The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,18

is something wrong with you.”

“Because I’m happy that you finally have the hots for a guy who knows how to use them to your advantage. See what I did there? Your advantage, Indy. Jesus, if the rumors are true…just tell me, how many orgasms?”

“Claire!” I blush, feeling it to the tips of my ears.

“Oh my God! That many?” She drops next to me on her bed. “I’m so jealous.”

I drop a pillow over her face. Still, I hear her muffled laughter.

Removing the pillow, I narrow my eyes at her. “It was a one-night thing. It’s over. I’m not going to hook up with Noah Scotch again.”

My cousin snickers, shaking her head at me. “Yeah right. We’ll see about that.”

I totally want to hook up with Noah Scotch again.

I hate Claire for even putting the thought into my head.

Normal Indy, smart, determined, focused workaholic, would never consider such allusions. Now that the night has come and gone, I find myself second-guessing if he looked at me with desire or pity.

Was it heat in his eyes? Or my own hope placing it there?

Did he bring me back to his place because he wanted me there? Or because he was too exhausted to wait out the traffic?

But then why did he call…?

That’s the thought that buzzes in my mind, keeping me warm and fuzzy about Noah Scotch when I would normally dismiss the entire encounter as a fun, thrilling, drunken night I know better than to repeat.

After drinking a much-needed coffee to clear my head, I left Noah’s apartment and went straight to my aunt and uncle’s house. When Aunt Mary spotted me letting myself in at six this morning, she pulled the door wide open and handed me a fresh mug of hot coffee.

“I’m not even going to ask,” she said before I could explain rocking Claire’s skintight dress and holding the heels in my hand even though my feet were freezing standing on her porch so early in the morning. “Come on in and put on a sweatshirt before you catch a cold.”

“Thanks, Auntie.” I kissed her hello and scurried to the living room where she passed me a sweatshirt and covered me in a warm blanket.

Four sips of coffee in and I was snoozing on the couch, knowing Claire would wake me up when she finally dragged her hungover ass from bed.

While I should have just gone home to my place, I didn’t want to be alone this morning. That too is out of the ordinary for me. But after a night wrapped in Noah’s arms, his scent, in his freaking bed, I needed to seek out my cousin as if my self-preservation depended on it.

Maybe it’s because deep down I knew Claire would plant ideas in my head. Ideas I want to consider but don’t want to admit.

Gah. I’m a mess.

But spending the day with Claire, watching movies and nursing our hangovers, was fun. It was reminiscent of my college years but in the comfort of her parents’ home instead of a stinky dorm.

Uncle Joe made us panini sandwiches for lunch and Aunt Mary kept us hydrated with water and Gatorade. While I know it’s a little ridiculous that we holed up here instead of my place, I think Aunt Mary and Uncle Joe like being “in the know” about our lives. Especially since Vanny is now married and Austin’s on the road so much.

With Claire and now me being back in Boston, my aunt and uncle as well as my parents have regressed into helicopter parenting. I may complain about it all day, every day but not when I’m hungover and out of sorts and wanting to have someone make me lunch and bring me coffee.

Alas, by dusk, I force myself to leave Claire’s side and head home, this time clad in her sweatpants and a hoodie, a ratty pair of Claire’s Uggs on my feet. Once I enter my apartment, I flip on the lights and throw myself into the shower. Heat and steam make me feel like myself again. Once I no longer smell like sugary sweet vodka cocktails, I step out of the shower and shrug into a robe, wrapping my hair in a towel. I brew a cup of tea and sit down at my kitchen table, flipping open my laptop.

Then, I throw myself into my work. I’m organizing a student research trip to Bangladesh over winter break. The trip will foster my own research on microfinance loans and the role of women in