Take Me Home Tonight

“Uh huh.” James felt like he’d said that twenty times. Maybe forty. Funny that he’d never counted before, nor had a girl in a tight dress had to work so hard for his attention. Usually when he stopped pretending to listen, that was the cue for them to leave together. Right now James just wished she would leave at all.

He felt a little bad. Beau Bennett was nearby, listening to this girl’s friend talk about God knew what and loving every second of it. He’d be hitting that by last call. Another chick was throwing herself at Matt Niskanen, who was no doubt thinking about sweatpants and fishing but was too MInnesota polite to stop the conversation. The hottest of the three girls, and thus the biggest prize, was talking to James. He was not listening.

It was warm in Mario’s on the Southside, and early on a Thursday night. The bar was dark though and on the walls hung a series of Pens jerseys autographed by their respective players. His was there, over a booth. “Thanks for the Bud Lights” it said sarcastically. God, he could be such a dick. He made a silent promise to give the place a new sweater when the season started, signed with something less bratty. “Thanks for the free drinks and letting us fuck sluts in your bathroom” would have been honest. Sid had gone with, “Thanks for taking care of us.” Always the diplomat, their captain.

While the girl in the dress talked, James’ mind wandered to his house. What would it look like when Harper was done? Would she pick anything James didn’t like, and would he have the balls to stop her? He’d have to work up to that, if it happened. After looking at the Adams’ house James figured it was unlikely: Harper was there to do what he wanted - if only as it applied to decorating.

There wasn’t any one thing about her that really got James . Three days together and nothing stood out above the other aspects of her looks or personality. She was hot. She was funny and sarcastic but also attentive and, that one time she’d touched his hand over breakfast, aware there were obvious problems in James’ life. It meant she would never come closer - never want to - and that was his saving grace. If he could be friends with someone like Harper, maybe he could repair the damage he’d done with Meghan over the summer. If he could stay friends with Harper, maybe James could learn to be worthy of someone like her. So that was the plan - friends, nothing more. No getting jealous of guys in the paint store. He’d crossed that line with Meghan so many times it made him cringe. Kisses and confrontations and meddling in her happiness to the point of preventing it, until she had to lie to get around him. That wasn’t a friendship. He wanted to give more and do better, and Harper would be the first recipient of his overturned leaf.

“Sorry,” he lied, reaching for his pocket. “I’ve gotta take this.” The phone wasn’t ringing, but James had it out before he got to the door. No chance of hearing anything inside. On the sidewalk, he tapped the screen.

“Yo,” Robert Bortuzzo picked up the call.

“What’s up? You out?”

“Yup,” Borts said. James could hear ambient noise in the background. “Urban Tap, bunch of the boys grabbing some dinner.”

James looked down the street in the direction of that restaurant. “Yeah? Anything going? We’re at Mario’s, it’s beat.”

“Table full of hot girls behind kicked the Yuengling keg, but the basketball game ended and it cleared out. We’ve been here a while, Sid and Stemps are talking about going home soon.”

James’ shoulders fell. Not only was Borts ready to turn in, he was out with some of the other players. James had not been invited - not that he’d called the team to join at Mario’s either, but that wasn’t Crosby’s regular scene. Dinner, with his back to a wall no doubt, was more the captain’s way. And where he went there always seemed to be a pack of Penguins around. Last season James would have scoffed at a quiet dinner wasting a perfectly good Thursday night. Now he thought of the girl inside Mario’s probably waiting for him and sighed.

“Alright. But uh, next time, let me know, eh? I do need to eat.”

“Oh-kay,” Bortuzzo replied skeptically before the line clicked off.

“Fucker,” James grumbled to himself. The only guys who went home this early were either Crosby or married. Or engaged like Brandon Sutter and Kris Letang, or shacked up like, well, everyone. Somehow the team had grown up around James and he hadn’t moved an inch. The new guys were too new, some of them barely old enough to drink. They revered Crosby anyway - probably paid for his dinner. The Penguins didn’t have a lot of wild boys left.

Or any, James thought as he stuffed his phone into his pocket. He went inside. The girl had been watching the door like a hawk and leapt off her stool, teetering in heels. It was barely ten o’clock and she was dressed like two in the morning.

“I’ve gotta go,” James said to everyone at once. “Sorry to bail.”

“Oh, but we, um...,” the girl tried to stall. Nisky just rolled his eyes.

James threw the guy a bone. “Want that ride back, or-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nisky caught on in a flash. “Ride. Right.”

They left Beau to the mercy of the three girls and got out of there. In the lot across the street, Nisky’s truck was parked right next to James’ Benz. Matt glanced back as he beeped the alarm, like the girl he’d ditched might catch him lying.

“You alright?” he asked.

James reached for his car door. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

When he got home, Instead of pulling into the garage, James parked in the driveway and looked at the house. It seemed fine from out here - no flowers or anything, but he wasn’t here in summer to take care of that. A guy mowed the lawn every week though, maybe James could have him water some plants. If he got plants. Then it would look like he lived there even when he didn’t.

Flowers, he added to the list growing in his head.

Walking through the front door, he wondered what that girl from the bar would have expected to find. She had clearly expected him to take her home. Would she think more of him if there were paintings on the wall or vases on the mantle? Like him better if he had bookshelves? No, that was pointless. She wouldn’t see anything but the clothes she dropped on her way to the stairs.

Maybe I should’ve brought her back. James hated himself for even thinking it, but the place was so quiet. So big. Being empty made it feel bigger and that made James feel smaller. Less permanent; like he didn’t really own this place.

It felt like defeat but he walked across the living room anyway, into the bathroom he and Harper had painted. It was hardly anything, but it was something. And that felt better. He caught his own eyes in the mirror and laughed sadly. Hot date with an empty bathroom. Is that what his nights would be now?
____

Across town, Harper used her remote to turn of the TV. Three episodes of “Covert Affairs” in the bag and she was all caught up. It didn’t hurt that the guy on the show was tall, dark and handsome - oh, and shirtless. Often. The only shirtless guys Harper had seen all summer were at pools, and now even that was over. Maybe she could watch that last episode again.

Thinking of shirtlessness, or tall or dark or guys at all inevitably made her think of James. She didn’t have any other distractions. And what was James, exactly? He was hot but she didn’t even know him. They weren’t friends. Hell, he wasn’t even paying her yet though she’d done nothing for almost a week but think about his house - and him. She thought about him. Could she charge extra for that?

He seemed so... fragile was the word she kept coming back to. Harper had never known a professional athlete, but it seemed they should have more swagger. James wasn’t some benchwarmer on a team that played to empty seats. The Penguins were Pittsburgh as much as the Pirates or Steelers. Right now everyone had Pirates fever as they made the playoffs for the first time in twenty years, but the Pens made the post-season almost every season in recent history. She had checked. She knew the whole town was Crosby-this and Malkin-that and she didn’t even watch the games. Since she’d started noticing though, James’ face and name and number were all around. The ad campaign for the new season was just hitting saturation. His picture had gone by on a bus, his voice had come over her car radio. How strange, she thought, to be so shared. The thought stayed with her when the phone rang.

“Hey stranger,” Paige sang.

“Hey yourself, lady of leisure.” Harper quickly counted the days since she’d seen her closest friend: ten, maybe eleven. Paige had been on a much-needed vacation from her job as an associate at a bigtime local law firm. Between Paige’s demanding hours and Harper’s non-nine-to-five, their social lives were often sporadic. “How was your trip?”

Paige described her stationary spot next to a pool in Phoenix, where her parents lived. Harper could believe she hadn’t moved in ten days except to eat. “What’s new with you?” she asked.

“I...,” Harper stopped herself. In a rush of excitement, she wanted to tell Paige about her new job - and about James. The words were already in her mouth. Yet it seemed cheap somehow, and needy. Paige would be happy about the project and ecstatically, shriekingly excited about the prospect of Harper spending lots of quality time behind closed doors with a hot, rich guy. A Penguin, no less. Yet Harper was hesitant to mention him because she didn’t know quite what to say. Calling him a client was factually accurate, and what she told herself, but saying it out loud sounded like - defeat. As if she could give up on something she was not chasing. Because she wasn’t chasing James. Paige would chase the idea though, or run it down, tackle it, straddle it and cry victory. Saying his name felt like using him to impress. Harper reminded herself that James was not a shiny new toy.

“I got a new gig - big house, blank slate. Just started a couple of days ago.”

Paige squealed. “Ooooh! People with money?”

“The best kind,” Harper admitted. “Way more money than ideas.”

She managed not to mention James as they caught up and when Harper disconnected she felt proud. Why mention the guy when nothing was happening outside of work? Someday she’d tell Paige and Paige would mutiny at being left out of the game, but by then Harper would have worked past the little butterflies that any sexy, strong guy with a bashful smile and watercolor eyes would cause. Just your totally run-of-the-mill hot guy reaction.

Fascination, Harper figured, was what drew her mind to James. And contradiction. Neither of those things equalled attraction though, and she was being very careful of that.

Debating exactly what and why she felt about James gave Harper ideas for his house, of course. Maybe she could bill for this thinking after all. James’ home would be a place he went both to celebrate his status and escape it. It was neutral ground but also a safe haven. She resolved to work extra-hard to learn what he really liked so she could be sure it was all around him.

Speaking of which, he had liked the couch where she was currently stretched out. Harper closed her eyes, James still on her mind, and fell asleep.
____

It was almost too much. Loom was possibly Harper’s favorite place in all of Pittsburgh - a textile showroom as fun as it was fancy. They had high-end everything, but a huge amount of midrange fabric that nearly over-inspired. While they provided their own a la carte design services, they mostly existed to provide people like Harper with anything she could dream.

She pulled several flat rolls of patterned fabric from a shelf, holding them together and apart, putting one back and taking the next. Her mind was in James’ living room. It was the common sense place to start: first place he came home to every night. It shouldn’t just feel lived in, a living room should be that way. Making it comfortable would convince James she could do the same with every other room. The room would need to be simple but sound: James’ house wasn’t a theme park. Subtle shades would do for contrast while keeping the house coherent. She snapped three photos and texted them to James with the message:

Rank these color mixes for me. First pic is A, next B...

James was at lunch after practice. When his hand moved to his pocket, Matt Niskanen’s eyes followed with annoyed look. James ignored his friend - he hadn’t even left Nisky with those girls at Mario’s, one fake phone call had saved them both. He tried to remember if Beau had been at the rink or was possibly kidnapped and missing.

He saw Harper’s name on his screen and swoop. Just like that, James smiled. He dropped his head too late, pressing lips together, but it didn’t matter. There was no leaving the table now - Matt knew that movie. Nor was there any chance James was waiting to open her message.

She sent three photos of what looked like sheets, in various patterns. One was light blue, dark gray and white, another bright turquoise with steely gray and a little yellow. The last was colorblock: thinner lines of bold red, wide areas of faint gray and accents of white striped in between.

“Naked selfie?” Nisky asked, sipping water.

“What?”

“You’re smiling like it’s a cleavage shot at least.”

“It’s not.” James laughed though, because it could have been. There were girls who sent them, either to remind James of what he’d seen or could be seeing. He hadn’t seen any of them since he’d met Harper, which would have been strange if James had noticed that kind of thing.

“Liar,” Nisky scoffed.

That yanked James’ attention from the screen. He’d said it wasn’t a sext, why the hell wasn’t that enough? He had to be lying, because there’s no other reason someone would contact him? Nothing but some chick’s rack could possibly make him smile? The snap of anger surprised James and he thrust his phone toward Matt.

“It’s my decorator, for fuck’s sake. She’s picking out - I don’t know what they are. Cushions or something.”

Unfazed by the cursing, Matt raised a curious eyebrow. He’d known James in Dallas, been traded with him to Pittsburgh and made a more permanent life here in a fraction of the time. Where James dragged his feet, Matt pushed ahead. He was that kind of reliable, practical guy.

“Decorator?” Nisky took the phone. “You’re shitting me. That place finally gonna to get a coat of paint?”

“Already did,” James said proudly. “Just a bathroom, but I started. I mean, we started.”

“You mean she started,” Matt corrected.

“I helped. I can paint. It’s not fucking rocket science.”

That look came back to Matt’s face, same as when he was sure it was a dirty text. “You painted.”

“So what?”

Another eyebrow raise. “You fuck her yet?”

“Jesus Christ. Shut up.” James growled, stabbing at his plate.

“That’s a no. Guess you’ll have to paint a few more rooms.”

James balled one hand into a fist and set it heavily on the table. From beneath the brim of his hat, he glared at his friend. This wasn’t Nisky putting himself in James’ situation - Matt was a one-woman guy, a total sappy romantic with his country songs. He was simply expecting James to be James, same as always. An itch crept up James’ neck. “It’s not like that.”

In his head, Matt wished that were true. James had been different the past few weeks, after coming back from his summer in Ontario. Maybe he was worried about his training or still smarting from their last exit against the Bruins. Either way - it wasn’t this. There were a lot of things about James Neal that would change before he stopped chasing girls.

“It’s always like that,” Nisky said.
____

James was angry. Maybe just upset. He got into his car after lunch with Matt’s words still banging around in his head: “She started.” “It’s always like that.”

Well this time it wasn’t. And it wouldn’t be. James couldn’t lie to himself about being interested in Harper, but he could sure as shit make sure he didn’t act on it. Pro athletes were supposed to have all kinds of self control; it was about time James found that in himself. As if to prove it, he hit the phone icon next to her most recent text.

“Hey, still working?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking up at another wall of fabric rolls. “Someone never told me which picture he liked best.”

“I need to see them. In person. Can I...,” he was saying it before thinking it, and realizing at the same time how lame he sounded, “... come over?”

The corner of Harper’s lip twitched. She bit it hard. Keep still. “I’m at the store. It’s called Loom, on the Strip. Near Pamela’s.”

“Near where I took you for breakfast,” James said at the same time. Damn it. He smacked the steering wheel. Breakfast, after that time I was in your shower, after that time you were breathing hard from our run and....
“That’s the one,” Harper said.

James had his key in the ignition. “Be right there.”

As he drove, James made a list of things he would not do. Ways to prove he could be around attractive women without being a letch; the skill James most needed to develop. Other guys joked about not trusting him near their wives and, James had to admit, a few had cause to worry. The WAGs looked good like it was their job. As James’ star rose in Pittsburgh, he looked pretty good too. He had never - would never, almost definitely probably - risk his place with the team. Still he’d kind of enjoyed when a husband second guessed, for a heartbeat, where his wife’s mind had gone.

No wonder Nisky thinks I’m a shit, James admitted silently. But a smile came with it. That kind of stuff had always been his game. He parked in front of a converted warehouse with a big plate glass window, strode through the door and stopped dead.

The store was crammed. Jammed even. It was a riot of colors and patterns, walls of shelves and tables overflowing with bowls and piles. Chairs and pillows were tucked into open spaces: all colorfully done, more display than furniture. There were buttons and beads, textures and sparkles, rising so high James felt like he might sink into a quicksand of glitter and thread. His eyes were darting around for a place to focus when he felt a hand grab his arm.

“Deep breath,” Harper laughed. James’ blue green eyes were wide and his jaw a little slack. Those broad shoulders were up tensing up toward his ears. She had seen this kind of thing before. Her fingers barely circled half of his forearm, rock solid in her grip.

“Uh, hey,” James stammered, locking almost desperately on a place to focus: Harper’s light brown eyes. They crinkled at the corners as she laughed at him. He didn’t care. Her lashes were long, so feminine up close - the closest he’d been to her since laying on her bed that first day, bare arms touching and light turning her hair blond. Thoughts from the car, memories of Harper, bounced through his mind: breakfast, showering, sweat and heavy breathing from their run. It caused no less panic than this overwhelming store. Finally he blinked. The spell broke and she let go of his arm.

“Five minutes, then we can go,” she promised.

He followed without a word. Did he have to be so tall? Harper wondered. So lanky? He turned every head in the store, not by being famous but just by being James. He was only looking ta her.

“Here, these are what I sent you.” She had spread the three squares of sample fabric against a piece of plain navy blue cotton. James did not appear to recognize them.

“What are they for?”

“Palettes. They’re to give you an idea of how colors go together. Some of them are lighter, more subtle.” She pointed to the gray and bold red stripe. “The brighter or darker colors are used less, just accents, but they really tie it together. If you like one more than another, it gives me ideas of what color schemes to pull.”

“I…,” James started. “I don’t know. Sorry. Which one do you like?”

She didn’t want this - James was already in danger of letting her do everything. He’d lived in a blank slate for years, bringing him into Loom was too much, too quickly. She collected the samples and folded them neatly. “Let’s go.”

At the counter, the total for the samples was three dollars. James paid as quickly as if it were a ransom and all but ran for the door. The bell tinkled a mocking goodbye. Outside, he apologized again. “That was a little intense.”

“I know. It’s okay, I won’t ever make you go again. Even my head spins in there. And these,” she held up the samples, “are all we need.”

In the bright light of day, from two feet away, James was able to look at Harper’s face again. She was so pretty - more than pretty - he felt her calm seeping into his body. He noticed her outfit for the first time: khaki green cargo capris, off-white slip on sneakers and a light gray hoodie over a white shirt. So relaxed. Her hair up in a messy knot that elongated her neck and let a few stray bits brush her cheekbones. He almost - almost - lifted his hand to brush one back.

James caught himself and cleared his throat. “What, uh - what now?”

Suddenly Harper didn’t want to decorate today. She was flustered. There was no set schedule for work on James’ house, just the general rush of any project magnified by the impending hockey season. Instinct told her to keep pushing, but experience reminded her that nothing forced ever felt right.

“Let’s take today off.”

Whomp. James’ chest tightened. He didn’t want to think about Harper the way he’d been thinking, but he also really didn’t want her to leave. He needed practice thinking of her as a friend. She couldn’t just… She can, he knew. This was her job, not her life. He was not her boyfriend, or even a friend. The poor girl probably wanted a day to herself without some decor-challenged stalker showing up everywhere she went. She probably had other work anyway.

Wait, does she? James didn’t like the thought of sharing her.

Her energy. Her creativity, he told himself. That’s all he didn’t want to share. Already that calm she’d lent was slipping away.

“Ah, okay,” he said after pausing way too long. “That’s cool. We can uh, catch up tomorrow? If you want. I can wait. Just um…,” James turned toward his car. “Call me or….”

Oh man. Harper knew an awkward exit when she saw one. James was backpedalling like he’d just hit on her and been turned down. As if that ever happened to him. Maybe that’s why he was taking it so strangely now - he had money, probably every business person he’d ever known fell over themselves to get it. She was being really weird - just not as weird as James. After that moment in the store when she thought he would faint, this was not the way Harper wanted to leave him. In fact, she hadn’t really meant to leave him at all.

“James,” she interrupted. “Let’s go to a movie.”

WHAT? her brain spat.

WHAT! his body cheered.

“Er, uh….” James made caveman noises.

“If - if you want.” Now Harper was stuttering. “I don’t have anything to do today. I just need a break from -,” she glanced back at the store.

“Okay.” James was all over the map. He felt like a helicopter losing its hover, going into a tailspin, fighting for equilibrium before he could crash into the ground. He repeated, “Okay.”

“Cool,” Harper replied. Her shaky hands said otherwise.

James followed Harper to her place, which was between them and the nearest multiplex. She left her car and got into his boxy silver Mercedes SUV. It was not her type of ride but at least it wasn’t that sexy little sedan with its low, close seats - this put more room between them.

Of course, the movie theater pushed them back together. Harper had no idea what had come over her; she was thinking so fast, not wanting to offend James, that she had somehow kind of almost asked him out. To make matters worse, James insisted on paying for their tickets to whatever was starting next: a matinee of We’re The Millers. He also paid for her bottle of water.

“I’m not on the clock!” she protested, knowing it was useless. What exactly was she on, then? James was doing that little boy smile where he pressed his lips together and looked down. It made him seem ten years younger; a boy who would have ripped her high school heart to shreds. There was victory in that expression, and sass, and a bit of relief. This was familiar territory for James - a date, or at least a flirtation. He was back to being himself.

“So you don’t go to the movies with all your clients?” he teased. Like breakfast, he knew this was not the same as really taking her out. He couldn’t help if it still felt a little special. I need to get out more, James told himself even as he waited for Harper to flirt back.

“Oh, I make them buy me popcorn,” she countered.

The movie was empty - so empty that sitting right next to each other was not only unnecessary but glaringly awkward. It meant they wanted to be close. But only guys ever sat with empty seats between them; girls sat next to other girls, or next to guys. An empty seat would be weirder, and Harper never considered it. James sat and she sat next to him. All three hundred other seats stayed empty.

Practice, James chanted in his head. Of all the places to go, they’d ended up alone in a dark room. The armrest as a twig between them. James took up his seat and a little more, so he shifted away from her. Harper seemed small by comparison, like he could scoop her into his lap and just hold her until the movie ended.

God, he’s tall, she remembered as she sank into her chair. The bottle of water went into the cupholder at the end of the armrest, like a turret on a castle wall meant to prevent anyone from crossing. Not that she was thinking about it. This wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t work either, though she learned little things about James every minute she was around him. He wanted popcorn. He didn’t get it. Desire and denial - that was to be expected from a pro athlete. What else did he deny himself? Any comfort she could include in his house to make up for it? Then the real question was: what did he desire?

Luckily for them both, the movie was funny. Before long, Harper was covering her face and they were both cracking up. It was under two hours, non-stop laughs and when the credits rolled, they had made it through being so close.

She sighed. “That was fun.”

James couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the dark with a girl except for, well, you know. Forget a movie. Forget actually watching it, anyway. “Definitely,” he agreed.

They strolled through the mall, taking the long way around toward James’ car. They ducked into Williams Sonoma and Pottery Barn, where Harper pointed things out and asked questions. James answered as best he could. The drowning, stuttering panic from the fabric store had not entirely left him but at least everything in these stores was recognizable. Most of it seemed to be for entertaining - wine decanters and serving platters and cheese trays. When his place was done, he could have people over. Maybe he’d even want to.
____

Notes