Take Me Home Tonight

James could not believe how quickly time had passed. It had been a month since he left Whitby, since his birthday and the last time he’d seen Meghan. She had come to his “party,” which was anything but. His brothers had been there - the only guys he could count as friends after a summer of acting like an ass. Mike and Pete ran off as soon as they saw Meghan approach. They had always known the girl next door belonged to their eldest brother.

Meghan brought James a single cupcake, as she had for all the years he cared to remember. When he was in junior hockey or traveling with the NHL, she got him on video chat and ate a cupcake in his honor. The first time James had ever kissed her, pushed against the guest bedroom door in his own house where she’d been living, there was a hint of vanilla lip gloss. It made sense to him that she would taste like frosting.

Now it was thirty days later and he was ready for his first game of the new season. Living the dream, right? Except he woke up alone in his empty, unpainted bedroom, slapping the alarm with surprising force. At least he’d left the curtains open so light flooded in. White walls blazed with reflected sun. When Harper was done, waking up would be a new experience.

Harper. It was almost as dangerous to think about her as it was to remember Meghan, so James threw himself into the shower and changed. A month of team workouts and scrimmages had fine tuned the fitness he’d built all summer alongside his friends and fellow NHL-ers Steven Stamkos and John Tavares. Of course those guys had both found the loves of their lives over that stretch of time. Steven’s girl left him, sending him alone to Tampa in a fit of despair, proving James right about the benefits of lust over love. Then John had beaten them all and taken Meghan - not only away from James, but all the way to New York. She was James’ best friend and, he feared, the love of his life; now she was gone with another guy. A better guy.

James pushed a hand through his thatch of wet hair. The face in the mirror was the same one Meghan had seen for fifteen years and decided wasn’t what she wanted forever. That chapter was over. Now was the beginning of something new. James needed to start fresh and be strong - but maybe not all on the first day.

“Morning.”

“I’m almost to your house,” Harper said, voice slightly garbled over Bluetooth.

“What if I was still sleeping?” James asked.

“I’ve already cased your place for a security upgrade,” she said. “ I’d get in.”

He smiled at the blank walls in his room. Harper, breaking in. She’d probably run upstairs and bounce on his bed until he woke up. Until he grabbed her. Until.... “I could just give you a key,” he suggested.
She smiled so wickedly that other drivers wondered what she was up to. “The best heists are always inside jobs, James.”

Twenty minutes later, Harper pulled into the driveway. James had left the front door open. She followed the smell of coffee and eggs into the kitchen, expecting to find him cooking. Instead it was someone much blonder.

“Uh, hi,” she said.

The man at the stove turned. He had a sharp, angular face that was decidedly handsome. His strawberry blond hair was cut short, but bristled so straight it almost leaned forward. Even with glasses on there was something very Justin Timberlake about him.

“Hi.” Paul Martin looked not at all surprised to find a girl he’d never met in James’ kitchen before ten o’clock, even if Neal hadn’t mentioned it was breakfast for three.

“I’m Harper.”

“Paul. Nice to meet ya.” He put down the spatula he’d been folding eggs with and shook her hand. “Hungry?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

Just then, James walked in. “Hey!” his face lit up at the sight of Harper. A few days had passed since their trip to the movies, since sitting so close to Harper in the darkness. It was like sleeping, James supposed, being close and quiet. The closest he’d ever come to doing those things with Harper, anyway. This morning she had on a blue and white striped silk top with cap sleeves, light jeans with rolled-up cuffs and those white slip on sneakers. “You meet Paul?”

“Yeah. You guys teammates?”

“Friends and teammates,” James corrected.

Paul set a plate in front of Harper. “He only says that to get breakfast. I live across the street.”

“Oh, with the hedges?” her face lit up. “So classic.”

Over eggs, toast and avocado slices, James watched Harper and Paul interact. He could not say what possessed him to call Paul when Harper was on her way. It was a big day for James - he wanted to set it apart from the other days he’d known her. He told Paul to bring food, and decided to surprise an old friend with a new one, because that’s what he and Harper were becoming. If James had to tell himself a thousand times, they were friends. Paul played it cool, as if James had informed him all about the decorating project. In no time, he was flattering her.

“I see that animal print rug is already gone. He try to convince you to keep it?”
“Nah,” Harper laughed. She smiled at James, wondering if he minded being the butt of a few jokes. “Not after I asked if he had a waterbed.”

“Bad for the back,” James quipped. “Had to toss it. So what did you have in mind for today? We’ve got to be at the rink at four.”

“Oh yeah, big night tonight. The girl at Starbucks had a Pens pin on her apron and I passed some guys in jerseys who I think had been drinking already,” Harper said. “I wanted to surprise you with something when you get home. So I really was coming over to ask if I can come back later, when you’re out.”

“Uh, okay. Yeah. That’s fine. What, er - what are you planning?”

“It’s a surprise!”

Paul made an uh-oh face. James laughed weakly and caved. “Do you need a credit card?”

“Nope. Call these places and set up accounts. We’ll need them anyway. Today I’ll only get what I need for tonight. If you hate it, it can go back.” She slid four pieces of paper toward him, store credit applications. James went to a drawer and got his extra key.

“He won’t hate it,” Paul assured Harper, though he was giving James a very pointed look.

“Nah, he won’t,” she agreed.

Harper knew that James had an important day ahead and she was eager to get to her project. Since painting one bathroom that first night, they had done precious little but make choices and plans. With the start of the season upon them, she did not want James worried about progress. Her idea was to make one move that would kickstart a bunch of others - and the first she could make on her own. James promised to call the stores: Home Depot, Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel and Restoration Hardware. When they were done eating, she carried her plate to the sink.

“I can do that,” James said, approaching from behind with his own dish in hand.

She turned and looked up at him. Harper had a sense things would change for him now - bumps and bruises, pressure and travel. They hadn’t known each other long, but she was glad she’d gotten to meet the off-season version of James first.

“He cooks, you clean? How cute.”

James stuck out his tongue. He wasn’t used to having girls in his kitchen or at his table, certainly not for breakfast. This was their second breakfast together, in fact. He was glad Paul was over - it alleviated some of the pressure James knew he shouldn’t feel. Even if she was beautiful and happy to be here.

“Good luck tonight,” she said.

That did it. James set his plate on the counter with one hand and pulled Harper into a hug with the other. Her arms immediately circled his waist, like she’d been waiting for this. James’ chin rested atop her head. They were still a moment, holding each other. James couldn’t remember the last time he hugged someone that wasn’t sorry or goodbye. Now there was no thought, no hesitation.

“Thanks for the surprise.”

It felt good when she laughed in his arms. “You haven’t even seen it yet,” Harper said.

“I’m excited to come back here tonight,” he promised. “Maybe for the first time ever.”

She gave Paul an abbreviated, casual version of the same hug, wished him a good start to the season and was gone. When the front door closed, he was already turning toward James.

“What the fuhhhhhhhck is that about?”

“What? She’s my decorator.” James didn’t bother to hide his shit-eating grin.

“She can decorate my bedroom floor with her clothes.” Paul sat down again. “Or just hug me some more. I didn’t know you were having this place worked on.” James shrugged; Paul continued, “Fucking needs it. You sure that’s a good idea though?”

He was referring to Harper, of course, and James being in a position where a woman in his life had the power. Usually James fled those scenes. He’d even had to change coffee shops after banging his favorite barista during a chance meeting in a club.

“I know it must look that way to you less fortunate guys, but not every girl on Earth wants to suck my dick,” James said.

Paul rolled his eyes. “And not every girl gets a key to your house.”
____

Harper went straight to the piece she wanted. It had caught her eye while shopping with James after the movie, and he’d said he liked it too. Little did he know his first major decorating purchase had been that easy. From it, Harper had spooled out an entire plan for his living room. It was the first place he saw every time he came home - it would be the first place she went to work.

The couch was slate gray with white piping, overstuffed and longer than James was tall. It was the same model as the one in her house that he’d liked so much, only two grades better - the one they showed in the store, enticing people to spend. James could afford it. Harper didn’t believe in light-colored couches for men or houses with kids. This was a sofa James could crash out on and not worry about the occasional spilled drop of beer.

“Hi, I ordered that couch and the matching loveseat for delivery later today. They told me to check back because I needed an afternoon time.” Harper waited while the sales clerk pulled up the form, then gave James’ address and set delivery for five o’clock. He had established the credit account, which she used to pay for the furniture and three square, fluffy throw pillows.

The night before, she had done some custom work. After going back to Loom and buying a few yards of the gray fabric with the bold red stripe, Harper used the pillows from her own couch as patterns to sew three covers. Now back at her house, she zipped James’ new pillows into the freshly laundered squares. Perfect fit.

At four-thirty, with those pillows under her arm, Harper let herself into James’ house just as the delivery guys pulled up. They carried the old couch out, and within twenty minutes two brand new matching pieces sat sparkling in James’ living room. Harper set a pillow into each corner of the sofa and one onto the loveseat. Then she flopped down onto the couch, bounced once and stretched out happily.

James would love it. She had no idea what he was guessing about the surprise but this would top it. He had specifically requested a couch like hers and voila, now he had one. Even in a somewhat bare room it made a big difference.

Harper brought her sketch pad out and did a quick drawing of the living room with the new furniture. It wasn’t technical or fancy, just enough for layout and imagination. The walls would stay white, but something warmer than the icy blankness staring down at her now. It was too open a space for an accent wall, but planned to draw more color in with a red stripe, about a foot down from the ceiling, circling the room. It would provide a splash and give the space an illusion of even higher ceilings. The coffee table would be replaced with something blacker, a patterned rug would incorporate the red down to the floor. A few touches of art and a lower, matching black entertainment center would round it out. Simple and elegant but still modern and masculine. She made notes and measured things, turning circles in the middle of the room. Harper could see the finished project without closing her eyes.

At half past six, she turned on the TV. The first Penguins pre-game show of the year played on Root Sports while she held up color swatches and used her iPad to compare shades and costs. A thorough test of the couch was performed while she looked at coffee table options, her feet resting on the current one. When the Penguins game started, she set the tablet aside and focused on the large screen mounted to the wall.

James must watch hockey. If not to study and learn, he must at least love the game. More than anything, Harper needed this room to be a place where he could do what he loved. From where she sat, with the new colors and design in her mind’s eye, the view looked perfect.
____

James buzzed like a live wire. The Penguins had won their season opener 3-0 against the Devils. The crowd at Consol threatened the take the roof off, and that was before a single goal was scored. It all overflowed with optimism. James had forgotten what it was like to be adored. After a long summer of self-inflicted misery, being cheered by twenty thousand people went right to his head - and he wasn’t alone. The Penguins went from the locker room straight to the bar.

Drinks were poured as they walked in the door. James never got to the bottom of one before a replacement arrived. He drank a toast with everyone in the place. If they were acting like they’d won the Cup when it was only October, no one complained. The whole season was ahead of them. This would be there year. Even Crosby was out, sipping a clear cocktail, edging carefully behind his larger teammates to keep the common folk at bay. A few sharks circled, but the feeding was too easy elsewhere. Bortuzzo had a girl on his lap. Bennett was on a girl’s lap with another under his arm. Even Nisky gave James a nod, though James swore Matt was talking to the same girl he’d run away from the other night. They all looked the same after a while. James tossed back a shot with Sutter and his fiancee, congratulating them on being in love and himself on surviving the wreckage of his own heart.

New people kept arriving as word spread that the Penguins were there. No one seemed to leave. Craig Adams was pretending to arm wrestle Brian Gibbons at one table. Crosby was actually talking to a girl, Letang standing nearby like a bodyguard while laughing in French with Pascal Dupuis. James got separated from Sutter. He and Martin talked to a pair of blonds, but when Martin suggested they leave James was the only one to decline. The girl closest to James protested briefly, until her friend made it clear she could still tag along. Martin threw some cash on the bar and followed them out.

James moved from group to group, basking in the glow of collective fame. It was so different from flying solo or hanging with the lesser known guys. That used to stroke James’ ego, being the biggest name in the room. Now it felt like a target on his back. With people like Crosby here, the curious glances tended to pass James by.

Not all of them, of course. She was brunette, petite in every part of her outfit but the bra. Those tits were about as real as her eyelashes, but when she stepped in James didn’t back away. Too many people to move. He had to lean down to hear, which provided a convenient view of her best assets. The angle made him a little dizzy, so James claimed a stool and ordered another drink. The brunette stepped between his knees, blocking off most of the room, centering his attention. If James was seeing double, it only meant more of her rack. She leaned in toward the bar, hand sliding up his thigh. As close as she could get was right where she stayed.

James didn’t remember last call. Maybe he left before it. The next thing he knew he was waking up, face down in his bed. The sunlight that had been such a welcome sight the previous morning now hit him like a shovel to the face. He shut his eyes, rubbed his face and took a deep breath. Then he sat bolt upright in bed.

The brunette.

A wave of nausea almost knocked him flat, but he swallowed hard and waited for it to pass. There was no sign of the girl in his bed, and the twisted sheets could have been his own doing. No clothes on the floor but his own. No water ran in the shower, no coffee was being made downstairs. James got to his feet, moving slowly so he wouldn’t be sick or make noise. He was naked, that meant nothing a pair of basketball shorts couldn’t fix. With careful feet he made his way downstairs.

Still quiet. No cars in the drive - not even his, left at the rink. James sighed with relief. That was normal. What was not normal: James’ pounding heart.

He hated the morning after. If he brought a girl back to his place, he had to be pretty fucked up. If she stuck around, he was usually in no condition to handle the situation gracefully. Previous hookups had resulted in everything from crying girls running into the street barefoot to hungover James agreeing to another date just to make them leave. Once, a girl he’d brought home came back the next night uninvited. When she knocked on the door, James hadn’t even recognized her.

This felt different though. It wasn’t just a jilted women he was afraid of. The was his entire team, who’d all been at the bar last night, and how they might have seen him leave. It was his chance to start this season differently. James hoped he’d left alone, a trail of weeping hopefuls in slutty dresses behind him, and the whole Penguins squad nodding their approval. Pushing a hand over his face and into his hair, James stepped into the living room.

“Harper,” he said out loud.

The surprise. He’d completely forgotten that she promised to deliver a surprise while he was at the game. In fact, James had completely forgotten about Harper. Not just when he got drunk and forgot everything, but before that - at the game, after the game, at the bar. Harper had not crossed his mind once, or he would have remembered the surprise and come right home.

If only he had remembered the surprise.

There in his boring afterthought of a living room was a brand new matching sofa and loveseat set in flawless gray. Pillows fluffed to perfection accented each end. It was somehow both straight out of a catalog and begging to be jumped on. On the coffee table was an eleven-by-seventeen inch piece of paper, roughly sketched to resemble his living room. Each spot was labeled. The walls said “better white” and the coffee table said “not this ugly thing.” Behind the couch was a square he assumed to mean art, in which Harper had outlined a tree. On the TV screening, she’d drawn a sort of stick figure hockey player with a number 18 on his shoulder.

Knew you’d win. Enjoy the highlights from your new seat. - Harper

Right underneath that, written in a different hand by a different pen, was another note:

Had to work, but that was a great night. Call me when you’re ready for another. - Kyra
____

Notes