After a bit, Craig takes off for dinner with his parents, promising to give me a call soon. Which is nice. Just like the rest of our evening with my family. And nicer still? The way Bowie is starting to twitch every time I look at my phone on our ride home.
He wants to know if that ping is the doctor but won’t let himself ask.
I mean, I could put him out of his misery. Tell him it’s the club trying to schedule hours, but that would mean owning up to working there and— yeah, no way.
So we follow Sheridan Road through the near-north burbs, passing all the gorgeous hundred-year-old houses in silence until we’re back in the city, then parking in the claustrophobic garage, and finally alone again in the apartment he never wanted me in… but cleaned for me anyway.
“Hey, Bowie?”
He drops his keys onto the kitchen counter and shrugs out of his coat. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for today.”
Taking my coat too, he nods without quite meeting my eyes. “No problem. No sense in you taking the train when I was going up anyway.”
I could leave it. But it doesn’t feel right. Following him to the coat closet, I make sure to keep a few feet between us. “Not the ride. I mean, thank you for that too. But when we were there. When I saw him—” Just thinking about it has that same sick feeling creeping into my belly.
Bowie gets it. We might be at odds most of the time, but in this, we’re together. And it’s been so long since I felt like we were on the same side, I don’t even know what to make of it.
“Hey. He’s going to be fine,” he says. “Antibiotics, rest, and he’ll be back on the ice in no time. You heard your boyfriend say it.”
I give him a short laugh. “My boyfriend, huh? Was that right after we started picking out wedding venues?”
And then the craziest thing happens. Bowie laughs too. And that place in my heart that I’ve never quite been able to kick him out of beats a little harder.
I love his laugh.
He shrugs. “All I’m saying is, trust him. The guy didn’t get a God complex like that without knowing what he’s talking about at least some of the time.”
I roll my eyes, ready to let him go for the evening. I make it one step away before I’m pulled back into a hug that takes my breath away. A hug so good, it almost hurts when it’s over.
And that is a problem.
6
Piper
Bowie and I have found our way into an unspoken truce since our visit out to see Ben. That ever-present sense of friction, the negative charge that’s been between us for so many years… I don’t know, it just feels different. Like somehow things have shifted between us just enough so our hard edges line up instead of grating together.
I still give him a hard time.
Come on, he makes it so easy.
But it’s not hostile. More like friendly. Nice, even.
Or at least, that’s how I see it as I rock back and forth with the sway of the L train, reading his last text. It’s been three days since the Dr. Keats incident, and I’m stunned Bowie made it this long before asking about him.
D-Man: God Complex ever call?
Me: He does not have a God complex
D-Man: All doctors have one. Especially the testicle-saving ER kind
Me: Mmm
D-Man: ???
Me: Yes, he did.
Three dots start dancing, then stop.
Then start again.
D-Man: You going out with him?
Me: He asked
I bite my lip, watching the screen.
Dots.
D-Man: When?
So many bouncing dots for just that one little word.
Why do I like that so much?
Me: Maybe tonight. The apartment will be empty since you’ve got a game. Nice and private, YKWIM?
It’s fun to think of Bowie’s phone crumbling in his big hand as I watch the dots dance and disappear, once, twice, three times…
Good stuff.
Honestly, I could torture this guy all night and never get bored, but he’s got a game, and, glancing out the window, I realize I’m about to miss my stop.
I dart off the train, barely making it in time, and follow the crush of evening commuters down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Two more blocks and I’m at the gym. Checking my phone, I see there aren’t any more texts from Bowie. But there is one from Craig.
Bowie
She knew exactly what she was doing.
Planting that seed in my head when there wasn’t one damn thing I could do about it before my game.
Part of me is wondering where my mad is. Piper was giving me shit for sport. Trying to torture me when I had three periods against San Francisco ahead of me. But instead of being pissed, I’m grinning as I leave the arena with tonight’s fresh W over the Gates.
She wouldn’t have put it out there if it was true.
She wouldn’t.
So I’m not even thinking about whether she was serious about having the apartment to herself. Not worried, either.
Ha! No way.
Okay, maybe I skipped going out with the guys after the game. But it’s because I’m beat and going out isn’t as much fun without Boomer there. Sure, some might consider my driving mildly aggressive… But I’m pumped from the game.
Same for that hard brake in the parking garage. It’s adrenaline.
I rattle the keys in my pocket as I ride the elevator.
She’s not on a date.
Not in my apartment with the doctor.
Getting out on our floor, I wonder if maybe there’s a plate of dinner waiting for me like she left two nights ago. Probably not. I’m not hers to take care of.
But still, it was nice.
I pull the keys from my pocket and freeze.
Was that… moaning?
No. No way.
I lean closer to the door, something that feels a lot like rage starting to coil in my chest. Because there it is again. Longer. Louder.
My hand starts to shake around the keys.
Another muffled, “Oooooh, God!”
And that’s when I crash through the fucking door.
In my line of work, thinking fast is a critical skill. One I’ve never had trouble tapping into before. But now? I don’t understand what I’m seeing. One slender, bare leg is visible over the top of the couch. Toes painted Slayers red. A tiny octopus tattoo on the curve of an ankle I know all too well… and then Piper’s startled face popping up.
“What?” she gasps, pushing herself higher as her leg comes down. “What’s going on?”
“Alone?” It’s all I can choke past the tightness of my throat.
Her eyes go wide, and she looks around the living room like maybe there’s a serial killer she didn’t notice before.
My legs feel like lead as I cross to the couch, stopping only when I see just exactly what a complete ass I am. All that bare skin ends in a pair of snug red yoga shorts, barely visible beneath her brother’s enormous team hoodie. And the moaning? Yeah, she’s got one of Boomer’s muscle roller sticks abandoned beneath her right knee.
Slowly, she turns back to me, somehow managing to lift a single brow while narrowing her eyes.
Yep. She’s putting it together.
My hands come up as she climbs off the couch, never breaking eye contact. “Just what exactly did you think was happening in here?”