Page 16

ALDER

Lena and I rush from the bedroom, Brad’s words still echoing in my ears. Her face is flushed, and her breathing uneven—though whether from the kiss or the confrontation, I can't tell. Maybe both.

"Don't forget your diploma," I say, grabbing the framed certificate from the wall. Not because I'm thinking clearly, but because I need something to do with my hands that isn't touching her again.

Brad scurries ahead and blocks the doorway, his skinny frame somehow managing to occupy the entire space. "So that's how it is? You're actually with this... meathead?"

I feel Lena tense beside me. Before she can respond, I step forward, holding Lena's diploma in one hand and a laundry basket full of her clothes in the other.

"Move," I say simply.

"Or what?" Brad sneers, looking me up and down. "You'll hit me? Prove what a big tough guy you are?"

"Brad, just let us leave," Lena says, her voice steadier than I expected.

He ignores her completely. "What's your type exactly, Stag? Men, women, whatever's convenient for your image?" His gaze shifts to Lena. "Or is it just desperate people with low standards?"

Something hot and dangerous flares in my chest. I set down the basket slowly and deliberately.

"Alder, don't," Lena murmurs, her hand on my arm. "He's not worth it."

She's right. But I'm not about to let this asshole have the last word. I step closer to Brad, enjoying the brief flash of fear in his eyes as he realizes just how much bigger I am.

"My type," I say quietly, "is people who aren't self-absorbed parasites. Now move, or I'll move you."

For a moment, I think Brad might actually try something. Then, his survival instinct kicks in, and he steps aside.

"This is a mistake, Lena," he calls after us as we head for the door. "Don't come crawling back when he gets bored of slumming it!"

I feel rather than see Lena's wince; it takes everything in me not to turn around and shove Brad through a wall. Instead, I guide her out with a hand at the small of her back, laundry basket balanced on my hip.

We make it to the car in silence, loading her things into the hatch. It's not until we're three blocks away that the tension finally breaks.

Lena lets out a strangled laugh. "Oh my god."

I glance at her, a smile tugging at my lips despite the adrenaline still surging through me. "You okay?"

"That was..." She shakes her head, laughing again. "I can't believe we just did that."

"The great weed heist," I agree, feeling my laughter bubbling up. "Complete with dramatic confrontation."

"And unexpected kissing," she adds, then immediately looks away out the passenger window.

Right. The kiss. The completely-for-show, totally-not-real kiss that's still burning on my lips .

"Yeah, sorry about that," I say, focusing intently on the road. "Seemed like a good distraction."

"It worked."

"Right. Good."

We lapse into silence for the rest of the drive, the wooden box of stolen weed sitting between us like a promise.

Gordie is vibrating with delight at our return. His enthusiasm breaks whatever awkwardness had settled between us in the car.

"Yes, we missed you too, sir,” Lena laughs, scratching behind his ears. "Even though we were only gone for an hour."

"Want me to help bring the rest of your stuff in?" I offer.

"Could you? I'll take this little monster outside."

We work in tandem—me carrying in baskets, her walking Gordie—until all her belongings are stacked neatly in her room. It already feels like hers, no longer the “guest room.”

"We can deal with unpacking tomorrow," I say, eyeing the stuff I've set by her dresser. "Right now, I think we've earned a celebration."

Lena follows my gaze, a small smile playing on her lips. "Are we really doing this?"

I open the box, revealing several neatly rolled joints and a small bag of loose marijuana. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No, but..." She looks at me curiously. "Have you ever actually done this before?"

"Nope.” I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. "Hockey's been my life since I was three. Never wanted to risk it."

"But now you do?"

"Now I'm off-season, recently humiliated, and living with a gorgeous woman who steals drugs from her ex. So yeah, my risk assessment has shifted slightly."

She laughs, reaching for the box. "Well, fortunately for you, I know what I'm doing. More or less. "

I watch, fascinated, as she selects a joint and examines it critically. "Brad's dealer must have rolled these. They're decent."

"How do we, you know...?" I make a vague gesture.

"We need a lighter. Or matches."

"Hmm." I tap my chin, thinking. "Oh! The safe and satisfied basket."

"Seriously?"

"You thought I was joking about it? There's probably matches in there for the massage candles."

Lena raises an eyebrow. "Massage candles?"

“Those would be for the satisfied portion of the basket,” I explain, reaching for the wicker basket. Sure enough, buried among the condoms and lube packets are tinned candles and a book of matches. I hold it up triumphantly.

"Perfect." Lena grabs a throw blanket from the couch. "Let's go outside. It's a nice night."

We settle on to the patio furniture, the river a dark ribbon below us, the city lights shimmering across its surface. For Pride month, the bridges spanning the Allegheny are lit up in rainbow colors, casting multicolored reflections on the water.

"It's beautiful out here," Lena says, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders against the slight chill.

"One of the reasons I chose this place." I sit beside her, close but not touching. "Watch the fireworks after home baseball games. See the seasons change."

She places the joint between her lips—a sight that does unexpectedly distracting things to my pulse—and strikes a match. The flame illuminates her face in the gathering dusk as she inhales, the tip of the joint glowing red.

She holds the smoke for a moment before exhaling and then offers it to me. "Your turn."

I take it, our fingers brushing in the exchange. "Do I just...? "

"Inhale, but not too deep for your first time. Hold it a second, then exhale."

I follow her instructions, immediately dissolving into a coughing fit that makes her laugh.

"Easy, tiger," she says, patting my back. "Small puffs."

My second attempt is going better. We pass the joint back and forth in comfortable silence, watching the lights of the city blur and grow more vibrant as the drug begins to take effect.

"Oh," I say after about fifteen minutes. "I get it now."

Lena grins. "Getting there?"

"Everything feels... slower. But in a good way." I lean back in my chair, looking up at the sky. The city lights wash out most of the stars, but the bridges' rainbow illumination seems to pulse with new significance. "Those are really pretty."

"They are." She follows my gaze to the bridges. "I forgot it was Pride month."

"I never forget." I take another small hit, feeling bolder. "Though I'm not feeling very proud right now, given how spectacularly I failed at my last relationship."

"You didn't fail. Adam did."

"Maybe." I pass the joint back to her. "But I chose him, you know? I kept making excuses."

"I get that." She takes a hit, the ember briefly illuminating her face. "Four years with Brad. Four years I'll never get back."

"Why'd you stay so long?"

She shrugs, a small, vulnerable gesture. "He made me believe no one else would want me. That I was lucky to have him. And I believed it."

"That's such bullshit," I say, the words coming out more forcefully than intended. "You're amazing."

She laughs, but it doesn't sound happy. "You don't have to say that."

"I'm not just saying it." I turn to face her fully. "You're smart and kind, and you fixed my brother's tooth without murdering him, which automatically makes you a saint."

This gets a genuine laugh. "The bar is pretty low there."

"Plus, you're gorgeous." The marijuana seems to have disconnected my brain-to-mouth filter, but I can't bring myself to care. "Brad's an idiot."

She studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable in the dim light. "You're high."

"Doesn't make it less true."

We lapse into silence again, finishing the joint and watching the lights on the water.

I wonder if she’s thinking about Brad’s weird comments on my sexual preferences as if he weren’t jumping from one gendered person to another.

The marijuana has relaxed me completely, melting away the aches from training and the tension from our confrontation with Brad.

My thoughts drift pleasantly, occasionally circling back to the kiss we're both pretending was just for show.

"I'm hungry," Lena announces eventually. "Did we get those chocolate espresso beans?"

"Nachos," I declare, standing up too quickly and feeling the world tilt slightly. "We need nachos."

I pull out tortilla chips, cheese, jalapenos, and salsa in the kitchen. Lena perches on a barstool, watching me with amusement as I layer ingredients into a baking dish.

"I thought you'd be more precious about food," she comments. "Being a professional athlete and all."

"Off-season," I remind her, sliding the nachos into the microwave. "Two glorious months where I can eat like a normal person."

She opens the bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans, popping one into her mouth. "These are so good. Want one?"

I lean across the counter, and instead of taking the bean she offers, I eat it directly from her fingers. Her eyes widen slightly, and I immediately wonder if I've crossed a line. But then she smiles a slow, beautiful thing that makes my stomach flip.

"You know what I love about you?" I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "You actually eat. Like real food."

She raises an eyebrow. "As opposed to...?"

"I've dated women who would only order salads, no dressing, and wouldn’t even eat those. It was as if food was the enemy. Hell, Adam hasn’t eaten a grain in years.”

"Well, food and I have a very loving relationship," she says, eating another chocolate bean.

"It's refreshing." I check on the nachos, which are starting to bubble. "I like a woman who enjoys things."

"What else do you like in a woman?" she asks, her tone casual but something in her eyes making me think the question isn't.

The weed has thoroughly dismantled my filters, so I answer honestly. "Intelligence. Kindness. A sense of humor." I pull the nachos from the oven and set them on the counter between us. "Physically? I like women like you."

"Like me, how?" She's not looking at me but is suddenly very interested in selecting the perfect nacho.

"Curves." The word comes out lower than I intended. "Soft. Strong. Thighs I could sink my teeth into."

Her head snaps up, eyes wide.

Shit. Did I actually say that out loud?

"That's, uh, the weed talking," I backpedal, shoving a too-hot nacho into my mouth and immediately regretting it. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She selects her nacho, carefully avoiding my gaze. "It's... nice to hear."

We eat in silence for a while, the high making the food taste impossibly good. I try to avoid staring at her lips as she licks salsa from her fingers, but I'm not completely successful .

"I should probably get to bed," she says eventually, stifling a yawn. "It's been a long day."

"Of course," I nod, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. "I'll clean this up."

She stands, stretching in a way that makes her shirt ride up slightly, revealing a strip of soft skin to which my eyes are immediately drawn.

"Thanks for tonight," she says. "The heist. The... everything."

"Anytime."

She hesitates momentarily, wanting to say something else, then simply nods. "Goodnight, Alder."

"Night, Lena."

After she disappears down the hall, I collapse onto a barstool, my head in my hands. What the hell am I doing? Thighs I could sink my teeth into? Jesus Christ, A-Stag.

The weed has made my thoughts sluggish but intensely focused, and all I can think about is that kiss.

The softness of her lips. The slight sound she made when I touched her face.

The way her body felt pressed against mine.

Did she feel the rock-hard length of my dick pressed against her soft belly? Did she like it if yes?

This is dangerous territory. We're roommates.

Payback partners. Friends, maybe. However, anything more would complicate an already messy situation.

She's fresh out of a four-year relationship with an asshole who didn't appreciate her, and I'm still raw from Adam's betrayal.

We're using each other for revenge and convenience.

And yet.

And yet, I can't remember the last time I felt this comfortable with someone. Can't remember laughing this freely or feeling this... seen. Even high, with my defenses down, I don't feel like I need to be anyone but myself with her.

My phone buzzes with a text. Adam's name appears on the screen, and I feel nothing but mild annoyance for the first time in days. I delete the message without reading it, then turn my phone off completely.

I head back to the patio, taking in the rainbow bridges and the dark river below. My thoughts drift from hockey to family to the woman sleeping down the hall from me. For the first time in longer than I can remember, neither Adam nor hockey occupies the center of my mind.

Just Lena.