“Both.” A shaky breath exited her throat. “When I’m with him all I can think about is ripping off his clothes, and when I’m not with him all I can think about is ripping off his clothes.”
“I don’t see the bad part here.”
She bit her bottom lip. “He’s a hockey player. You know how I feel about that.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t want to date anyone involved in sports. God, I fucking hated it when Dad used to coach. No real place to call home, no friends. Hell, my friendship with you is the only one that lasted, and half of it took place via text.”
Reaching for another mint, she popped it into her mouth and bit it in half, taking out her frustration on the candy.
“I don’t want to date a guy who spends half the year flying to other states so he can skate around an ice rink. And besides, I’m dealing with too much other stuff at the moment. The franchise is taking some heat, Dad’s dumping all his Sheila problems on me, and Doug has already called twice wanting to talk about us. I can’t launch myself into another relationship right now.” She set her jaw, practically daring Darcy to challenge her.
Which, of course, she did.
“You know what I think?” Darcy said. “You’re making too big a deal out of this.”
“Oh, really?”
Darcy leaned back in her chair and pushed a strand of bright red hair behind her ear. “You’re only in town for a couple months, babe. What’s the problem with having some fun in the sack while you’re here?”
“What happened to your one-night-stand speech?”
“Apparently, it isn’t working out for you.” Darcy shrugged. “But you seem to believe it’s black-and-white, one-night stand or relationship. You’re forgetting about the gray area between the two extremes.”
“Gray area?”
“It’s called a fling.”
“A fling.”
She’d never been a casual-fling girl, but then again, she hadn’t thought she was a one-night girl, either. Maybe a fling with Brody wouldn’t be so disastrous. It wasn’t like he wanted to marry her or anything. He just wanted to burn up the sheets for a while longer, continue the fantasy...
But if she agreed to let one night lead into a fling, who’s to say the fling wouldn’t then lead to something more?
“I don’t know. Brody is a distraction I can’t deal with at the moment.” She paused, her mouth twisting ruefully. “But my body seems to have a mind of its own whenever he’s around.”
“So take control of your body,” Darcy suggested.
“Okay. How do I do that?”
“I don’t know, next time you get the urge to jump Brody Croft’s bones, try an alternative. Watch some porn or something.”
A laugh tickled Hayden’s throat. “That’s your answer? Watch porn?”
Darcy grinned. “Sure. At least you won’t be thinking about Mr. Hockey when you’re busy getting turned on by other men.”
“Right, because the men in porn are so wildly attractive,” Hayden said with a snort.
“Just don’t look at their faces. Focus on the huge dicks.”
Hayden rolled her eyes. “If I watch anything tonight, it’ll be that new van Gogh documentary on Netflix.”
Darcy released an exaggerated sigh. “A man who cut off his own ear is not sexy, Hayden.”
“Neither is porn.” She glanced at her watch, eyes widening. “Shit. I’ve gotta go. I’m supposed to give a deposition today about Sheila’s state of mind when she signed the prenup.”
“Sounds like a blast. Unfortunately, I left my party shoes at home so I can’t come with you.”
They wandered over to the door. Darcy unlocked it and held it open, her attention straying back to the flowers poking out of the wastebasket.
“At least your guy only wants sex,” Darcy said, looking envious.
“Brody is not my guy,” she responded, hoping if she said the words out loud she might convince her traitorous body of it. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?”
“As long as it’s Mexican. I’m feeling spicy. Enjoy the deposition,” Darcy called as Hayden slid out the door.
“Enjoy the flowers,” Hayden called back.
She turned in time to see her best friend flipping her the bird.
“Thank you, Hayden,” announced Diana Krueger, Presley’s divorce attorney. “We’re finished here.”
Hayden smoothed out the front of her black skirt and rose to her feet. Next to her, her father stood as well. On the other side of the large oval conference table of the Krueger and Bates deposition room, Sheila Houston and her lawyer were huddled together, whispering to each other.
Hayden couldn’t help but stare at her stepmother, still as startled by Sheila’s appearance as she’d been when the woman first strode into the law office. The last time Hayden had come to town, Sheila looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. Long blond hair brushed to a shine, features flawless and perfectly made up, expensive clothes hugging her tall, slender body.
This time Sheila looked...haggard. Much older than her twenty-eight years and far more miserable than Hayden had expected her to be. Her hair hung limply over her shoulders, her normally dazzling blue eyes were distressed and she’d lost at least fifteen pounds, which made her willowy shape look far too fragile.
Though she hated feeling even an ounce of sympathy for the woman who was making her father’s life hell, Hayden had to wonder if Sheila was taking this divorce process a lot harder than Presley had let on. Either that, or she was devastated by the thought of losing that yacht she’d forced Presley to buy.
“Thanks for doing this, sweetheart,” her father said quietly as they exited the conference room. “It means so much that you’re going to bat for your old man.”
