My phone buzzes with a text. Adam's name appears on the screen, and I feel nothing but mild annoyance for the firsttime 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.
CHAPTER 15
LENA
I stareinto my drawers at the limited wardrobe I managed to grab from Brad's apartment. Sunday dinner with the Stag family. What does one wear to meet an entire family of superstars?
I could ask my roommate, but we’ve barely spoken since we kissed and got high together the other day.
The kiss.
I finally settle on dark jeans and a forest green tank that doesn't make me look like I'm trying too hard. Maybe, I hope.
A knock on my door makes me jump. "Almost ready?" Alder calls through the wood.
"Five minutes," I reply, reaching for my makeup bag.
"No rush."
I hear him hesitate outside the door as if there's more he wants to say. But then his footsteps retreat down the hall, and I exhale.
I finish getting ready, trying to tamp down my nerves. It's just dinner, I tell myself, with about twenty professional athletes and their closest relatives. No pressure.
When I emerge, Alder is waiting by the door, car keys in hand. He's wearing mesh shorts and a navy PittsburghUniversity shirt, making his eyes appear impossibly bluer. Gordie sits at his feet, looking forlorn at being left behind.
"You look nice," Alder says, his gaze flickering over me before quickly returning to Gordie.
"Thanks. So do you." I fidget with my purse strap. "I feel like I should bring something. Wine? Dessert?"
"Just yourself," he assures me. “There will be an ocean of food.”
I swallow. "Should I be nervous?"
"Absolutely not," he says, then immediately undermines this with: "Well, maybe a little. Uncle Tim will be there."
"Your lawyer uncle?"
"Yeah, he's kind of intense. Very nice on the inside, though.” Alder hesitates. "I haven't really told them anything about..." He gestures vaguely between us.
"About our arrangement?" I supply.
"About any of it." He runs a hand through his hair. "They know you’re staying here."
A moment of awkward silence stretches between us, both of us carefully, not to mention the kiss that's been hanging unspoken in the air since that night at Brad's.
"We should probably have some kind of story," I suggest.
"It's fine. They're just my family." He waves a hand dismissively, already opening the door. "They'll be too busy arguing about Gunnar's wedding menu to interrogate us."
His confidence is not remotely reassuring.
The Stag family home is a sprawling Craftsman-style house in Squirrel Hill, not far from the universities. When we arrive, the driveway is already filled with cars, forcing Alder to park halfway down the block.
"Last chance to bail," he jokes as we walk up the sidewalk.
