Chapter One
Indy
āYouāre coming out tonight,ā my cousin Claire demands, glancing at me in the reflection of her bedroom mirror. A mascara wand hovers in her hand and her tongue peeks out between her lips as she applies a second coat.
I flop back against her bed, staring at the glow stars that decorate her ceiling. We placed them there one summer, over a decade ago, and sheās never taken them down. āI canāt. I have work to catch up on.ā
āToo bad. Youāre too young and too hot to never get laid.ā
I snort, dropping my hand over my face. āI get laid.ā My voice is defensive, and as soon as Claire starts laughing, I join in.
I turn my head to meet her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Weāre both sporting goofy grins. She jabs her mascara wand at me in the reflection. āYeah? When was the last time you did it?ā
I groan, yanking my gaze back to the ceiling. At least the glow stars arenāt judgey. I donāt answer Claireās question aloud but mentally, I tally up the months. There have been seven of them. Seven months since I had sex. It wasnāt even good sex. More comfortable, one last hurrah before I relocate to Boston, see-ya-when-I-see-ya sex with Chris, the guy who conveniently lived down the street and was usually around for a casual hook-up. My closest childhood friend, Aiden, choked on his beer when I told him about my fling with Chris. He still hasnāt stopped teasing me about it.
I wrinkle my nose. Meh, thinking of Chris as my last sexual partner is depressing on several levels.
Six months ago, when I landed in Boston for a new job, as an assistant professor at Brighton University, I swore to myself Iād turn over a new leaf. Now that I am on the tenure-track, I reasoned, I can stop being a self-isolated workaholic. My plan was to embrace the city, meet new people, and not keep myself locked in the library, researching, writing, and publishing. My plan failed.
The bed dips beside me. Claireās deep blue eyes peer into mine, determined, with just a hint of compassion. āI know youāre working your ass off because youāre intimidated.ā
āIām the youngest assistant professor Brightonās ever hired.ā
āBut youāre qualified and competent. Youāre prepared for this job, Indy.ā
I shrug, not voicing how unprepared I feel. Iāve worked hard to secure this position but now that I have it, I feel a pressure to work even harder to prove that I can keep it. To show the administration that I was the right choice, that even though Iām only twenty-seven, Iām committed to academia.
Claire rolls her eyes. āYou may be a prim and proper professor now butāā
āIām not that prim and proper.ā
Her lips quiver with laughter. āIndiana, you are my favorite girl cousin.ā
āIām your only girl cousin.ā
Claire ignores me. āI canāt let you wallow away into nothing. Besides, I need a wing woman. Ever since Savannah abandoned me by gallivanting off to New Yorkāā
āMike got traded.ā I point out that my cousin Savannah, Claireās older sister, didnāt move by choice. Her husband was traded by the Boston Hawks to the New York Sharks halfway through last hockey season.
Claire dismisses my logic and ticks on her fingers. āAnd Rielle is too busy working to have a lifeāā
āSheās up for a promotion,ā I cut in, sticking up for Claireās best friend who has been working around the clock lately. Impressively, even more than me.
Claire glares at me. āMy point is, everyone is ditching me and you have the shittiest excuse. The academic year started like, five seconds agoāā
āThree weeks.ā
āYouāre coming out tonight and weāre celebrating,ā she concludes, hopping from the bed and striding to her closet. Claire pulls out a short, tight, black dress I would never wear and waves it around. āPut this on.ā
I laugh, pulling myself into a seated position, and play along. āWhat exactly are we celebrating?ā
āYour new life. I love you, Indiana, but real talk, workaholic, stressed-out, type-A you is not a good look. You have a real job, which is more than I can say, and youāre in a new city. You need to put yourself out there and mingle a little. Maybe youāll even meet someone.ā She eyes me hopefully, making the dress dance on the hanger.
I offer my cousin a half smile and weigh her words. She got me with the āreal jobā bit, which Iām sure she did on purpose, knowing my compassionate side would kick in. Since her college graduation in May, Claireās been freelancing but the work hasnāt been steady. In fact, itās been so unreliable that she moved back home with my aunt and uncle, which pains her on a cellular level.
She widens her baby blues at me and I groan, dragging myself to stand. But inside, a thrill shoots down my spine. Itās been ages since Iāve had a proper girlsā night with Claire. My cousin is fun, outgoing, and the life of the party. Sheās also right. I do need to put myself out there and make some new friends, meet some new people, and socialize like a normal twenty-something.
For the past eight years, school was my entire life. Every semester, I stacked my course load. I spent my summers completing summer sessions on campus and my winter and spring breaks contributing to research projects abroad. Graduating with my PhD in political science in January was my greatest accomplishment until I secured an assistant professor position at Brighton and moved to Boston in April. Since then, Iāve been preparing for this next chapter and now, itās here. As Claire kindly pointed out, Iām boring and predictable. My social life revolves around my family members and a trusty planner.
If it werenāt for weekly dinners with my family and Claireās obligatory weekly retail therapy, I probably wouldnāt have gone out at all over the summer. A smile spreads across my face. I deserve a night out, donāt I? Besides, next week, Iāll be back in the classroom and focused on a research trip Iām planning for a handful of students over winter break. I can take this weekend to have a little fun. After all, didnāt I tell my freshman Intro to Political Theory the same thing? āOkay.ā
Surprise flares in Claireās eyes. She thrusts the hanger toward me, and when I take it, she lets out a loud whoop. Laughing, I drop the dress on the bed and duck into the bathroom. I study my limp, brown hair, dull green eyes, and plain face. While Iām not unfortunate-looking, I havenāt put much effort into my appearance for a long time and it shows. Jesus, are my eyebrows touching? Cringe. Flipping on the faucet, I scrub my face clean and help myself to Claireās products, tweezers included.
Then, I waltz into Claireās room and plop down.
āMake me over,ā I demand.
Her eyes widen and dazzle, deep blue like sapphires. āIndy, are you sure?ā
I nod.
She squeals, āOh my God. Tonight is going to be the best!ā
* * *
Dad and Uncle Joe frown when Claire and I bound down the stairs, but Mom and Aunt Mary smile. The kitchen is already spotless from our weekly family dinner and our parents hold a drink in hand, talking and relaxing the way they have since Mom and Dad followed me to Boston over the summer.
āYou look beautiful, Indy,ā Mom compliments as Dad scowls at my dress.
Aunt Maryās grin softens. āAbsolutely gorgeous, girls. Where are you headed?ā
āThe Hawks are having a team kick-off at Firefly,ā Claire answers, filling up a glass of water and taking a long sip. āAustin said we could come.ā
āOh, good.ā Dad breathes a sigh of relief that Austin, Claireās brother and the captain of the NHL team the Boston Hawks, will be present at the club tonight.
āAustin will keep an eye on them,ā Uncle Joe says, although I think heās trying to convince himself more than Dad.
I roll my eyes, stashing my driverās license and a debit card into the small purse Claire lent me. āYou realize weāre adults, right? Iām going to be twenty-eight in a few months.ā
āAnd Iām moving out as soon as I can afford it,ā Claire announces.
Dad chuckles. āBut youāll always be my little girl, Indy.ā
Claire snickers.
āBesides, I know hockey players.ā His tone turns hard, no doubt remembering all the wild escapades of his long career in the NHL. Dad, a hall of fame inductee and lead scorer for the Tampa Reds, can recount a staggering number of failed marriages and relationships gone wrong from his years in the league. His and Momās enduring thirty-plus-year marriage is somewhat of an anomaly.
āNo worries there,ā I scoff.
Aunt Mary stands, brushing her fingers through my hair. āHave fun tonight, Indy. Youāve been working so hard. You deserve a night out.ā
Mom lifts her wine glass in agreement. āBe safe, girls. If you need a rideāā
āOur Lyft is here,ā Claire interrupts, clutching my forearm and leading me toward the door. āIf we need anything, weāll call,ā she reassures our parents, who still treat us like kids, probably because Claire is a wild card and Iām an only child. āIām sleeping at Indyās tonight,ā she hollers over her shoulder as we slip outside.
Once weāre settled in the Lyft and heading toward downtown Boston, Claire grins at me. āWait ātil you see some of the Hawksā players.ā She fans herself.
I roll my eyes. āYou know Iām not into hockey players. Not anymore.ā My first love, first heartbreak, first everything is now a defenseman on the Vancouver Eagles. After our very painful and public breakup two years ago, I swore off hockey players for good. Since then, I havenāt been tempted once and I doubt tonight will be any different. If thereās anything Iāve learned from being Dadās daughter and then dating Jace, itās that the stable and reliable lifestyle I crave doesnāt mix with the NHL.
āJace was a dick. Not all hockey players are like him.ā
I ignore her statement. āYou can have your pick, Claire.ā
Her eyes dim and she turns to look out the window.
Uh-oh. For years, Claire has secretly pined over Austinās best friend and Hawks left winger Easton Scotch. Easton and his brother Noah have been fixtures at my aunt and uncleās home since bunking with Austin at hockey camp when we were all teenagers. Every summer, during our family trip to Boston, the Scotch brothers were present. Crushing on your brotherās best friend is never easy, but with Eastonās trip to rehab last year, Claireās complicated feelings became even messier.
I elbow her in the ribs until she turns toward me. āHowās he doing?ā
She sighs, knowing Iām asking about Easton. Other than me, Rielle, and Savannah, no one knows that Claire has been hung up on East for all these years. āFuck if I know.
Heās barely spoken to me over the past year. Not since he came home from rehab.ā
āHave you seen him since the season ended?ā
She shakes her head, her expression guarded.
Sensing she doesnāt want to talk about Easton when weāre about to embark on a night out, I ask, āAre you sure Austin doesnāt mind that weāre coming tonight?ā
Claire laughs. āOh, heās going to be pissed.ā
āWhat? You saidāā
āYeah, so our dads wouldnāt worry. Thereās no way Austin wants us at Firefly tonight. Not when the team is getting together for the first time since the off-season. Theyāre going to be partying hard and the puck bunnies are going to be swarming.ā She grins mischievously, shrugging one shoulder. āBut once weāre there, heās not going to turn us away.ā
I shake my head at my cousin, impressed. āYouāre evil.ā
āIām resourceful. Weāre out for the night, weāre going to have fun, and if weāre lucky, weāre going to get lucky.ā
Tossing my head back, I laugh. Claire doesnāt join in.
āWait, youāre serious?ā
She smirks in response.