Chapter Text
Charity watched in disbelief as the silver Porsche pulled from her driveway, turned, and raced down the quiet street. None of this felt real. She had left five days ago to go on a dreaded business trip, and in that time had met, partied, stayed with, and been driven by a world famous hockey player. Not just that, a handsome one. It felt like a bad Hallmark movie: this stuff didn’t happen in real life… She was just glad it hadn’t derailed into a Lifetime one.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened up her text thread with her sister, Hope.
Charity: Just got home. I didn’t get murdered.
She typed before pressing send. A moment later, three dots appeared to show that her sister was replying.
Hope: Told you you were over reacting! I can’t believe my big sister spent the last two days with Cliff Marlow, and didn’t even know who he was! Charity shook her head and answered,
Charity: He’s literally just a guy. She typed, then added, A really hot one, though. , before back spacing that last addition.
She moved to slip her phone back into her pocket, but quickly changed her mind, instead opening up the internet browser to the tab she had gone back to numerous times the last couple days.
“Cliff Marlow: Professional Hockey Player for the Boston Bears. #7, forward wing…”
She read over the same google results once again, before zooming in on the photo of the man who has just dropped her off.
While she had had a lot of reservations at first, she couldn’t deny that she had enjoyed his company. Not only that, but she had been surprised that he had been such a gentleman. A little on the dense side, but kind and caring. After all, he had helped her calm down on the plane without knowing her. He had also refused to let her stay in the airport overnight by herself when her sister wasn’t able to pick her up, and instead let her stay in his private suite. He told her to order whatever she wanted from room service, and to put it on his account. He had given her tickets to the Bears vs Admirals game, and then to the club that night. He had bought her drinks. He had even left early to take her back to the hotel, so she wouldn’t be alone in an Uber. And, most importantly, when she informed him that he could stop all of this because she was not going to have sex with him, he had simply replied “Okay.” He hadn’t been annoyed or angry, and said it with a shrug that suggested he hadn’t expected it in the first place.
The next morning he had left to get the rental car, and when she went outside to meet him, he had pulled up in a Porsche. He carried her luggage down to the car, and then they were off. And then she spent six hours on a drive with a man she had just met, and yet, for some reason, she had felt so at ease. Talking to him felt natural, like he was an old friend, and they were just picking up where they had left off. That in itself was an anomaly. A combination of severe general anxiety disorder combined with diagnosed, full blown agoraphobia made it very hard for her to trust anyone. Yet, he somehow had made her feel, of all things, safe?
They had talked almost the entire drive; about hockey, her work as a paralegal, their families, life in Boston, life in Buffalo… And lastly, he had given her a ticket to tonight’s game, as well. Then invited her back out to the club after. She had told him she wasn’t sure if she could go, but didn’t elaborate. She hated the club, and the Hockey Game she had attended the day before wasn’t much better, if she were to be honest. The noise and crowd was overwhelming, plus the thought of everything that could go wrong: a fire, a shooting, a blackout… She had ended up watching most of the game in the lobby on a large television screen. If Cliff had noticed her absence from the stands, he didn’t say so. Nor did he comment on her prolonged hiding in the club bathroom, although she was sure his Russian friend had suspected something was wrong, because he had brought her water and asked her if she was okay. She had lied and said she felt sick, and Cliff took her back to the hotel.
In all, she couldn’t deny that she had some kind of attraction to this man, as stupid as she felt about it. And worst of all, she wanted to see him again. She had made up her mind about that. She could endure another night at the club, probably, if she got a couple drinks in her early on for courage. Spending the evening again with him would make all of the anxiety worth it…
She quickly opened her texts and clicked on his name, taking a deep breath as a familiar wave of anxiety washed over her. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.
Charity: I’ll see you tonight.
She typed out, staring at the screen. No. That seemed boring. It didn’t seem playful. She thought for a moment, before adding a winking emoji. That was flirty, right?
Charity: I’ll see you tonight 😉
That was much better. You couldn’t even tell that there was a pit of panic in her stomach when she pressed send, or that she had thrown up from the anxiety twenty minutes later.