Delivery Girl (Minnesota Ice #1) Read online

  “No,” he says, lips quirking upward. “How could I have known I’d be so lucky?”

  “Anyway, that’s my story,” I say, grateful he’s taking everything in stride. “After she died, I sank into a dark place for quite some time. I hated it, every second of it.”

  “But you pulled yourself out.”

  “It took a while, but when I finally began to drag myself out of the funk, I vowed to find the light in all the dark places. Ever since, I’ve been taking classes, performing at every bar and club I can get in to, you name it, and for all my efforts, I’ve made a whopping ten dollars. So, it looks like accounting will be the way to go.”

  “Hey,” he says, brushing a hand over my cheek where I’ve missed a tear. “You’re not allowed to talk like that. If I barely know you and I’m saying you can do this, you’d better believe it’s true. I’m not lying, Andi. The passion’s there. The hard work is there. Keep going with it, and you’ll succeed.”

  The ghost of a smile I’m wearing is a mask, hiding the bubble of warmth deep in my soul so that Ryan will never know how much his encouragement means to me.

  “My only request is that you believe in yourself,” he says with a shake of his head. “Because nobody’s going to do it for you. Nobody put a puck in my hand and worked me for hours a day, but I wanted it bad enough, and I know you do too. Have confidence. You’re beautiful, smart, and funny. You can do it.”

  When a man as hot as Ryan is saying things like that, it’s enough to send a girl into a coma. However, I hold on to reality and focus on those gorgeous brown eyes of his, that shaggy dark hair drooping onto his forehead. “Thank you for saying all of those things.”

  He turns away slightly, as if unsure, so I reach up and put a hand on his arm. His bicep is insane, but I ignore that for now and focus on his face.

  “Really,” I tell him. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

  “Would you like to move somewhere more comfortable?” Ryan asks. “Where we can continue chatting?”

  “The bed?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “I was going to say the sitting room, but I’m open to suggestions.”

  I blush furiously. “Sitting room is great.”

  I leave my empty wine glass on the counter—I have to drive home, after all—and follow him into a luxurious space that belongs in a historic mansion somewhere.

  The living area is tucked cozily in the corner on the first floor, the furniture newer and squishier. Unlike the entryway and the kitchen, this room looks lived in and welcoming, warm and recently used. A fire roars in the hearth, even though the temperature has hardly dropped below fifty degrees outside.

  I raise my eyebrow at the fire. “You do realize we’re in Los Angeles right?”

  “Reminds me of home.” He grins, and I remember that he’s not from the land of sunshine.

  “Minnesota?” I ask, as if I don’t already know. I do know—it’s listed in the article next to my bed.

  “Yes,” he says. “I still live there full time and play for the Minnesota Stars.”

  “Why are you looking to move?”

  “Bigger budget, bigger chance at the playoffs,” he says. “I’m not going to be able to play for the rest of my life, so I have to make the most of this career while I’m able.”

  “If you play out here, won’t you miss your home?”

  “I’m not looking at this as a permanent move.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I really love Minnesota. Any move away from there is for the short term.”

  “I see.”

  “I always figured I’d end up back in the Cities once I…well, after my career. There’s nothing like skating on the lakes during those winter months. The magic of that first snow, the first ice of the season.” A longing expression comes into his eyes and he smacks his lips. “It’s really something else.”

  “You miss the snow?”

  “I miss home,” he says, and something about the way he says home makes me long for a place to call home in that way.

  I have a home, and I have Angela and my dad and my sisters, but one sister lives in New York, the other San Fran, and the youngest is off for a semester in Spain. The latter is the one who bakes, and our house has not been smelling like cookies recently. My brother’s in college in California, but we rarely see him these days unless it’s Christmas.

  Ever since my mom passed away, my family has sort of drifted apart. Home doesn’t mean as much anymore. Without my mom holding our family together, we’ve blown like dandelion seeds around the world. We love each other, of course, but things are different now.

  I swallow, figuring it best to change the subject. A book is flipped upside down on the end table, as if someone has just been reading it. I run my fingers over the cover. “You read?”

  “I dabble,” he says. “You sound surprised. I did go to college, believe it or not.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m surprised you have the time to read.”

  Ryan laughs. “Before you assume things about me, I have to make a confession.”

  He sounds serious, his face turning stony. I lean forward. “What is it?”

  He stares back, his lips a thin line. “I’ve never read Gone with the Wind, or Hemmingway.”

  I fake gasp. “No.”

  “Yes,” he says. “If that’s a deal breaker, then you can leave.”

  “Here is the twenty-million-dollar question,” I say. “Are you reading this book right now?”

  I rap my knuckles against the novel before us. It’s Harry Potter, and I’ve read it exactly one million and ten times.

  He turns to me, that serious expression taking over again. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

  My jaw drops. I have to shut it using my hands. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  I take a gulp of air because I have no clue what else to do when Ryan Pierce accepts a marriage proposal I meant in jest. “That’s cool.”

  “Shall we pick a date?”

  “Ryan…” I awkwardly shift in my seat, not sure quite where to go from here. “I was joking.”

  “I know, but it gave me an idea.”

  “Oh, this sounds like a horrible idea.”

  “Lilia, my brother’s fiancée—you met her,” he says without waiting for confirmation. “Their wedding is in two months.”

  “That’s great,” I say.

  “Come with me.”

  “What?”

  “Come with me to the wedding, as a friend.”

  I shake my head. “I just met you. I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, we just met, but it is perfect timing. My mother threatened to find me a date if I don’t find my own, and she’d pick Chelsea Heimlin, and there is no way I’ll survive an evening with Chelsea.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you are perfect,” he says, and my heart flutters. “You are beautiful and hilarious and down to earth. I’m just asking you to come as a friend. Most girls would misconstrue that or say yes in hopes that we’d turn it into something more.”

  “But—”

  “I know Nick Bennett.”

  My jaw drops. “You know Nick Bennett?”

  Nick Bennett is the legendary talent agent from one of the largest agencies in Hollywood. He’s known for handling most of the household-name comedy talent. If I saw him in person, I might fall to the floor.

  “My brother has all these connections because of his job,” Ryan says. “What do you say I get you a meeting with Nick and in return, you play my girlfriend for one weekend? I won’t make a move on you if you don’t want me to.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I hardly know you!”

  “We’ve been exchanging pizzas and money for weeks now,” he says, concern in his gaze. “I feel like I know you better than my best friends.”

  I laugh because his eyes are alight with mischief, and his smile is contagious. “That’s
ridiculous. You don’t have to get me a meeting with Nick—you didn’t let me pay to fix your car, so I already owe you for that.”

  “Does that mean yes?”

  I rest my fingers on my lips, thinking.

  “Fly out for two days,” he says. “I’ll pay for everything and I’ll get you a private hotel room so you don’t have to stay with me. Come on, Andi. It will be fun. Please?”

  I don’t know what makes me say yes, but I find myself nodding my head a second later. “Wait,” I say, sort of changing my mind. “It’s two months away? What if we’re not even talking by then? A lot could happen to our delivery girl, pizza order-er relationship by then.”

  “Give me two months to date you,” he says. “We’ll hang out and get to know each other. If you still like me by then, you’ll come with me to the wedding. If not, well, no harm done. Hopefully we can have some fun in the meantime.”

  “Date?”

  “Look, Andi, I’m going to be honest. I already mentioned this business with Jocelyn Jones—if I want to get signed with her, I have to keep my love life squeaky clean. No relationships, no public hookups, no drama. She’s like a skittish horse at the first signs of drama.”

  His meaning starts to sink in. “I understand. I’m the easy option. Hang out with me as a cover, and then when it’s crunch time, we go our own separate ways.”

  “No,” he says. “You’re not the easy option, you’re the best option because I actually like you, a lot. I can talk to you. Do you know how hard it is to carry on a conversation with a puck bunny?”

  “I’ve never tried,” I say dryly. “Though I imagine it’s riveting.”

  He laughs. “Look, I understand if you don’t want to. I’ll still get you that meeting with Nick. I didn’t mean to make it sound like an ultimatum, and you deserve a meeting.”

  “Ryan—”

  “I was just thinking it would be great all around. It’d make my mom happy if I didn’t show up alone, Jocelyn would be pleased that I don’t have any relationship drama to speak of, and most importantly, I’d be happy because I’d get to hang out with you.”

  This is not where I thought today would go. It’s been a rollercoaster for sure, but this makes more sense than anything else. It makes more sense than him actually being interested in me.

  I should’ve known he wouldn’t want anything more from me than a friendship. I am good at being the friend, just not so good at being the girlfriend.

  But then Lisa and Angela’s words enter my mind—Lisa telling me I never take risks on guys, that my vagina is getting dusty—and I decide that enough is enough. I don’t want a dusty vagina any longer; I want to have a great time with Ryan Pierce.

  “You know what?” I say, new energy in my voice. “I’m not in a place to have a relationship either. I’m graduating school soon, and then I have to focus on my career. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have some fun in the meantime.”

  “Just fun,” he says. “No strings attached.”

  I’m not sure if that means sex or not, but I figure we’ll play things by ear. “Just friends?” I confirm. “We’re not agreeing to hook up?”

  “Just friends. I won’t make a move unless you kiss me first,” he says with a wink. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

  “Fine,” I agree. “With one exception: you don’t have to date me. That’ll just make things complicated. Let’s just hang out as friends. I already owe you enough for the car ordeal, so if I go with you to the wedding, will you consider things even?”

  “They already were, sweetheart,” he says. “But yes, let’s consider it even.”

  I stand up and extend my hand for a shake.

  He surprises me by extending his hand, clasping it around mine, and bringing the whole thing to his lips. “Even if I don’t have to date you, Andi Peretti, I’m going to date you these next two months, harder than anyone has ever dated you before.”

  Despite all my best intentions, little butterflies bang about in my stomach. “Oh, boy,” I say. “What a ride this will be.”

  “It’ll be a ride—” Ryan is interrupted by a beep from my phone.

  I excuse myself and open the message. It’s an urgent note from Lisa.

  Lisa: Get your ass to Laugh House. I just booked a last minute gig and it’s paid!!!! Hurry. I will literally die if nobody is in those seats when I go on. Twenty minutes.

  CHAPTER 11

  Ryan

  Something’s wrong.

  Here I am thinking that we’ve finally turned a corner and…shit. That look on her face as she’s reading her texts is not good. She’s about to pull out from this agreement, and I was just starting to feel excited about it all—the possibility of Andi being mine, even if only for a short time, and only for pretend.

  I should never have roped her into this thing with the wedding. I’m such a selfish bastard. And what the hell was I thinking bringing up Nick Bennett? Am I that big of an asshole, trying to name drop like some clown?

  The thing is—well, I can’t explain it. There’s a part of me that wants to be next to Andi more than anything, and I’m not above pulling a few names out of my pocket to make that happen. I need to prove to her that I’m not the same sort of asshole she usually spends time with, judging by the way she’s acting surprised at the simplest things I do for her.

  I saw the way she was uncomfortable in the kitchen, and it annoyed me. To think that someone wouldn’t see Andi for who she is—smart, funny, a great girl. I knew already that she’d see straight through any one-night stand bullshit I pulled on her, which was why I wasn’t going to try that route.

  Andi isn’t a bunny. If she were a puck bunny, I could’ve already had her shirt off and my hand down her pants, but that’s not the case. I’m not interested in bunnies anymore. I’m interested in Andi.

  Now, I need more time with her, to show her that. The ten minutes a week we spend awkwardly exchanging pizzas isn’t enough, and now I went and ruined even that. Something’s clearly wrong judging by her face. She’s still looking at her phone like somebody died.

  Or maybe she’s come to her senses and realized my intentions, that I don’t want to be friends with her, that I want to make her mine, to take the piece of Andi that she showed me earlier—the strong, aching piece tinged with sadness—and make her forget all the bad. I want to bring her only the good, and I want to hear her laugh more than anything in this universe.

  “Andi, is everything okay?” I ask. She looks frigging amazing in that collared shirt. I try not to focus on her boobs and keep my eyes looking at her face, but it’s hard. I’m hard. I want her—why can I not focus on her words? I clear my throat and try again. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing,” she says quickly. “Nothing bad, but I have to go.”

  “Did something happen?” I wonder if it’s me. “Did I say something?”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” she says, her eyebrows crinkling. “It’s just my friend…”

  Even her eyebrows are sexy. What the hell is wrong with me? I accidentally tuned out, and now she’s talking about something else.

  “…booked a show, and we have this stupid promise.” She looks sheepish. “Lisa and I have been friends forever, and we made a promise that we’d always go to each other’s shows. It sucks to be alone, so we promised to never let that happen to one another.”

  “I don’t think that’s stupid at all.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, I think it’s nice of you. You’re a good friend.”

  “Sometimes being a good friend sucks.” She gives me a sly sort of look, and I realize she’s hinting at not wanting to go. “I hate to leave, but Lisa booked a show and I have to show up. The pact, you know.”

  She stands up and wobbles as she takes a few steps.

  “You’re in no shape to drive,” I say. “Let me take you.”

  “Don’t be silly, it’s across town. I’ve only had a glass of wine. Or, I can Uber.”

  “I’ve only had half
a glass, and I weigh over two hundred pounds. I also ate a foot-long sub before you showed up, so there’s no way I’m even the slightest bit tipsy.”

  She faces me. “Why would you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Eat a foot-long! I was bringing you a pizza!”

  “Oh, uh—”

  “I’m kidding.” She grins. “I’ll call an Uber.”

  “No.” I stand and rest my hand on her arm. Christ, her skin is soft. I want to touch her everywhere, and dammit—if driving across town to some seedy comedy club is what it’ll take to get there, I can’t jump on board fast enough. “I want to go with you.”

  “It’s a dirty, underground comedy club. It’s probably gonna be me, you, Lisa, and Phil.”

  “Who’s Phil?”

  “The homeless guy who lives by the mailbox.”

  My smile grows bigger. “Perfect. My kinda place.”

  “Really?”

  “I prefer the out of the way sort of places.”

  I don’t tell her that otherwise, I have people in my face all the time asking for autographs. I love fans, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I crave a little privacy.

  “Ah, the problems of the rich and famous.” She winks, not fooled by my chivalry. “Well then, I will take you up on your offer of a ride, but”—she points at me—“this isn’t a real date.”

  “It’s not even a fake date,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “I’m just giving you a ride like any good Samaritan would do.”

  She laughs, and I can barely restrain my tortured groan. I may want to sleep with her more than I want to breathe, but I can be patient. I can feel when a girl is different, special—at least I think I can. It’s never happened before, not like this where my heart almost beats out of my rib cage every time she smiles.

  “You don’t have to finish that,” I say as she reaches for my now discarded glass of wine.

  I don’t want to be responsible for getting her too drunk on our first semi-date, even if it’s only a fake one. Not only is it just not a good idea to get drunk, it’s more than that.