Take Me Home Tonight

Again. The bile rose in James’ throat and he was sick for the third time. The last time he’d thrown up from drinking was in junior, or maybe his rookie year in Dallas. Of course it might not be just alcohol that he was pitching into the toilet this morning. It was the idea that he’d brought a girl home, done God knows what and forgotten. It might have been the fact she had to leave a note for James to know she’d been there at all.

Praying to the porcelain goddess was not even the worst part of James’ morning. It was dwarfed by the fact he was throwing up in the bathroom he and Harper painted. Formerly his pride and joy, he now sat on the floor, looking the toilet in the eye and hoping the entire contents of his stomach and last night were purged from his system. Too bad he couldn’t throw up his brain. When he had the strength, he’d toss out his bedsheets, order new ones and sleep in a guest room until they were delivered. Or he could just lay here on the floor.

Harper. James felt like shit in a hundred ways, almost all of them new. The worst, the one that kept rising to the top of all the others, was that he had somehow let Harper down. But they were not dating. Hell, they were barely more than working together but that was where James had fucked up. He’d forgotten that she planned a surprise for him to find after the first game of a new season. Harper wanted to make this place a home - and currently, she was more dedicated to that idea than James himself. Just like it had been in Whitby, with Meghan. Before he lost her. Before he lost everything.

But unlike Meghan, Harper didn’t know. She didn’t expect more or less from James and he could not disappoint her by acting one way or another. He could only impress and surprise Harper by being more than she might have expected; and he could only disappoint himself. At least she hadn’t been there when he stumbled in with whats-her-name. At the very least, she’d expected him to appreciate the surprise.

He sat on the floor, brow sweaty with the exertion of being sick. Alcohol steamed from his pores. James wished impotently for his phone, so far away in his bedroom. He’d crept downstairs hoping not to find the girl from last night making herself at home. Then he’d seen Harper’s surprise and her note - defiled by the girl he’d forgotten - and instantly felt sick. The downstairs bath was as far as James could get. Now the toilet ran, filling its own tank, and James wished it would drown him too.

After a while it became clear he would not throw up again. He made his stumbly way into the living room where he carefully tore Kyra’s note off Harper’s drawing. Then he zombie walked up the stairs. His bed was no place to return, but he grabbed his phone and chose a guest room. His feet were the first tracks across the carpet since Harper’s tour. The bed was even made, a product of his mother’s last visit. James slipped gratefully between the crisp sheets and lay his head back.

This isn’t happening, he told himself. His sickness was just the combination of alcohol, a skanky girl and disappointment. He wanted to be better and he’d failed - but just once, and every day was a new try. A bad night did not derail everything. If it had, he’d been off track a long time. Still, a drunken one night stand was something that old James did. New James would have to get over it and start again.

It doesn’t have anything to do with Harper. If James hadn’t been redoing his house, if she hadn’t picked last night to surprise him, then he wouldn’t feel guilty. It wasn’t even guilt - was it? Could he be guilty for something that wasn’t a crime? Could he cheat on someone he wasn’t even seeing?

No, James thought.

But he was still thinking of her.
____

Practice was rough, and James wasn’t the only one dragging. Even Coach Bylsma smiled sarcastically as half his team lumped around the ice with a hangover. “Good night, boys?” Bylsma asked, eyeing a bent-at-the-waist Bortuzzo who looked a bit seasick.

“And a good morning,” Bennett said with all the confidence of a 22-year old’s ability to bounce back.

Adams gave him a smack to the helmet. “Yeah right. I saw you put that cupcake in a cab when I was leaving last night.”

Beau grinned widely. “So I could take her friend home instead.”

Gibbons leaned against the boards and swigged from a water bottle. “Surprised you can skate today, Nealer. That girl in the pink planned to have you bowlegged by now. Told the whole fucking bar about it.”

Passing behind James, NIsky snarfed a laugh. James kept a straight face. “Chicks on top, Gibby. Make them do all the work.”

“Gibby gets suffocated that way,” Borts chimed in. Gibbons smacked Borts on the ass with the blade of his stick. Borts grabbed it, pulled it out of Gibby’s hands and tossed it down toward the goal.

“Jimmy just hopes she tells her friends how nice his house is,” Paul Martin said.

James whipped around and glared at his friend. The smirk on Paul’s face had Harper written all over it. James had almost forgot he’d introduced the two and explained his plans for the house. He’d also explained that he wasn’t into Harper and nothing was going on. Paul hadn’t believed it then and certainly didn’t believe it now. But James did remember some things about last night - Paul had not walked out of Mario’s alone either.

“That why you left with two girls, bro?” James asked. “So they can tell each other how small your dick is?”

Martin just laughed. “You weren’t the only one with a surprise waiting at home.”
____

Harper called but there was no answer. James’ garage door was down - there was no way to tell if he was home. She felt stupid ringing the bell with a key in her pocket, so she let herself in.

“James?” No reply.

There was a glass of water on the coffee table, next to her drawing, so he had seen it. He’d probably sat on the new couch. He had not called or texted though. In the morning light the couch looked even better: the gray had blue undertones and the fabric was still crisp. Her drawing was still very rough and she laughed at the little version of James she’d drawn on the TV in the picture, while she’d been watching real James on TV.

A footstep on the stair made her spin around.

“Oh, hey.” James saw her at the last moment, too late to stop.

“Hi - sorry,” Harper stuttered. James was two steps down from the top, wearing nothing but a blue towel. His bare chest was tanned from the summer. His sleeve tattoo ended suddenly at a dark line just inside his left shoulder. His hair was wet, raked messily, and his light colored eyes were wide with surprise. Just like hers.

“I, uh, yell - yelled to see if you were here.” She looked away, far too late for it to matter. “I called too.”

“Shower. Must not have...,” James explained stupidly. After the night he’d had, one shower probably wasn’t enough to wash that other girl off him. He took a step backwards. “I’ll just go....”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll um....” He was gone before Harper could make something up. She couldn’t tell the truth: I’ll just stand here and think about what you look like naked, squeaky clean and smelling like soap. After a moment she peeked to confirm that he wasn’t still there, then flopped down onto the couch.

In his room, James whipped off his towel, rubbed it through his hair and pulled the top pair of jeans from one drawer. They were black, so he yanked out a red t-shirt. Boxers, clothes, breathe.

She’ll never come back here, he worried. This is her workplace and I practically just sexually harassed her. I should buy bigger towels. Or smaller towels - she did look, didn’t she? Did she look twice? Probably because I’m too skinny, Meghan always said that. At least I’m tan. James checked the mirror. Fuck.

Nerves were new to him, especially when it came to girls. He’d had no trouble picking up Kayla or whatever her name was the night before, he must be doing something right. Like making six million dollars. Harper didn’t care about that. Or at least not only that - everyone cared about it a little. But Harper also cared which colors he liked and if he cleaned his room and she’d bought him a fucking couch.

“Hey,” he said, moving quickly down the steps now, rushing to smooth the situation. “Sorry about that, I didn’t hear you before.”

Harper jumped to her feet. He was really tall up close - how had she forgotten that? Dressed or not, there was a lot of James to go around. “No, I’m sorry. It’s your house, you can...,” she gestured awkwardly toward his body, “however you want.”

“I forget that not everywhere is a locker room,” he said sheepishly, wondering when the hell he’d learned to be sheepish.

Harper heard ‘locker room,’ thought of 25 guys like James all naked and nearly passed out.

“I’ll be more careful,” James promised. He looked around for a subject change and saw the couch. “Hey, the sofa! Thanks for this. I was really surprised.”

Harper dragged her mind out of the locker room. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Good.” She’d been a bit nervous. “I thought since it’s the part of the house you use most, it should get updated first. It’s the same as mine, which you liked.”

“Oh, you’re right.” He tilted his head, thinking back to Harper’s living room. All couches looked the same to him, but it was certainly as comfortable as he remembered. “And I like your drawing.”

They both looked at the piece of paper. Harper wondered why the corner was torn off. James wondered if she was wondering. Neither mentioned it though, so she talked him through her ideas for a patterned carpet and darker accent furniture. When she mentioned the red stripe running around the walls, below the ceiling, James just glanced around the room and nodded.

“So what’s next?” he asked.

“Let’s talk about a budget.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a padfolio.

“Harper.” She looked up, right into those clear light eyes again. Why were they standing so close? Instead of being bashful this time, James wore a sarcastic grin. “No budget.”

“Everyone has a budget.”

James paused. He didn’t want to be a showoff jackass who threw cash around like he was trying to impress people. No Roman columns or gold fountain were going in his front yard. But Harper would never do that anyway. Without her, James would spend more and achieve less trying to put this house together. Even with her fee, which he figured he’d probably increase, the numbers would be well within reason.

“Buy what you want. If something’s expensive, show me first. Otherwise, I trust you.”

This is a dream job, she thought. Clients always said they trusted their decorators to make decisions, then changed everything anyway. James would not do that. He’d contribute but not direct, which meant she’d have to ask a lot of questions. Get to know him. Get this place right herself. That was the kind of challenge Harper loved. Even if she was a little unsure about the challenge of not thinking about him naked.

“Okay. Thanks,” she said.

James smiled and sat down on the couch, put his feet up and sighed happily.

At that moment, Harper clicked her tongue. “Next to go is this table. As soon as you’re gone.”
____

James shouldered his way through the press of bodies, carefully balancing the two cocktails he’d been lucky to get. The rest of his teammates has deserted their spot in the packed Detroit nightclub, presumably retreating to VIP. One good thing about traveling to cities like this - they took care of hockey players. It was early in the season but they were the Penguins and a good Stanley Cup rematch always sold tickets up north.

Sure enough, Borts’ head was visible over most of the crowd. He was talking to a girl despite her staring openly at Tanner Glass. Glass was busy talking to Sutter, who was making some other girls laugh. Fleury and Crosby were having the intense conversation of two people who wished they were somewhere else. Nisky spotted James and waved him over.

“I knew it,” Matt swiped a glass from James’ hand, took a sip and then paused. He looked around like someone was missing. “Wait, who was this for?”

“Whoever. Just got what I could carry - we might never see the waitress again.” James tasted the other drink - he only cared that it was cold and contained rum.

Matt shrugged and tossed back half his glass. Not a moment too soon.

“Oooh, you got drinks! How?!” a voice cooed from around James’ shoulder. He turned to find a blond, 5’6” in heels, with her rack busting out of a white tank top. Her fingernails gently pricked his skin as she closed one hand around James’ bicep. The next thing he knew, she was pressed to his side.

Nisky took half a step back. That defenseman radar paid off. The girl who’d been coming up alongside him nearly missed, stepping too far into the middle of their new little circle. It was a clear yet subtle indication that Nisky did not want this girl hanging all over him. In her heels and skinny jeans and second-skin v-neck top, she looked shocked for a moment before composing herself.

“Seriously, who do you have to fuck in this place to get a drink?” she said right to him, as if NIsky had just ruined his chance.

For all his country upbringing and Minnesota politeness, Matt didn’t even flinch. He slugged back the rest of his drink. When ice cubes rattled in the empty glass, he shrugged. “Wish I knew.”

James hid a laugh with his own drink. The girl on his arm pinched her fingernails again, just enough to raise goosebumps. She pushed up his shirtsleeve another inch.

“Nice tattoo,” she purred, fingers now running over the swirls of ink etched into his skin. Long mascaraed lashes fluttered as she admired the work. Her other hand brushed his back, up toward his shoulder. “How far up does it go?”

She was pretty. Not quite hot, but there were many a night where a girl like her served James’ purpose just fine. Thanks to the new NHL CBA, there were no more roommates either. All the more reason to take a girl like this back to the hotel and make the Penguins’ hotel budget really pay off.

The lower half of his body turned toward her. James didn’t come to clubs like this to talk to the same twenty-five guys he was stuck with every hour of every road trip day. Nights were supposed to start one way - this way - and end another, right? Except James knew that for a lot of guys, that wasn’t the point. Some players were married, and some were even faithful. Injuries, bad games, anything could make you want to go home alone. But without a reason to say no, James usually said yes.

Only tonight, he was sober. Blame short staff and the crowd for that, this was his first drink and it was still half full. He remembered the recent night of not remembering and decided not to do it again. “I had luck with the guy bartender at the back, by the darts. If you try him I’m sure you’ll get lucky,” James said.

If the girls had drinks, they’d have dropped them. Matt nearly dropped his. They all stared at James for a long moment before the girl on his arm gave a pert little, “Hmph!” and wheeled off. Her friend followed, glaring at James. Matt, eyebrows up in surprise, nodded. “Well that’s one solution.”
____

It was late a few nights later when James walked into his house - and a very different living room. The walls had been painted a new white: warmer, softer. He realized the old white had been very institutional, as if it were meant to be painted over all along, and he’d just lived with it like everything else. Harper’s gray couch was the only piece of furniture in the room, but instead of a drawing this time she’d left photos.

Where the entertainment center had been, she left four cut-outs from catalogs lined up on the floor. James knelt down and considered each - they were all dark, with various doors and glass and woodwork. In the middle of the room, a row of carpet options were laid out above a row of coffee table pictures. One of each had a yellow sticky note attached that said “Pick me!” or “Harper says yes.” He saw no reason to disagree. James collected her choices and stood up to picture the new furniture in place. He noticed another paper stuck to the middle of the TV.

Nice goal in Detroit!

James looked around the room again. Had she been here working, watching his game? Did she pay attention, or just have it on in the background? If not here, was she watching from home, on her own couch in that living room that was so perfectly Harper it had both inspired and intimidated him? He thought about her lounging on his new sofa, feet tucked underneath her, wine in a pint glass on the floor because they hadn’t bought a table yet. He vowed to get her a table before the next away game. And some wine.

He dropped his bag at the door to the basement laundry and went upstairs. There he found another surprise. Like she had done for the living room, Harper had drawn a sketch of his bedroom. The walls were labeled “blue-y”. She’d drawn the closet door with a “CLEAN ME” sign on it. The bed was moved toward the middle of the room and had a headboard; stick figure James was there, sleeping on top of the covers still in his #18 jersey with his feet sticking off the end of the bed. Matching nightstands were drawn on either side, as if two people might someday be in the bed at the same time. Smaller pictures adorned the walls, each square filled with a quick piece of art: a dog, a flower, a sailboat.

This time there was only one note on the drawing - Harper’s: Last chance to get that water bed. ;)
____

The next morning, Harper came home from her run to a missed call from James. She showered quickly, then called him back. “What are you doing in four minutes?” he asked instead of saying hello.

She looked down at the robe she was wearing. “Uh, putting on pants?”

The Harper-saw-me-in-a-towel incident flashed through his mind, a moment that still made James question his lack of confidence. But if she were to return the favor....

“Hello?” she said.

He snapped back into mind. “Three minutes now. You’d better find a shirt too.”

Harper chucked the phone and pulled on jeans and a black and white striped sweater. She was lacing up flat motorcycle boots when James’ car rolled to a stop outside. Her clock said it was just eleven. It had been five days since she’d seen James. With him away and no distractions, she’d made some serious progress on his house. It was easier, if less handsome, to work along. The last time they were together, she’d seen him in a towel and he’d given her a blank check. It would be tough for today to beat that.

“Morning,” he said when she opened the door.

Gaheverymorning, her brain blared. James had on a blue hoodie, dark jeans and skateboard sneakers with a backwards hat jammed over his messy hair. One hand held out a coffee and the other a paper bag.

“I guessed cinnamon raisin.” He smiled and the floor rolled beneath her feet.

“Uh, thanks, that’s... yeah,” she was saying but he’d already stepped past her and headed for the living room. Harper gently tapped her forehead against the door. Pull it together.

James sat down on her couch. He’d been in such a hurry to get here and told himself the reason was to compare his new sofa to hers. Just like the coffee and bagel were gifts to be nice and not something to occupy his hands. In truth, his couch was a little better. He decided that meant she must have been watching the games at his place. He was now the kind of guy who had a house people wanted to hang out in - and he was the kind of guy who brought a girl breakfast.

“How was your trip?” she asked, fishing out the bagel and unwrapping the deli paper.

“Good. Thanks for the note. Always nice to get the first goal of the year out of the way.”

Harper lifted her coffee cup. “Many more.”

James had brought the furniture ideas she liked and announced he liked them too, but wanted to see them in person. Or so he thought. It was also an excuse to spend time with Harper and after five days on the road, James found himself very much leaning toward that as well. He drove to the mall. Inside, she knew where each store was. James assumed this was some kind of girl radar but it paid off when he didn’t have to wander through every shop. She pointed in one direction and at the end was Pottery Barn.

Harper watched James for signs of panic. Pottery Barn was much less intimidating than the Loom fabric store, but no way he knew what half this stuff was used for. It her, Pottery Barn always seemed too perfect - everything matched a bit too well. She had to talk clients out of buying whole pages from a single catalog, otherwise it wasn’t really decorating.

“These are nice,” James said, slowing in front of a display of wine glasses and decanters.

Harper flicked her finger against the delicate rim. PING! “Real crystal,” she confirmed. “Don’t you have wine glasses?”

“Er...,” James knew he did not, but suddenly that seemed like the wrong answer. What mature, classy guy didn’t own stemware? The kind who never entertained dates outside the bedroom, that’s who. Put that together with the leopard print rug she’d made him toss and Harper probably thought James drank from the toilet. If Harper - or any girl - was going to hang out at his place, he wanted her to be impressed. “Broke one,” he lied. “It’s nicer if they match.”

Upstairs, Harper showed James to coffee table she’d suggested. He bought it on the spot. “Can we take it with us today?”

“This isn’t IKEA,” Harper smiled. That had been almost too easy. “They deliver it, all put together. That’s what you’re paying for.”

“I’m good at putting stuff together, though,” he said. “Better than I am at painting.”

She patted his arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll find something else you’re good at.”

When the living room furniture was all purchased and deliveries arranged, James complained about being hungry. They got a booth in the back at California Pizza Kitchen. Harper noticed that James walked with his head down slightly, as if he hoped not to be noticed. She doubted any woman could help but notice him. In the restaurant, she took the far seat and let James face her and the wall behind. She was still trying to get used to being the focus of his attention.

“Barbecue chicken chopped salad, please, full size with avocado and the ranch on the side,” she ordered.

James made face, closed his menu and said, “Same thing.” When the server was gone, he laughed. “I guess you come here often.”

“I am in a long term, committed relationship with this salad. You will not be disappointed.”

James was not. The salad was delicious and felt like a full meal. Nor was he disappointed with the company. It helped to have an immovable barrier between himself and Harper. Not touching her at the movie had been hard work, and that hug he’d spontaneously given her at breakfast before his first game still lingered in his sense memory. Across a table, pretty as she was, it was easier to remember that this person was not a toy.

They talked about the coming holidays, and how Harper would travel to see her mom in North Carolina. Being self-employed had its perks. James tried to sneak home for Christmas when the break in games allowed, but usually ended up so tired from traveling it was hardly worth it. This year he wasn’t sure he’d go. But that was still over two months away and there was much to do before then.
____

“Higher,” Harper said. She was laughing. It might have been James’ painting, or the fact he was the only millionaire she’d ever met who insisted on doing manual labor. The empty wine glass in her hand did not hurt. James had pulled into the liquor store on their way back from the mall and suggested they break in his new wine glasses. She should have said no.

Probably should have said no to this job the minute I saw him, she thought. Now all 6’2” of tall, strong James Neal was moving confidently, arms and back flexing, as he made a tiny pencil mark on the wall behind his couch. They were trying to pinpoint the center of the wall so as to decide how big a piece of artwork should hang there. Harper had no idea what it would look like, but it would need size.

She leaned against the far wall, future home of the new entertainment center, and thought that this place could be. Already it was rolling. If James’ enthusiasm held out, his home could become all that and more in short order.

He disappeared into the kitchen. The wine bottle was half empty because they’d each had a glass. It was only three in the afternoon, but he carried it to the living room. Harper’s head was tilted, dark blond hair bouncing down the navy blue sleeve of her shirt. It had red elbow patches in the shape of hearts and looked very, very soft. James wondered if it was soft. He wanted to touch it. That or her hair. She wore blue ballet flats and jeans, like she didn’t even have to try.

Maybe that’s why, James thought. He’d been trying to place exactly what it was that made Harper so different from the girls he met in bars. Surely the outfits were more casual. The shoes were lower, the lights always brighter when they met - except the movie, that had been a close one. Of course the standout difference was Harper’s apparent desire to not sleep with James.

Yet he knew it wasn’t really any of those things. Harper didn’t need to sleep with him to get his money. She didn’t have to put out to be invited back to his place. Instead they were spending time together in broad daylight, shopping and eating, even hanging out at his house. With her laughter softened by a glass of wine, James was finding it very hard to concentrate on putting a mark on his wall. As much as he wanted to renovate everything at once, right now he definitely needed to slow down.

James filled her glass, put the bottle on the coffee table and went back to trying to find the right spot.

“A little left,” Harper said. James went right. “Your other left!” He stepped too far.

“Here,” she placed her wine next to the bottle. “Let me.”

Harper stepped between James and the wall. His arms were extended overhead, not wanting to lose the mark he’d started from. Harper was small by comparison and fit quite nicely into the space. A whiff of her shampoo filled his face as she lifted into her toes.

“Here,” she tapped a fingertip to the wall three inches down and two inches left of James’ hands. He put the pencil right to the top of Harper’s finger; a little lead star on the fresh white paint.

“Perfect.” Harper turned at the same moment James lowered his arms, catching herself in the space between his body and the wall. They bumped together and James grabbed her upper arms by reflex: tensing in case she fell, holding her against the wall. The suddenness made Harper gasp. She looked up, frozen.

Thump. James’ heart chugged once, hard, through the wine in his system. Harper must have felt it in his grip. Her light brown eyes flashed wide. For a split second James thought he was going to kiss her. Harper ever-so-slightly moved her bottom lip; she must have thought he was going kiss her too.

I want to kiss her, he thought.

At that moment, like a train slamming on its breaks, James’ front door opened. Paul’s blond head popped around the corner. He walked in like he owned the place then stopped when he saw them in semi-embrace. He glanced at the wine glasses.

“Hey... guys. Uh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” He backed toward the door.

“It’s okay!” they said in unison. James dropped his hands and they jumped apart. Harper hit the side of the couch with a little oof.

“Er, cool.” Paul held his spot. “Came over to see if you wanna help me get that grill in the basement now or... it can wait though.”

“No, no, it’s fine. We’re done, really.” Harper insisted, reaching for her purse. “Just checking the spot. For art. For uh,” she motioned toward the wall, “hanging it.”

Her pulse was racing. One glass of wine had not done that; it was the jolt of desire that kicked through her body when all of a sudden James had his strong hands and blue eyes all over her. So close - they were closer to kissing than letting go. It had certainly taken more willpower to stop.

“See you tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder.

“Uh, yeah,” James watched her rush away, his fists still clenched where they’d held her arms. “Tomorrow.”

“Bye.” She was gone.

Paul turned very slowly from the door back toward the living room. James’ shoulders fell. “I don’t know what that was.”

“I know what this is,” Paul picked up a wine glass and sniffed it. “Your go-to move.”

“I wasn’t getting her drunk,” James droned. “We bought - I, I bought - some wine glasses and said we should break them in.”

Paul pointed out, “You also bought wine. You never drink wine.”

James shrugged. “Well I’m gonna have a nice house soon, maybe I want to have people over. People drink wine.”

“With dinner. You’re going to start having dinner parties?” Paul raised one eyebrow.

“To which you will not be invited,” James said. He took one glass from the table and the other from Paul’s hand, headed toward the kitchen.
Paul followed. It wasn’t like his friend to get messed up over a girl - not a real girl, in real life anyway. Then again it wasn’t like James to put down roots, to let someone in, to treat anything at all like it was permanent. Yet here he was decorating a house that had sat empty for years. “You like her,” he said. “I was kidding before, at breakfast last week, but you do. You really like her.”

James had his back turned as he put both his and Harper’s glasses in the sink. They were half-full. By the time they were empty, there’s no telling what might have happened. If he’d kissed her - hell, even if he’d figured some other way out of that situation - James might have ruined everything. The little progress they’d made was a huge step for him. What progress he ever make if he couldn’t get through one room without messing up? If he couldn’t get through one friendship without falling in love?

“I don’t,” James said, rubbing his thumb over the mark her lips had left on the glass. He turned to Paul. “I can’t.”
____

Notes