Thanks For Last Night: A Guys Who Got Away Novel Read online

  I shrug it off. “Nah. I’m all good. And you know what else is good and fun?” I wiggle my brows. “Trash talk.”

  Rolling her eyes, she sighs in loud exasperation. “Boys. Can you please explain why trash talk is so singularly motivating to your gender?”

  I shrug. “We have penises.”

  We reach the lobby and step out of the elevator as she mutters, “Gross.”

  “Aww, do penises gross you out, Temp?”

  She gives me a droll look. “Yours does.”

  I gesture to the lobby as if to indicate the entire building. “Why is it you come here between shows again?”

  “Your place is closer to the theater district. Also, now that I’ve seen Adrian’s picture, I’m worried you’re not hot enough to win tonight. Do you want me to grab a mask for you at the party supply store? Maybe a clown or an ex-president?”

  I’m relieved she’s moved on from the subject of Edie and returned to our brother-sister banter.

  I arch a brow. “You do know where I learned to smack-talk?”

  “From the best of them.” With a twinkle in her eye, she points her thumb at herself. “Me.”

  “Exactly. Mouth of vitriol. And speaking of your acid tongue, you can take all those remarks back about Martinez. You’re not allowed to think he’s hot,” I hiss as we pass the doorman. I take a second to nod hello though. “Hey, Oscar. How’s it going? How did Melissa do in her lacrosse tournament?”

  “Came in first place, sir. Thanks for asking.”

  “Awesome news.” I smile and wave as we head onto Park Avenue.

  When we hit the street, Tempest jumps back into it. “I take it back. Martinez isn’t hot.”

  I grin, nice and satisfied. “Exactly.”

  She smirks at me, satisfied as a cat, then she whispers, “He’s smoking hot.”

  I groan. “You have no taste.”

  “I have amazing taste. Maybe I should go to the auction tonight?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I wouldn’t dare bid on him?” She cocks a brow.

  “You wouldn’t dare miss Hamilton.”

  “Oh, I might miss Hamilton to bid on a guy that smoking hot, and there’s nothing you could do to stop me.”

  She’s right. There is nada I could do to stop her. Because that’s not how I roll. She’s free to do what she wants, date who she wants, and see who she wants.

  Obviously.

  Still, the ribbing I would endure in that scenario would be immeasurable.

  “Just promise me if you go out with him that—”

  “I say nice things about you?”

  I roll my eyes. “Sisters. Pretend I never said a word.”

  “That’s generally my MO.” She blows me a kiss. “Love you.”

  “Love you too, Temp.”

  “Also, I would never skip a show to bid on a guy, so you don’t have to worry,” she adds.

  I breathe a genuine sigh of relief. “Good to know.”

  As I grab my phone to call a Lyft, she raises her hands and signs rapidly in ASL, “But say hi to Adrian tonight from me.”

  I growl, sneering at her as I stuff my phone into my pocket with one hand and sign with the other. “Never.”

  “I’ll meet him on my own, then.” Words fly from her hands. “I’d totally do him.”

  I sign again. “You are the pig now.”

  She laughs, tossing her head back, speaking this time. “Good luck, Ransom. I need to get to the theater.”

  “Spoiler. Hamilton dies. Burr kills him.”

  She lifts her hands and signs once more. “Oh my God, I had no idea, dickhead.”

  I grab her and wrap her in a hug. “See you tomorrow. Luna’s house? I won’t tell her you’ve been swearing and casting aspersions in ASL.”

  Tempest laughs. “She’s the one who taught us those words.”

  We say goodbye as my Lyft arrives, and I head to Teagan’s place in the East Eighties, bounding up the steps to her brownstone, one of those gorgeous homes with red brick and polished white shutters. It’s like a set from a movie, the house where the well-heeled New Yorker lives.

  Which is fitting, since I know she comes from money. Old money.

  I call to let her know I’m here. I half want to head upstairs to gawk at whatever her pad looks like, but once the door opens, all thoughts free-fall from my brain and land on the sidewalk.

  5

  Ransom

  Holy purple dress.

  Holy black heels.

  Holy red hair swept up in a French twist thingy.

  I grab the railing, since I nearly fall backward.

  Which is not something I normally do, thanks to my catlike reflexes. It’s literally my job to react in a nanosecond.

  Trouble is, I’m stunned speechless by the beauty in front of me.

  The dress clings deliciously to her body. Some kind of soft, flowy material shows off her arms, hugs her hips, and reveals her legs.

  “You look incredible.” My voice sounds huskier than it should.

  Smokier.

  I swallow roughly, trying to get past the dry patch in my throat.

  But I don’t know if I want to. All I want is to drink her up, gawk at her.

  Memorize how she looks in purple.

  “You clean up okay too,” she says, bright and chipper, the tone a reminder that we are friends.

  Right.

  Yup.

  I should not be staring at her like I want to discover what her lipstick tastes like.

  This is not a date. It won’t even be a real date if she wins me. We’re going as friends, and friends only.

  But fuck me.

  Friends are not supposed to look so good in sexy, slinky dresses.

  What was I thinking, asking her to bid on me? How the hell am I going to make it through tonight without telling her I want to toss her over my shoulder, take her home, kiss the hollow of her throat, then work my way down her lush body? That I want to savor the taste of her skin and adore the feel of her curves?

  I cycle back, realizing that words have come out of that sexy mouth. Words that need a response. What were they?

  Ah, yes. I clean up okay.

  How would someone not be dumbstruck by her reply?

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Wow. Well done, brain. That was just brilliant.

  “Want to see something cool?” she asks from where we still stand outside her door. I can’t move. My feet are rooted to the top step.

  “Sure,” I say, gritting my teeth, telling myself to stop lusting after my friend.

  Friends are off-limits.

  That’s my goddamn mantra.

  “I practiced my lines for tonight. Check this out.” She thrusts her right arm high in the air and declares, “One million dollars!”

  That does the trick. Her humor. Her lightness. It settles the tension in me so that it falls away and I can talk again, move again.

  I gesture to the steps, and we walk down to the sidewalk. “I love charity, but I don’t have that kind of jack.”

  She frowns. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “Hmm. Okay, how about this?” She clears her throat, lifts a finger daintily, and affixes a most serious expression on her face. “I bid two dollars on Ransom North.”

  As we walk toward Madison, I laugh. “Try somewhere in between, King.”

  She nudges my arm with her elbow. “Don’t you worry. I’m going to nab you tonight. I’m determined.” She rubs her palms together, and we review the bidding plan. That helps center me too, underlines the definition of who we are.

  When we finish, she asks, “So why this charity?”

  Funny that I’ve known her for months but the question has never come up before. This is a good enough time to talk about it, since it isn’t a deep, dark secret. “My older sister, Luna . . .”

  “The pretty blonde? The one who’s married?”

  “How do you know she’s blonde?”

  Tea
gan rolls her eyes. “Hello? Social media strategist here. I’ve seen pictures of your family at your games. During the playoffs, you posted a pic on Instagram of your parents and your two sisters cheering you on. There was a dog in the shot too. Well, a dog face.”

  I laugh, a little embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. Well, there is that.”

  “Also, I’m not a stalker. But I happen to have a thing for dog photos.”

  I nod exaggeratedly. “‘I’m not a stalker’ is what everyone who’s a stalker says.”

  She pats her chest. “Dog-lover, Ransom. I’m a dog lover. Anyway, continue.”

  “Luna lost most of her hearing when she was younger—around two or three—so my whole family knows sign language. She’s also the reason I want to raise the most money. Because companion dogs are awesome, and my sister’s Lab helps her every day. That was Angela at the game—the Lab.”

  “Her dog’s name is Angela?”

  “Yes.”

  Teagan brings a hand to her heart. “I love her already.”

  I furrow my brow. “The dog or my sister?”

  “Both. I love human names for dogs.” Teagan beams, a big, warm smile. “Also, I think that’s amazing.”

  “That she has a service dog?”

  She shakes her head. “No. That you want to do this for her, raise more for a charity that matters to her and her life. To your family. That’s cool. Also, hello, hidden talent.” She flashes me a smile. “You know another language.”

  “True. That is another of my hidden talents,” I say.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me.” Her tone gentles as she says it, her smile soft and inviting. “I assume it’s not a secret, but I also know sometimes it’s hard to share details about our families. I appreciate it.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard, but sometimes it’s easy,” I say, although it’s rarely difficult to talk to Teagan. “It’s easy talking to you, and that’s not the case with everyone.”

  When people find out I know sign language or that my sister can’t hear, they sometimes want to delve too deep, ask all sorts of questions that aren’t their business. How do you feel about that? How was that growing up? What was it like when you were all kids?

  What was it like? It was like my life. Her life. Our life. It was all normal to me, plain and simple.

  It’s who we are, my family. We laugh and joke and tease and love. My sisters and me, my parents and us.

  I like that Teagan isn’t whispering intrusive questions at me, or giving me that I’m so sorry look.

  Instead, she asks something simple about my everyday life. “You must use ASL every time you’re with your sister, then. Do you use it elsewhere?”

  That’s much easier to answer. “I do volunteer work with some little kids who have hearing loss. I help with reading, but I can sign if they need me to.”

  She brings her hand to her heart. “You’re making me melt. That’s amazing. Big, strong hockey player signing to kids. Ransom, that’s incredible.”

  I wave a hand, even as my chest warms. “It’s nothing.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s not nothing. That’s inspiring. And it’s something unexpected.”

  “From an athlete?”

  “Well, yeah,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’m sure it means a lot to the kids and their parents.”

  “That’s what they tell me, but honestly, that’s not why I do it. And I don’t put it on social media, because I don’t want the focus to be on me. I just want to help the kids. I know from Luna how beneficial it is to talk to others.”

  She beams. “I love it. I would love to know some words.”

  “Maybe I’ll teach you sometime.”

  “I look forward to that.”

  My heart glows a little from this conversation, from her interest and her admiration, but I don’t want to linger in this self-congratulatory zone.

  We turn down Madison, through Saturday evening crowds, walking past couples dressed up for dates, weaving through throngs of friends decked out for a night on the town, and when I have the chance, I shift the focus back to her.

  “Let’s turn the tables,” I say as my opening move.

  She nods crisply. “Table turning, I am ready. What have you got?”

  “Your parents’ foundation. I know the basics from the website, but I’d like to know more.”

  She snaps her gaze toward me as we slow at a light. “You visited the foundation’s page?”

  “This surprises you? That I know how to use the internet?”

  She shakes her head, then replies, her voice soft, “Not that part, Ransom.”

  My heart squeezes, and I fear I’ve said the wrong thing, made light of something at the wrong time. “Sorry, Teagan. I didn’t mean to joke.”

  She doesn’t answer right away, just knits her brow. Then she draws a deep breath. “I was just surprised you looked it up. I don’t know why though. I think it caught me off guard.”

  “I was honestly just curious about you,” I say, gentling my tone to match her shift in mood. “Trying to understand what makes you tick.”

  Her lips relax into a soft smile, and then she shakes her head. “Hey, don’t apologize. I’m actually sort of touched.”

  And now I’m surprised too. Seems like we’re both catching each other off guard tonight. “Why are you touched?”

  She shrugs lightly. “Just that you made the effort. That means a lot to me, that you took an interest.” She clears her throat, her lips going straight, her eyes more serious. “My mother and little sister died in a car crash when I was twenty. My sister, Millie, was eight.”

  Her voice is calm, but almost too perfectly modulated, as if she’s practiced keeping it that way. How else could she get out such horrors? My heart craters for her, at the thought of what she’s gone through.

  “And then my father passed away three years ago. Heart disease.” She swallows roughly and then finishes, “Which seemed like exactly what would kill him. A broken heart.”

  She wobbles on those last words, and my throat seizes as a tide of emotion wells up, a swell of sympathy. I set a hand on her back, rubbing gently as we walk. “Shit, Teagan. I’m so sorry. I knew your parents were gone. But I didn’t realize you had a little sister and that she died too. That is horrible.”

  She nods quickly, screwing up the corner of her lips. “It was pretty terrible.”

  We stop where the light is red at the crosswalk, and I don’t think, I just do. I wrap her in a hug. “That’s a lot to go through. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She laughs, trying to make light of it, I suspect. “Oh, stop. No pity hugs.”

  I hug her tighter, going for humor. “My hugs are not pitiful.”

  “Fine, your pitiful hugs are decent,” she grumbles.

  “Yes, I am a very decent hugger,” I say, laughing.

  I don’t let her go, and she doesn’t seem to want me to. Her arms slide tightly around my waist, and we stand that way, there in the middle of the city. This embrace is completely out of character for both of us, but perhaps it’s entirely necessary.

  “Thank you, Ransom. For . . . everything.”

  I’m not sure what I did, or what she’s thanking me for. But I don’t care, since she’s warm and soft in my arms, and she feels so good. Maybe it’s wrong to enjoy a hug so much after an emotional moment. But if this is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

  Except, as I breathe in her soft strawberry scent, I remind myself of my lines.

  My limits.

  The longer the embrace lasts, the more I want to smell her hair, slide my nose along the soft skin of her neck, inhale her.

  But those lines are there for a reason.

  So that I don’t make the same mistakes I made with Edie.

  Falling for a friend nearly cost me my sanity.

  When Edie left me, I spiraled like I never had before.

  I can’t go there again.

  I won’t go there again.

  That’s a chance I simply won’t tak
e.

  I break the hug, then cuff Teagan playfully on the arm. “All right, King. Let’s get the bidding going.”

  She smiles. “Two million dollars.”

  All I can do is shake my head and laugh.

  We continue on to Sixtieth Street, turn the corner, and head into the swank Luxe Hotel. Teagan excuses herself for the restroom, and as I wait in the hallway, a booming voice echoes down the corridor.

  “Does anyone know what time it is?”

  I turn around to see the smug face of Adrian Martinez as he walks my way, tossing out the tagline from my Times Square ad.

  But I can do him one better. His billboard might be big, and his flesh might be on display front and center, but the Gigante tagline is ripe for riffing on.

  “Hey,” I call, matching his taunting tone. “If it isn’t the only thing a man wants against his body.”

  Adrian rolls his eyes. “Dude.”

  “Dude,” I repeat.

  “I didn’t write the motherfucking tagline,” he says.

  “If you did, it would be: Check me out in Underoos.”

  For some reason, that cracks the man up. He laughs, big and deep, and offers me a fist for knocking. “You’re an asshole, North, and I am going to take you down, but you are one funny as fuck hideous beast.”

  “Right back atcha.”

  “Who’s the hideous beast?” Teagan asks as she rejoins us.

  When Adrian’s eyes swing to her, his baby blues flicker to the tune of Whoa, who the hell is this babe?

  Out of nowhere, a green-eyed dragon roars inside me, breathing fire and thrashing.

  “Hello there. I’m Adrian Martinez,” he says, going all smooth, like he’s about to hit on her. He extends a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  She shakes it, and I burn inside.

  I do not want anyone else touching Teagan King, and that’s a brand-new feeling.

  A fucking inconvenient one too.

  6

  Teagan

  He’s towering.

  I’m guessing he’s six foot twenty.

  No wonder Adrian terrifies opposing batters. He has eyes like ice. They’re crystal blue, and they’re stunning.

  I have no doubt he’s going to go for a million pretty pennies. Yet he has nothing on Ransom.