Luckily, the four of us remained unscathed.
Siobhan turned, eyes wide, then looked back at the broken light fixture. Bailey’s expression was much the same. Champagne foam poured out of the bottle, spilling onto the floor, but she was too focused on the broken light dangling awkwardly from the ceiling.
“Um…is Stewart going be mad about that?”
Dallas shook his head, giving her a rueful smile as he fought back laughter. “No, that one’s on me. No more tipsy Siobhan opening champagne bottles.”
Bailey walked out of the bathroom in a set of dark gray pajama shorts and a tank top. She was all legs and all kinds of hot. Maybe we didn’t need to go right to bed.
“I know it’s late,” she said, “but I’m kind of wired. Can we stay up and snuggle for a bit?”
“Sure.” I slid over to make room for her beside me in the bed and wrapped my arm around her. Then a thought popped into my head, probably fueled by too many drinks and a long-standing, nagging curiosity.
“James?” I stroked her hair gently.
“Yeah?”
“This will sound a little out of left field, but I keep thinking about it. What happened when you were younger? Your brother said something about medical bills. I don’t want to pry, but you usually tell me everything.”
Bailey squirmed beside me like she was suddenly uncomfortable. There was a pause. “A bad car accident.”
My gut twisted at the thought. She had already dealt with so much in her life. I hated knowing this happened to her. “How bad?”
“Um…” She drew in a breath. “I had a concussion. Bruised ribs. Broke my femur.”
“Holy shit.” My hand froze. “A broken femur is a big deal.”
“Yeah, I was in a wheelchair for a while. My dad took a leave of absence from work to take care of me. But the person who hit us was underinsured, so it was an issue financially.”
Damn, she’d had so many bad breaks—no pun intended—that sometimes I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to fix every one, even when it wasn’t possible.
“Is that why you stopped playing hockey?” I asked carefully.
“No, that was a money thing…before the accident.”
My chest tightened like it was in a vise. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s how I ended up at Callingwood. Wanted to go to USC. Got accepted. Couldn’t afford it. Even with loans, it wasn’t workable.” Bailey cleared her throat the way she always did when emotions hit her and she was trying to hide it. “It’s a really prestigious program too. Kind of disappointing.”
She was downplaying that.
“Bet they have a good grad program.”
“They do.” She nodded thoughtfully and sat up, turning to face me. Uncertainty stretched across her face. “I’ve been thinking about grad school lately. If I can get in, I mean.”
See, there she went again with the misplaced modesty. If she couldn’t get into a good grad program, there was no hope in hell for anyone else.
“You know you have the grades for it, James.”
Her lips pulled into a tiny smile. “Maybe. But USC’s grad program is even harder to get into than their undergrad.”
“Either way, I’m sure there are lots of good journalism schools in California. Especially within the greater Los Angeles area.”
“That’s true,” she murmured, her smile broadening. “There are a few.”
“I wonder if there are any other selling points to California.”
Bailey shifted her weight and rose onto her knees. Placing her palms on my shoulders, she straddled my waist. “Hmm, I wonder. Warm weather is a plus. No more shoveling snow or dealing with snow boots would be nice.”
“The weather, huh?” I squeezed her ass, and she giggled.
“Good shopping? Rodeo Drive or whatever it’s called?”
“I can’t remember the last time you went shopping.”
“Celebrity sightings…？ I hear they have tour buses that take you to see the Kardashians’ house.”
My hands bracketed her waist, sneaking under the hem of her shirt. “Keep digging, James.”
“What else?” She sighed and pursed her lips, staring off like she was deep in thought. Her focus landed back on me, her expression turning shy. “Well, I do know this cute guy who’s moving to California after graduation.”
“Just cute?”
“Handsome. Sweet. Dynamite in bed.” She paused. “He’s one in a million, really.”
“Question is, will you be coming with me?”
A rush of nerves ran through me like never before. I held my breath, waiting for her response.
Bailey ducked her head, bringing her mouth to hover over mine. “One hundred percent.”
OceanofPDF.com
EPILOGUE
Three years later
Los Angeles, California
Bailey
Grad school was brutal. Every student in my cohort was cultured, experienced, and basically brilliant. With impressive professional backgrounds covering topics like foreign affairs abroad, reporting from the campaign trail, and even medical journalism. I was no slouch—I’d carved out a respectable niche for myself in the sports writing world—but it was intimidating. The pressure to keep up was insane. And not just to keep up; I wanted to be at the top of my class like I had been in undergrad.
Possible in theory; grueling in practice.
I groaned, slumping over my open Numbers, Statistics, and Data Journalism textbook. I’d been studying for so long that the words were blurring together. The more I reread it, the less sense it made. Like staring at a word so long that it no longer looked like a real word.
And sadly, schoolwork waited for no woman—or her birthday, which was today.
Downstairs, the front door slammed. I glanced at my phone to discover I’d completely lost track of time. Chase was a couple of minutes late, and I wasn’t even dressed. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood, and moments later, he appeared in the doorway to my office, his keys in one hand.
He flashed me a heart-stopping smile. “Sorry I’m late. I had to make a quick stop.” His smile faded, and he studied me with a frown. “Have you been studying all day?”
“Maybe.” I hated to admit it, because he already felt bad about being gone all day for training camp.
“James.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Did you at least eat something? Take a break?”
Chase had left for the arena early, and I’d rolled out of bed not long after, taking a quick shower before shuffling directly to my office down the hall. I’d even set up a Keurig machine on a side table near my desk so I didn’t have to leave to make coffee. It was a brilliant, if dangerous, move on my part.
And I hadn’t exactly eaten breakfast. But I did eat lunch, so that counted as “something,” right?
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I ate lunch on the deck and studied out there for a bit.”
Or I tried to until our neighbor’s kids and their friends got into their pool and yelled Marco and Polo at the top of their lungs. After moving out of an apartment complex full of people in their twenties who threw ragers every weekend, I thought we’d be guaranteed some peace and quiet in the suburbs. I never imagined it would be noisier here, but that was absolutely the case between the hours of three and eight p.m. Guess that’s what we got for buying in a family friendly neighborhood.