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Olive

A fter forty-five minutes of me stewing in my car and reassuring people I was getting my tire taken care of when they stopped to ask, a semi-familiar four-door pickup truck pulls in front of my car with a Rangers sicker on the window.

Polished black paint. Jacked-up wheels. Tinted windows.

When the front door opens, my eyebrows dart up at the person who steps out.

“O-Dawg!”

My jaw about drops as I peel myself out of the front seat and watch Bodhi Hoffman round the front of his ridiculous vehicle.

He’s wearing sunglasses and a blue Yankees baseball cap that covers his blond hair.

The basic disguise makes him blend in, but I still know who the broad-shouldered mountain of a man is.

“What are you doing here?”

He instantly wraps me up in a hug, squeezing me tightly until my ribs ache. Which is impressive considering the extra padding I have that protects me from those meaty muscles.

Whatever cologne he’s wearing caresses my senses in a way I shouldn’t like so much, so I’m glad when he pulls away to put space and fresh air between us. “Bash called me. I was in the area visiting family, so he knew I’d get here sooner than anyone else.”

I thought he’d call a professional, not one of his teammates. “Didn’t you have meetings today like Sebastian?” My brows pinch in confusion as I point toward the sad looking tire. “I just need somebody to help me with this. I don’t have a spare.”

Bodhi’s eyes go down to the problem that’s left me stranded here.

“Your brother ordered a tow truck to come but they were going to be at least an hour and a half because of another call. Probably longer. He gave them your location and car info and where to send it to get it taken care of. Said something about it needing an oil change too. Come on.”

I blink as he walks over to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door for me.

Sebastian knowing that I’m overdue for an oil change isn’t surprising.

Knowing him, he probably asked the garage to look everything else over while they had it in the shop too.

He’s done the same thing to Mom, although she’s better at keeping up with her car’s maintenance than I am.

“Come on, little Henderson,” Bodhi urges, tipping his chin toward the cab. “I was promised good food and company in return for picking you up and taking you to your mom’s place.”

He’s driving me home? Sebastian should never have asked him to do that. “That’s over an hour away, Hoff. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do. You don’t have to—”

“Christ, O,” he grumbles impatiently, walking over and tossing me over his shoulder like I don’t weigh what I do. I squeal as he turns us and walks over to the truck until he deposits me into passenger seat without so much as flinching. “I don’t remember you arguing this much.”

A shocked laugh bursts out of me for being manhandled by him. Did I mind? Hell no. Should I have? Yes. Fake it ’til you make it . “You didn’t need to do that, you Neanderthal!”

He ignores me. “You got any snacks in your car, or do I need to go buy us some?”

I glance in the direction of my eight-year-old Toyota. “Depends on if you like beef jerky, chocolate, chips covered in artificial cheese dust, or salty cereal mix.”

Minutes later, we’re digging into the snacks I’d bought as he pulls onto the road.

He’s fiddling with the controls to switch the music until an older rock song starts playing that reminds me of Alex.

It sours my mood instantly, so I tune out the Def Leppard lyrics and turn toward the driver of the truck.

“You’re supposed to be in New York,” I point out, frowning when his shoulders tense over the obvious statement. The Rangers are doing post-season meetings with the team and staff to gear up for the off season. They always do that before going on break. “Is everything okay?”

Bodhi isn’t usually the quiet type, so when he doesn’t answer right away I know something is up. “I’m dealing with some family stuff, so they told me I could catch up with them when I can.”

His vague dismissal tells me not to push, so I leave it be, even though I’m nosey.

The team is usually strict on their schedule, so whatever he has going on must be serious enough for them to give him some free passes on obligations.

“I appreciate you picking me up. Although, you need better choices in music.”

Without asking, I grab the phone plugged in and start searching for the song I want. He doesn’t fight me when I change it. He simply arches a pale brow as he glances at me with a curious look when the instrumental of the new song starts.

“Who is this?”

I beam. “John Mayer. And if you say anything bad about him I’ll grab the wheel and crash your truck into a ditch. Feel me?”

His light eyes widen a few seconds before the corners of his lips flick up. “You’re fucked up. But I kind of dig it. It’s hot.”

I study him, noting the eased nature of his body as he sinks back into his seat. Whatever was stressing him out is no longer front and center on his mind, and I’m glad. I like the carefree, flirty version of him better than the somber one. “You think psychos are hot, huh?” I tease.

Sebastian’s talk with me after their last home game comes to mind, but I force myself to brush it off. Flirting with Bodhi has always been harmless fun. And I’d rather see him this way than trapped in his head.

When his lips twitch higher, I know I’ve got him right where I want him. And even though I shouldn’t, my mind conjures up the perfect way to cheer both of us up from whatever is plaguing each of our consciences.

Screw Alex and his vibrator.

*

Bodhi looks comically out of place in my mother’s small floral kitchen.

The floors are slanted and uneven, and anybody six-foot-four and above would be grazing their head on the ceiling; Bodhi being one of them.

The curtains, dish towels, and washcloths are all the same dusty rose color—Mom’s favorite.

The cupboards and cabinets are all mix-matched shades of cream-colored wood, and the countertops are worn dark brown that need serious updating.

Sebastian offered to pay for an entire kitchen remodel, but our mother loves it as is even though some of the backsplash is chipped and discolored, a few cabinet handles keep falling off, and the dishwasher doesn’t always work right.

The only thing she agreed to let him buy her is a white fireclay sink that she’s wanted for as long as I can remember.

“I can’t believe you’re still hungry,” I comment, watching him slap the top piece of bread onto his turkey sandwich. He ate almost an entire bag of Doritos on the way here along with the beef jerky we shared.

He turns to me with a grin and then takes a large bite from the fresh sourdough bread Mom loves making.

“I’m a growing boy,” he remarks, chewing his food.

“Plus, I’m used to eating at least five-thousand calories a day.

Just don’t tell my trainer about the nacho cheese chips.

I promised I wouldn’t eat processed shit. ”

I roll my eyes and grab my phone from the counter to let Mom, Skylar, and Sebastian know I’m home, then guide Bodhi into the living room to watch a movie with me since he’s insistent he doesn’t have anywhere to be for a while.

It’s not the first time he’s been here. My brother had him over for Christmas last year when they struck up a fast friendship after Sebastian was drafted to the Rangers.

Bodhi is from Burlington, not too far from the small town that Sebastian and I grew up in that has two stoplights, one mediocre gas station, and a lot of cow pastures.

“No Marvel this time,” he tells me with a knowing look in his eye.

Thanks to me, his entire team calls him Thor and usually hides random pictures of Chris Hemsworth where he can find them.

In his locker. In his bag. Mixed with his gear.

It’s hilarious whenever I get pictures sent from Sebastian with images of the character hidden away.

“I’m tempted to chop off my hair to get everybody off my back. ”

I gasp dramatically, reaching over and pinching a few loose strands of his blond locks between my fingers. “Don’t you dare! Your hair is like Beyonce’s legs.”

He blinks at me.

“They’re her best feature,” I explain. “I think she even got them insured. Though, that could be a rumor. I wonder if you could do that with your—”

He smacks my hand away with an amused snort. “Not happening. I only keep my hair like this because I’m too damn lazy to get it cut.”

A lot of pictures of him released by sports magazines consist of those bulging muscles in a tight T-shirt, and another piece of his bulging in some extra tight briefs, with a sexy manbun atop his head. Not many guys can pull it off, but he can. “I think you look hot like that.”

One of his brow’s quirks as he gives me a subtle once over. “Yeah?”

I grin. “You know how attractive you are. Even with short hair, any straight woman or gay man would try getting with you. Plus, it’s not just your hair that makes you look like Thor. It’s the muscles. The eyes.”

Damn those eyes. If a girl isn’t careful they can get lost in that shade of blue.

They’re far more vibrant than Alex’s—uniquely his own.

I’ve often wondered if it was because Bodhi had less to hide.

Alex’s eyes are always stormy, a mixture of gray and blue combined when he’s in a bad mood. Which is ninety percent of the time.

Bodhi leans back trying not to look cocky but fails when his lips twitch upward at the corners.

My phone buzzes, pulling my attention away from the cocky right winger.

Unknown: Have you used it yet?

Alex .

My lips twitch. He’s persistent, isn’t he?

Unknown: I’m sure you’re seeing these

Unknown: I know you hate me right now, but I bet that only makes you wetter when you touch yourself and picture me

Jesus. Why do those words make me squirm?

Because he’s not wrong.

Ugh.