Take Me Home Tonight

The phone rang on Saturday morning. Harper’s heart skipped, which really pissed her off. But it wasn’t James calling, it was Anne Adams. “Harper, hi! How’s it going on Neal’s house?”

“Great, actually. Really well. Thank you again for recommending me,” she said.

Anne laughed. “Thank you for taking it on. Somebody had to do something. He’s actually moving forward then, getting stuff done?”

“We’re finished with the living room and kitchen, moving on the a guest room next. So far, it’s perfect. He’s really easy to work with.”

Harper felt a bit guilty saying that about James when she had not been acting the same way. The previous day she’d been - well, the word crazy came to mind. Discovering evidence of another girl in James’ house had surprised her almost as much as her own reaction did. At first it felt like jealousy, but Harper spent the rest of Friday talking herself out of that. Finally she boiled it down to being territorial - another woman had been on her turf, when the turf wasn’t even finished yet. James’ house was her project and she didn’t like anyone seeing it half-done. That’s all. Still she had acted terribly and probably owed James an apology. After all, she should be happy if he was dating someone - it at least proved part of Liam and Paige’s theory wrong.

“Do you have plans tonight? I know it’s Halloween but the guys have a game and I thought maybe you’d want to come.”

Halloween. A Penguins game. Of course Harper had plans with Paige and Liam, including a costume, but that was later. It had been a year since her last Penguins game, and that had been with Anne as well. Since she’d known James, she had not seen him play in person. What better way to show that she was fine sharing James with another person than to share him with twenty thousand of them?

“Sure,” Harper said. “I’d love to.”
____

James felt annoyed, and relieved, and annoyed at feeling relieved. He repeated the question. “You’re not coming?”

“It’s Halloween!” Rachel didn’t try to hide her excitement. “This party’s been planned forever. Besides, you have other games. I’ll be there next time, I promise. I just can’t tonight.”

He would always have other games, and not every WAG came to every game. James had simply expected that after attending the last two games and being introduced to his entire team, Rachel would show up to support him tonight. It was just two hours before puck drop. But for the first time since they met, she had something better to do.

“Will you come out afterward?” Rachel asked. “Wear that cowboy hat again... I liked that.” Her voice dripped with the memory of their night together.

“Maybe,” he said. “See how we play.”

He was half-geared up and itching to hit the ice. Everything had been off kilter since the day before. His buzz from sleeping with Rachel and feeling normal had drowned in the confusion he felt about Harper. Or was it guilt? Why would he feel guilty? What James needed was a long, hard game to sweat and shoot and pound out his emotions.
____

Harper scanned the ice with wide eyes. She’d been to Pens games before, sat with the WAGs in their good seats but never had she felt so....

“Nervous?” Anne asked.

Harper laughed. She was nervous to see James play. Last time the only player she’d known was Craig and he could more than take care of himself. James though, and Paul too - the ice seemed huge and the game suddenly dangerous.

“I know how you feel,” Anne confessed. “I watch every game with my heart in my throat.”

Harper buried her face in the gold colored scarf she had bought that morning. It hid the blush rushing to her cheeks. If she felt about James the way Anne felt about her husband, what did that mean? What would Anne do if she saw some other girl’s glass in the sink? That was a stupid question, but Harper had been full of nonsense since leaving James’ house the day before. Who was the girl, and was she coming back? It didn’t matter, of course. Harper told herself she was looking out for James in a protective way. He’d obviously been hurt, she just wanted to keep him from that again.

Then he stepped onto the ice. From the first minute of the game, Harper felt a sea change in watching him. He wasn’t sullen or shy, apprehensive or agreeable. On the ice James was a force of nature. He skated hard and plastered guys to the boards. From her seat, Harper could hear his voice cut through the din of Consol Energy Center, hollering for the puck. His shots whapped against the goalie’s pads like bullets on a vest. James was stronger and more sure than she’d ever seen him.

The Penguins played a great first period, with Kunitz scoring once and the puck barely entering the defensive zone. By the second period, Malkin seemed to have caught James’ momentum; he bowled people over like pins. Charging to the net, Malkin dropped a between-the-feet pass so quickly Harper almost lost it. James didn’t though: he saucered it up and over the goalie’s outstretched glove. The crowd went crazy. Cheering in her black sweater, Harper felt as anonymous as ever. One of a million James Neal fans. His name glowed across the backs of jerseys - did those people have more of a claim on him? Did they know he was sweet and spastic, that he’d somehow had his heart broken? Perhaps Harper was making assumptions about James just as these fans did. But when she looked onto the ice, Harper saw James’ eyes and smile first, the way he bit his lip before he agreed with her. She saw all that before she saw the hockey stick in his hands.

“Whew, they are on fire tonight!” Anne declared as the second period ended with Pittsburgh up three-nothing. Harper excused herself to the bathroom, then wandered through the horde of people on the arena concourse. Some wore their Halloween costumes already. Dairy Queen lights, beer signs and burger scents flashed from every stall. Finally she slipped into a small souvenir store. A line for the register wound between racks of hats, pucks and trinkets. Behind the cashier, regulation jerseys hung ten deep. There was number eighteen, big as a house. Harper wove her way to the back and found herself a men’s small James Neal shirt. Twenty five bucks later, she was stripping off her sweater and pulling the shirtzee over her long-sleeve tee.

Back at the seats, Anne just smiled.

With a three-goal lead and the game tipped their way, the Penguins had a blast in the final frame. Lines changed at will and Harper gasped when she noticed Crosby jump over the boards to join James and Malkin for an up-ice rush. Sid got the puck, faked to Letang and threaded it right between two forwards to James, breaking toward the net. With the slightest tap James put the puck under the goalie. Four-nothing.

This time, jumping around in her James Neal shirt, Harper knew what all those people wearing number eighteen felt like.

The game ended five-nothing, Penguins. James had a secondary assist on the last goal by Orpik, giving him three points on the night, and was chosen as the game’s first star. After the teams cleared off, James went back onto the ice for an interview with Dan Potash. On the scoreboard, Harper watched as he shucked his helmet and pushed one big hand through his sweaty hair. Those blue-green eyes smiled and every woman left in the arena sighed.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Anne said.

“No, I don’t have to - I mean, I don’t want to be a...,” Harper argued as James thanked the fans over the building PA system.

“Yes, you do.” Anne took Harper’s sleeve and lead her up the steps, toward an elevator. Suddenly they were in a hallway crowded with game night staff and team personnel. Anne charged through like she knew where she was going: the family lounge, next to the locker room. Inside, wives and girlfriends waited. A few men were present, brothers or maybe healthy scratches, and kids ran underfoot. TVs on every wall showed the post-game program and a table in the corner was laid with cold cuts, cheese and cookies.

“He should be done in a minute.” Anne helped herself to an oatmeal raisin.

“Oh, he doesn’t know I’m here,” Harper said quickly. “I didn’t tell him I was....”

“I meant Craig,” Anne clarified with a narrowed eye, “but James knows. I told Craig. So I assume he’ll be showing up any second as well.”
____

In the locker room, James was later than usual. He’d spoken with the media, who loved a first star and always had a few extra questions for him. Sometimes James felt they were trying to catch him out, make him say something he didn’t mean. It wasn’t easy for him to do interviews. Luckily tonight had been only good, which meant James had nothing much to say.

“Yo,” Craig stopped overtop of where James was sitting. “Anne says to tell you to come to the lounge.”

James looked up. The lounge was usually full of hot wives, hotter girlfriends who wanted to be wives and sticky-fingered kids. Other players never invited him in there. “Why?”

“Harper, the decorator girl, is here.”

If anyone could have seen James’ heart swan dive into his stomach, they’d have laughed. Rachel - who should in fact have been there - would have dumped him on the spot. James went very still on the outside while his insides did a pirouette. Harper. Here. He shoved his feet into dress shoes, heaved his arms into suit sleeves and rushed toward the door.

Harper was into her second cookie, wondering if James would show. Maybe he didn’t want to see her after she’d been so weird the other day. Already half the team was present, passing their kids sweets to make up for missing trick-or-treating and generally celebrating the team’s big win. Anne had her son Rhys on one arm and was talking with another woman while Harper nodded along.

“Hey, buddy!” Craig appeared, scooping his son from his wife and holding him overhead. Rhys squealed with delight. In his dark suit and beard, Craig looked as dapper as Harper had ever seen him. He gave her a one-sided hug and Rhys kissed her cheek with a loud smacking noise. When she stepped back, giggling, there was James.

He was tall and lanky in a dove gray suit with light stripes over a crisp white shirt and pale purple tie. He rubbed one hand over his hair, a gesture Harper was beginning to recognize meant nervous. That he would be nervous now, after the way he’d just played, she could not comprehend. How could this guy think he was anything less than amazing?

Before James could process the sight of Harper in a Penguins t-shirt and gold scarf - before he could really grasp that she was here, for him - she was hanging around his neck. The momentum almost knocked him back. Her body was plastered to his, her energy glowing like a halo. His arms crossed behind her waist to steady them both.

“You were incredible!” she said, forgetting every apprehension of seeing him. If he needed a cheerleader, she could be one. “That was crazy. You played like, like....”

“An All-Star?” Craig suggested. Harper broke off hugging James to see Adams smiling at them, one arm around his wife.

“I was going to say hero,” Paul said. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Harper elbowed Paul in the ribs, but followed it with a hug. Anne steered Craig away, Paul melted into the crowd and just like that, she and James were alone together.

“You came.” He still sounded surprised. “I didn’t know you wanted to. I could have gotten you tickets.”

He could have given her tickets to any game so far this year, since they’d known each other longer than the season had been on. To more games than he had invited Rachel, and she’d said yes to everything but tonight. Thank God Rachel isn’t here now, James thought again. Yet in truth it had never crossed his mind to invite Harper. Even when he knew she was watching the games, either from his place or her own, James had not thought to bring her to one in person. As he was wondering why, the answer quickly slapped him in the face.

“Hi,” Robert Bortuzzo materialized at Harper’s side. “I’m Rob. Borts. You can call me Rob.” For some reason Harper thought his bumbling was funny and was shaking his hand before James could recapture her attention. Behind that was Bennett, honing in on the conversation. Never mind that she was wearing a NEAL shirt - if these guys waited for girls in their own jerseys, they’d never get laid. James was watching them when Niskanen walked over.

“That is your decorator,” he said matter-of-factly. James nodded.

“Not your girlfriend,” Matt added.

James rolled his eyes at the word choice. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Matt nodded, his point proven. “I see why.”

The crowd began to thin as kids crashed from Halloween sugar highs and players moved toward homes. With practice in the morning, the win would have suffice as a celebration. James lingered while the boys tried a few last-ditch moves on Harper.

“You going out? Halloween night?” Borts asked.

“Yeah, some friends are waiting for me.” When the tall, dark-haired boy looked excited, Harper let him down easy. “Just a low key thing, no rager this year.” Sated, Bortuzzo, Bennett and whoever else had gravitated toward a new, pretty face wandered off in search of other fun. Anne approached just as James moved back in.

“We’re gonna get Rhys to bed. You okay to get home?”
“Yeah, my car’s here,” Harper said. She hugged Anne and Craig goodbye, kissed Rhys loudly and when they were gone she was alone again with James.

“You bought a shirt,” he said stupidly. It was all he could think of watching her talk to his teammates.

Harper glanced down. “Well you scored two goals, I was afraid they might sell out.”

When she looked up, smiling at her own joke, the grin was so dazzling that James thought the floor might open and swallow him. She pushed her hair behind one ear. “You’re going out?” he asked.
Just as quickly, she said, “Do you have curfew, or whatever? I’m meeting friends, if you want to come. If you’re not too tired.”

Out. If James went out it was supposed to be to meet Rachel. Or not at all, since he had practice in twelve hours and was working on a good impression to start the season. But Rachel had chosen her plans over the game and James could make his plans around practice. Harper had given up part of her night for him, come to the game for him, even spent money to wear his number.

“Are you dressing up?” he asked, trying to keep the smile off his face. An image of Harper in Rachel’s Girl Scout costume began to form in his mind.

“Yup. My costume is in the car.”

“Follow me to my place, so I can change?”
____

In the silence of her own car, quiet as a crypt compared to the stadium, Harper might have known this was a risky idea. She pulled into James’ drive, a place she knew so well. Harper told herself to relax - this was not a date. James went out without her and he did not always come home alone. Still she could not help it: that lip-printed glass was on her mind as she made for the bathroom they had painted, the first place in James’ house she left her mark. He’d been so appreciative then. Did other rooms hold that excitement? Did the girl, or girls, who saw them think they were perfect? Harper quickly changed into her costume and found James waiting in the living room.

God damn rang in her mind.

He was a country song. He was six feet, three inches of every Texas thing her mother had warned her about, every lesson she’d learned the hard way growing up. James was big and strong, looking capable of protecting her against anything. A blue and yellow plaid shirt was tucked into dark jeans laced with a gold-buckled belt. His collar was open three buttons and the sleeves rolled back. Only the bottoms of his boots were visible, but Harper knew real cowboy boots when she saw them. His hat - weathered like he’d actually worn it before - was real too. He looked beyond good. So good she should probably stop walking toward him.

James had a similar reaction. He’d been expecting - well, he had no idea but he’d been hoping for lingerie or latex. Hey, it was Halloween. Plus Harper had just been wearing his name and number so the expectations were already sky high. Now here she was, exceeding all of them.

She was fully dressed: long, slender legs in white baseball pants that ended mid-shin, with yellow socks pulled up underneath. A fitted yellow shirt with black three-quarter sleeves said PIRATES stretched across her chest. James thought the face of their logo pirate might be winking at him from beneath her breast. Classic white and black Adidas sneakers were on her feet and a black cap with a yellow P topped her pile of wavy hair. She’d even pasted little Pirates eyeblack stickers under her hazel eyes. The outfit covered everything, but hugged every curve in a way more tempting than if James could see it all.

“I, uh...,” his mouth was dry. “Stay here.”

He took the stairs up to his room two at a time. Since her first visit when Harper had seen his messy room, James had kept the place cleaner. It only took two drawers for him to find what he wanted: a pair of black sweatbands with the yellow P logo on them. He shut the drawer, turned, and stopped.

How had he missed it? Rachel’s green beret, hanging from the edge of the other dresser’s top drawer. It was closed in there, left on purpose. And it had been hanging there since yesterday morning. He stuffed it into that drawer and bounded downstairs.

“Here, you need these.”

She slipped them onto her wrists and held them up, like Wonder Woman’s cuffs. “Ready?”

James nodded. “Ready.”

Outside there was a brief moment of hesitation over which car to take. Harper suggested she drive, and James offered to take a cab home. Problem solved. It wasn’t until she exited for the Southside that James had a flash of panic. He had no idea what bar Rachel would be at.

“So, uh, where are we going?” He envisioned pulling up in front of Diesel. The bouncers would recognize him - they always did. They’d skip the line, get in free and run smack into Rachel, waiting to throw a drink in James’ face.

“Loft party on Carson, the twenty-four hundred block. One of my friends’ co-workers throws it every year - loaded lawyer guy. Rents out a whole floor, brings in bars and a DJ.” Harper glanced over. James’ profile was shaded by the brim of his hat. “If you hate it, we can go somewhere else.”

He smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

Harper valeted her car at a club, then she and James headed two blocks over to the loft. A man sat on a stool outside an open door leading to a staircase. Harper’s name was on the list - without a guest. The guy took one look at James and sent them up. “Good thing he’s a Pens fan,” she said as they climbed.

James did not stop watching her ass in those baseball pants as she went. “Maybe he just liked my hat.”

The third floor was wide open, completely packed and pulsing with lights. Music vibrated through the floor. The whole place was done in orange and black, spaced with milky white lights to give it a ghostly feel. Bars at either end of the room were bathed in gothic spotlights. Exposed steel girders glittered with chains and cobwebs. Full-size coffins sat on a tables, overflowing with ice and bottled beers. Instantly Harper’s decorator side came out - this was professional, and it was very good.

Everyone was in costume, making it tough to search out familiar faces as they did a lap. James grabbed two beers from a coffin and handed one to Harper. A crowd of people were clustered around the back bar and atop it were three giant headstones made of red-dyed ice, angled back. Each had a channel running a pattern down the front: ice luges.

At the bottom of the middle one was Paige.

“Of course,” Harper said, pointing her out to James. “That’s us.”

He lifted one eyebrow but pressed through the bodies. A dark haired girl leaned forward suggestively, her open mouth just below the lip of the ice luge. A cheer went up as the bartender poured a healthy shot of vodka into the top opening. The clear liquid raced down the looping path, right into her mouth. She stood up, tongue running over her red-painted lips. She turned toward them and James saw that a black mask covered her eyes.

“Harper!” the masked girl hollered.

As she came toward them, James recognized the rest of her costume. A blousy white shirt, cut low and open very wide, was cinched around her middle with a black corset. Shiny red tights doubled as pants for the night and ended just below her knees. A black cape swished around her shoulders. She pulled a wide-brimmed black hat atop her head. It flounced once: she was a matador.

She was nearly hugging Harper when her eyes caught James and she stopped short. “Woah.”

“Uh, Paige, this is James. James, my friend Paige.”

“Hello cowboy.”

James laughed, ducking his head. He suddenly felt like everyone was looking at him. “Hi Paige.”

Paige’s eyes were wide, the whites standing out sharply because of her mask. Harper gave her a glare and Paige quickly collected her wits. “I’ve heard all about you and your house. Did you - well, I guess you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t win tonight.”

“He had two goals. And an assist,” Harper blurted before she could shut her own mouth. It sounded like she had Beatlemania. “Er, and he was first star.”

“So it was fun then?” Paige’s smirked. Harper just nodded, silent.

“This is a great party. Thanks for letting me come. Harper said your friend.... ” Just as James was about to make small talk, a medieval knight, complete with a chain mail-esque hood and breastplate, crashed into Paige’s side.

“Someone said James Neal is here,” Liam said way too excitedly.

“Really?” Paige gasped. “Where?”

“I don’t -,” he saw Harper, and as he started to say hello, Liam put the pieces together. He looked up, right into James’ face.

“Hey,” James said, trying not to smile. Harper burst out laughing. Liam stuttered a stupid excuse about hearing Neal was here meant Harper might be around and... something else no one heard. They were all laughing. He gave in and shook Neal’s hand, kissed Harper’s cheek and declared everyone in need of another drink.

From the bar they found a space to stand, and James met Harper’s friends properly. Shouting over the music, they talked about the game, their costumes, everyone’s costumes, the best and worst and sluttiest costumes and all the people around them in various stages of drunkeness. James stood near Harper, but they were all standing close to be heard. Having Harper close reminded him of how it felt to hug her, the way they’d fit together that morning before his first game when she hugged him for luck. She’d hugged him again tonight, without hesitation: harder, closer, tighter. Now he nursed a dull ache to touch her again. But friends didn’t do that. Luckily Liam and Paige were in the mood to rage and James was grateful for the distraction.

“I need another shot. Ice luge?” Paige asked hopefully.

“Not for me,” James bowed out. “Practice tomorrow. Also it tends to,” he waved a hand, “end up on Instagram and stuff.” Lucky break, because everything except his brain wanted to make the most of this moment.

“Me neither,” Harper said. “But I will drive you drunks home. Twenty bucks a head.”

Liam gave her the finger as the disappeared back into the crowd. It was James and Harper alone together, inches apart. Unable to talk without getting even closer.

“They’re fun,” he said, testing the volume and distance between them.

Harper was almost afraid to meet his gaze. The last time they’d been this close, only an interruption had kept them from kissing. Paul was not going to save the day now. Harper steeled herself and lifted her chin. In the dim lighting, James’ eyes looked darker. The shadows played tricks on his face, exaggerating the fullness of his lower lip and the soft curve of his jaw. He wore cologne that Harper had not noticed before. She also hadn’t noticed the hollow of his throat, bare above his open collar, where she could see his pulse beating. He was still the guy he’d been the day they nearly kissed, excited over couches and coffee tables. But he was also the guy he’d been tonight on the ice, under all the bright lights. The way that famous, talented guy seemed to still need her was confusing and intoxicating and looked incredible in a cowboy hat.

“Harper, I....” As James started to speak, his phone vibrated. It was almost certainly Rachel wondering if he’d be meeting her tonight. The phone was in his pocket, Harper had no idea. James waited a second for it to be still then continued. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

She was glad her costume called for sneakers instead of heels. A few inches higher meant closer to James’ lips. There’s no way she could have controlled herself then - and it would have ruined everything. Instead she just put her hand on his arm.

“Any time, James.”

It was after midnight when they left. Paige and Liam were drunk enough to make innuendos, James and Harper were sober enough to laugh them off. Those two did not want rides home, so James insisted on walking Harper to her car, though his mind was in a panic over the potential alone-on-a-dark-street goodbye. Still he couldn’t let her get mugged because he was afraid of his own weakness. They would be in his house for months to come. Don’t screw this up, he repeated in his head.

A stroke of luck delivered an empty cab just as they approached Harper’s car. James could have sworn he a flicker of relief on her face - but then, just as quickly, she was in his arms.

Harper didn’t really plan it, she just turned and reached for him. One second she was walking to her car and the next her body was pressed to James’, his strong biceps along either side of her rib cage and his long arms crossed behind the small of her back. Her face rested in the curve of his neck, just beyond where she’d noticed his pulse beating earlier. His size and strength cut through the night, folding her in warmth and the scent of his cologne. For a long moment they were as close as lovers.

“Bye, James,” she finally said, breaking away.

Unsure of what had just happened, James thought he’d done something wrong. Harper had hugged him, right? He hadn’t been too forward?

“Night, Coach,” he tried to make light.

Grasping for a straw herself, Harper gave him an incredulous look. “Coach? Coaches are old men!”

“Okay,” he laughed. “You’re a shortstop.”

“That’s better,” she huffed.

Taking one last look at Harper in her baseball costume, James couldn’t lie. “Shortstops always look best in those pants.” With that, she got behind the wheel. James lowered himself into the taxi, but made the guy wait until Harper was safely on her way.

“Your girlfriend is pretty,” the driver said.

James watched her tail lights disappear. “Yeah, thanks.”
____

Notes