrunner style, and board the first plane back to my regular life. Back to me sneaking articles, and photos, and hockey games just to see Robbie's face.

Tandy's brows shift, her eyes widening as her hand splays across her chest. Pink nails almost a perfect match for her hot pink tank.

"Hey, V." Her voice goes low, soothing, a complete one-eighty from her usual bubbly cheer. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

And fuck me, this is worse. My shoulders hitch up and I will my muscles to relax one by one.

"No, no," I force a dry chuckle. "I'm okay. Just—"

A hand slips around my waist, pulling me back into a hard, hot chest. We've been here before, and I should take offense to the way Robbie touches me like I'm his. Except I like it and I'm pretty sure I touch him, look at him, the same way.

"Ready to go, baby? We don't want to miss our reservation."

It's not just his breath that I feel on my ear and cheek, it's the words themselves. They seem to vibrate the very cells in my skin.

"Oh." Tandy's doing her best Betty Boop impression as Robbie presses his mouth to the curve of my shoulder. He lingers there, lips resting against my skin, and I shiver in his grip. I can feel the shift of his smile. "Oh shit. Fuck me, you aren't alone. Dammit. I mean hi. I'm Tandy."

"Hi Tandy," Robbie says, "I've heard a lot about you. Thanks for taking such good care of my Vera. I'll be forever grateful."

I turn my head to look at him, still holding my phone at arm's length. He's so gorgeous up close. Thick dark brows, a strong jaw and chin—even if it's hidden under his beard—eyes the color of the honey amber pendant my mom has in her jewelry box. Even the bend in his otherwise Roman nose only adds to his appeal. I was there the first time he broke it falling out of the climbing tree back behind the Lutheran church. I was watching when the bones cracked again under the force of a high stick from a Dallas forward.

What was I doing again?

"I know who you are," Tandy says with a sly smile, and I'm reminded of my murderous intent. "Although it's nice to officially meet you."

"You too," Robbie says.

He meets my gaze head on and the world fades away to white noise. The colors of the room twisting into each other. My heart is thundering away in my chest and I can't pull air into my lungs. I just know that I'm being hauled into Robbie's orbit and I can't fight it. Don't want to fight it. His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb stroking the skin underneath my cheek bone. Time ceases to have meaning.

His lips are cool against mine, soft and slightly parted. I suck in a breath as the kiss registers, and Robbie takes advantage of my open lips to slip his tongue into my mouth and twist around mine. He's good at this, despite a long dry spell. Knows how to rub his tongue along mine until my knees wobble. Then he pulls back, pressing a quick peck to my nose.

"I'll be in the hall."

I don't know how long I stand there after the door closes, still holding up my phone while Tandy stares into my soul with the force of a water cannon.

"Oh, my—"

"Don't say it."

"Gawd. You little minx. He was there the whole time? And that kiss? Vera. I'm second-hand turned on. I may need to call Max and see if he's free tonight because Yowzah." Her Texan twang is deeper as she laughs her way through admonishing me. "Damn, that could've been embarrassing, huh? All the things I said. And he was there the whole time."

You think? I want to say, but she's giddy-happy and my brain hasn't re-solidified and I'm feeling too damn good to be snippy.

"Is this a thing?" She asks. "Are you back together? Just a fling in NY? Scratching an itch? Getting closure?"

"Breathe," I say, and Tandy sucks in a lungful of air. "It's…" I'm not sure what to say. I'm afraid we might be in over our heads here and I'm the idiot who gave us the starting push. "Complicated."

"I bet." My best friend nods. "All jokes, and his gorgeous face, aside, be careful with your heart, Vera. Both of your hearts. Have fun. Ride him until he passes out, but don't let him break you again."

I go to protest and she cuts me off.

"I know it wasn't like that. It was a crummy situation for everyone, but still. It's been sixteen years, love, and you're still halfway in love with the man. And I'm pretty sure he feels the same. Be careful."

"I don't know what I'm doing here, Tandy. I don't have any of my shit together. None. At all."

And I still haven't done my hair or makeup and we apparently need to go. What am I even doing?

"Now hold on," Tandy says in her little-miss-pageant, kill-you-with-kindness tone, "Aren't you Vera Novak? Didn't you once walk in thirty shows at NYFS and then fly to Milan and Paris and walk in multiple shows back to back? Didn't Cooper see you in that random campaign you did in Japan while he was on his honeymoon and immediately get in touch with your agency? Didn't he design an entire collection around your gorgeous freckles? Aren't you the Vera Aster Novak that gets on planes to jet set around the world, even though she's terrified of flying?"

"Yes, but—"

"No buts." Tandy shakes her head. "You're going to go to dinner with that man. You're going to chat and make goo-goo eyes at each other and get to know the adults you've grown into. The lives you've created because you went your separate ways. And then you're going to figure out the next steps together. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say with a mock salute.

"Fuck you too," Tandy says. "I gotta go, babe. Love you. TEXT ME."

I return the sentiment as she hangs up the call and then I swipe on some mascara and lip stain, and slide into my sandals. I'm halfway to the door before I double back for my jewelry box and take out the delicate silver chain and simple hoop earrings.

Robbie is standing in the hall, his shoulder leaning against the door frame. He isn't checking his watch or scrolling his phone. He's just standing, waiting. For me.

"Sorry," I smile as I tuck my phone into my bag. "I didn't mean to make us late."

His head comes up as the door snicks shut, staring at me as a smile blooms across his lips.

"You didn't," he says. "You seemed upset that she said all those things. I wanted to give you an out."

He holds his hand out for mine and I take it. His fingers curl around mine and it feels like that art shoot I did early in my career. I had to hold my breath, submerged in a frigid pool of water as ribbons of sheer fabric floated around me. They kept me under as long as I could manage, trying to get the perfect shot as quickly as possible. And I let them, desperate to be easy-to-work-with to inch open the door I'd barely cracked open. That first gulp of air when I finally went to the surface….it was equal parts pain and relief.

It was like dying and being born at the same time.