Page 14 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

THE ROMANCE COACH

Sebastian

Off the plane after a flight of many hours and onto the bus in Baltimore the next evening, with the familiar feeling of disorientation that flying long distances to a completely different climate always gave me.

Finding a seat on the bus, and looking up as a long-legged figure loped down the aisle and sat down beside me.

“So,” Kristiansen said. “Did she text you?”

“Piss off,” I said.

He grinned. “That bad? Sorry, man. Have you checked, though?”

“Of course I’ve checked. I checked last night, and I checked at the airport back in Portland. That’s enough checking if you’re not a teenager.”

“Check again,” he said. “That girl liked you.”

“What was it about her clear ‘get-lost’ signals,” I said, “that convinced you?”

“My wife wasn’t all that excited about me, either,” he said, “once she knew who I was. Sure, she felt sorry for me, but she didn’t exactly think I was the answer to her prayers. Thought I wasn’t a serious guy.”

“She felt sorry for you?” I stared at him. “What part of your looks, talent, personality, and money made her saddest to contemplate?”

“See that?” he said. “See what you did there? Assumed, that’s what. Now, she got me. All the way, every time. To be fair, there were a few pitiful aspects to me then. Not anymore, of course. I’m all good now.”

“Uh-huh. Let me guess. You swept her off her feet.”

“I just exactly did not. She turned her back and left me flat. She didn’t like rich guys. Entitled guys. I had to work for it, man. That’s the answer, but I can’t work out how you do that. You could show up at the jobsite again, of course, but …”

“If I wanted to get arrested for stalking,” I said, “that would be an excellent idea. I can get women if I want to, you know. Maybe I just don’t want to right now.”

“Ha,” he said. “Check again.”

I sighed and pulled out my phone, then couldn’t help the jolt as I saw the bubble on the screen.

What happened to the dog?

And, seconds later, a new one.

That’s the only reason I’m texting.

“I told you,” Kristiansen said, looking over my shoulder. “That girl likes you.”

“She liked the dog. She just said so.”

“I’m not even asking. But no woman likes a dog enough to text a guy she’s trying to avoid. That’s Women 101. Get on the phone with her once you’re alone and make her like you some more.”

“That it?” I asked. “You aren’t going to sit on my bed and coach me on what to say? Why do you care, anyway?”

“Can’t stand to see my fellow humans in pain, that’s why. ”

“I’m not in pain. I’m fine. I am a self-actualized being who’s achieving my human potential.”

“Yeah, right. Tell me another one. Call her. But don’t be an asshole.” Some guys are full of helpful pointers. He stood up again, so at least this romance-coaching session was done, then hesitated with his hand on the back of the seat.

“What?” I asked.

“Bring her to Christmas dinner,” he said.

“Oh, that’s no pressure. Are you crazy? That’s how I convince her I’m not pushing too hard or going too fast, asking her to a glamorous holiday dinner with a bunch of rich, entitled people?

She knows rich, entitled people. I told you, she doesn’t like them.

The only way I get anywhere is by convincing her I’m a regular guy.

Which I am. And you heard her. She has jeans and a hoodie, and I happen to know that she has one pair of cheap tennis shoes. From Target.”

“Trust me,” Kristiansen said, “it’s not going to be glamorous.

My wife’s grandpa is going to eye me up and down to make sure I’m still on the straight and narrow.

My kid’s probably going to throw up or fall on his head.

My little sister’s going to be shy and need to be coaxed into talking.

My wife’s going to pay attention to that, and to you, because you’ll be new, and she’s wired to help.

And Dyma’s going to be all over the place, going a mile a minute, making Owen more crazy in love than he already is.

The turkey will be barbecued, the cranberry sauce will come out of a can, the pie crust could be burnt, and you might have to play ping-pong.

That’s exactly how glamorous it will be. ”

Alix

When my phone rang, I grabbed it fast out of my jacket pocket, saw the name, hesitated, let it ring once more, and thought, You are ridiculous. Just talk to him like a human being. After all that cognitive effort, I swiped the slider and said, “Hi, Sebastian.”

“You sound breathless,” he said. “You working?”

“No. I’m running across from the coin laundry in the rain.”

“Well, get inside,” he said. “Want to call me back?”

“No.”

“Hey, you were the one who texted me. No. Wait. That came out wrong.” An exhale. “OK, I’m starting over. I’m supposed to not be an asshole.”

Suddenly, I felt a whole lot calmer. A whole lot more amused, too, the bubble of laughter welling up from my chest. “According to who?” I reached the trailer, tried to juggle the phone for a moment, said, “Hang on,” tossed the phone on top of the folded clothes, and got inside. “OK. I’m back. According to who?”

“Kristiansen. You know any Yiddish?”

“Uh … no.”

“Yenta. That’s what he is. Like an old neighborhood lady with her nose in everybody’s business. Thinks he’s a romance coach.”

“You’ve never been an asshole.” There was something else joining the laughter in my chest now, something a whole lot warmer. “You’ve actually been …” I sank onto my teeny-tiny couch. “Pretty great. Actually.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence, then, “Well, that would explain why you kept saying no.”

“Excuse me? I was getting married. Then I was running away! None of that was my best moment. And then I was in my Carhartts with mud all over my face! I looked in the mirror when I got home and just about died. There you are, doing the wealthy-investor field trip deal, and there I am, wearing half the field. That does not inspire romantic confidence in a woman.”

“Ah,” he said. “Would it make you feel better to see me wearing half the field?”

“Definitely.” I moved to sit cross-legged and pulled my ancient cozy throw over myself. “When do I get to do that?”

“Oh, wait,” he said. “I never end up wearing half the field. Cleanest guy out there. Well, shoot. I could say I’d miss to make you feel better, but …”

“What are you talking about?”

Silence for another minute, then, “Guess that shows me. You didn’t look me up at all.”

“Wait,” I said. “What?”

“I’m telling myself,” he said, “that this will be OK, because I’m not any kind of big star.”

“No. You’re not an NFL player. Not possible. You’re not big enough, for one thing. I thought you were an investor!”

“I am. Or I might be. Kristiansen dragged me along. How did you think I knew him, when you knew I just got to Portland? And excuse me? I’m not big enough to be an NFL player? You cut me deep.”

“I didn’t think, I guess. But you’re not a star. Probably about to be cut from the team, or whatever it’s called, so I shouldn’t be intimidated. That it?”

“Well, let’s hope not. I just got here.”

I shoved my damp hair out of my face. That sense of ridiculousness was cropping up again. “How have I somehow gone from Tech Bro to NFL player, when all I was looking for was normal? If I was looking at all, which I wasn’t?”

“Well, to be fair,” he said, “you are a princess. An ersatz one, but still. And I’m sure it’s bad to say, asshole-wise, but you’re pretty hot, too.”

“Right. In my various deranged disguises.”

He laughed out loud this time, and I asked, “So where are you? Getting ready to play, or what? I have no idea what football players do.”

“Football players practice,” he said. “And play. And eat. That’s about it, during the season. In Baltimore, that’s where. Hotel room after dinner with the team. Getting my mind right to play the Ravens tomorrow.”

“So is that hard? A hard game?”

“Not unless you’re intimidated by playing the team with the second-best record in the league.”

“Oh. Should I watch? Or will it make me not like you once I know you’re a loser?”

He laughed again. “See, now, I thought you didn’t like me because I was too much of a winner. Can’t seem to find the happy medium here.”

“Mm.” I snuggled up a little better under my blanket as the rain beat on the metal roof. “You haven’t told me about the dog. What happened? Tell me you didn’t dump her at the pound.”

“Are you kidding? That’s pretty much the best dog in the world. Of course, I really shouldn’t keep her, not being on the road half the weekends and gone all day, but I’m kinda selfish that way. I want what I want.”

“Come on,” I said. “I’m not going to believe you didn’t do the right thing by that dog.”

“Maybe. She’s probably about eight or nine, the vet said, got some white on her muzzle, and she had a big old lipoma on her side.

Malnourished, too, which was why her coat was so rough.

She’s had a bath and been groomed now, she’s eating all kinds of fancy dog food and catching up on her sleep, and the lipoma’s been taken care of.

Fortunately benign. That’s why she was moving slow, though.

It was almost in her armpit, hurt her to move. ”

“Who’s taking care of her? Aren’t you in a … a hotel or something, if you just got there? ”

“The team helped me find a place. Condo. The neighbor lady works from home and has a thirteen-year-old daughter, and I worked out a deal where they take her out during the day and keep her when I’m gone.

She’s not real spry while she’s recovering, because that was a pretty good surgery, but she’s getting there. ”

“So who helped you buy a dog bed?” I had to tease, somehow. “Tell me you didn’t pick up some lunatic woman in Target again.”

“Nope. I did it all by myself, through the magic of the internet. Lexi now has a super-deluxe orthopedic memory-foam dog bed. I hate to admit it, but it’s purple.

Not a manly look for me, but she insisted, and I have to admit that it looks good with her hair.

It’s also monogrammed. Is monogramming allowed if it’s on a dog bed and not my shirt? ”

I was smiling so hard, my face was probably cracking. “Monogramming is definitely allowed. Lexi? How did that happen?”

He cleared his throat. “See, I found her, and then I found this woman. It was an eventful night.”

“You did not name your dog after me.” I was so touched, my hand was actually on my chest.

“I can’t decide if I should say yes or no,” he said. “All right, she has funny hair and she’s old and was limping a little, but …”

“But she’s the best dog ever. You should say that you named her after me, because that is the sweetest … that’s the …”

“Oh, good. We’re getting somewhere. Listen. I have to go to sleep in about half an hour, because there’s this game tomorrow, so I’m going to have to go for it here. Come to Christmas dinner with me at Kristiansen’s.”

I blinked. This was not what I’d expected. I was working out what to say when he said, “It’ll be down-home. Him and Owen Johnson—Devils center—and some family, that’s all.”

“Christmas dinner with three NFL players will be down-home. Probably in some mansion.”

“Absolutely down-home, though you may be right about the mansion. If anybody gets snobby at you, you’ve got two choices. Tell them about the princess thing, or?—”

“I am not telling them about the princess thing, and you’d better not either. Absolutely not. I am not pathetically trying to make my electrician self more acceptable by saying I’m a princess. An ersatz princess. Just no. Just hell no.”

“Or,” he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken, “you can tell me, ‘Sebastian, honey, I’ve had about enough of this,’ and I can whisk you off to …

wherever’s open on Christmas night. It won’t even be for that long.

The team has practice, so we probably won’t head over there until five or so.

But if you hate it, we’ll go have a hamburger. I promise. Hand on heart.”

“I have no clothes. I’m also never going to call you ‘honey.’” I was weakening. I could feel it.

“Jeans and a hoodie,” he said. “It’s three guys at the end of a couple of very long work days, at least one and a half of them banged up and hurting, having a nice dinner with their friends and family and laughing some, possibly drinking a little wine, because it’s Christmas and Tuesday’s their day off.

And honestly? I’m a little nervous about it myself.

I just got here, remember? I don’t know anybody. Come with me and hold my hand.”

“Are you the one who’s going to be banged up and hurting?”

“Nope. If I even get my pants dirty, I did something wrong. I’ll be the cleanest guy on the field. Watch and see.”

“I don’t have network TV,” I said, “but there’s probably an app. I also know nothing about football, so I won’t even know whether you did well. ”

“Trust me, you’ll know. It’ll be obvious. So that works for you?”

“How can I resist?” I said.

“The words we love to hear,” he said. “Text me your address, and I’ll come get you. Sometime around five, like I said. I’ll text you when I head out.”

“Maybe I should drive in. Meet you there. I live way far out.”

“Nope. This is a date. Meet me at … at some store if it makes you feel safer. Gas station. Whatever. But I want a date. I promise to open the car door for you and everything.”

“In my Target tennis shoes.”

“In your tennis shoes. You don’t have to dress up. You’re already a princess, remember? And from what I’ve seen, you’ve got plenty of confidence. You’ll carry it off.”