The Foster Girls #3: Elizabeth

Chapter 6: Rig

My life sounded lonely? Who the hell did she think she was? I was never alone. I had girls all the time. Different ones. I clicked off the TV and paced around my apartment. Where did the little nerd nymph get off saying she felt sorry for me? I was Rig Fucking Carson, top NHL center, rich as fuck, and with my choice of women. Every woman wanted me and every man could only wish to be me with an all-you-can-eat buffet of women. All that cliché shit was true. People didn't feel sorry for me. They envied me and my life.

Without thinking about it, I grabbed my keys and stalked across the hallway and pounded on her door.

She opened it after a few seconds, her hair up in a ponytail, glasses slipping down her nose. She rolled her eyes when she saw it was me. "Yes?"

I walked forward, and she naturally stepped back. "Thank you, I will come in."

She grumbled but shut the door behind me. The little nymph was polite.

I turned to face her. "Where do you get off telling me you feel sorry for me?" Sniffing the air, I realized that the scent of cinnamon permeated her apartment. "What's that smell?"

She walked away from me toward the kitchen. "Cinnamon cream cheese coffeecake. For the monthly staff meeting tomorrow. I always bring something."

"It smells good."

"It is good," she snapped. "I'm an excellent baker."

Ah! Prideful about her baking skills. Honey, you shouldn't give me a weapon like that. "Huh. That's surprising, considering your cookies were mediocre at best."

With a sniff, she curled her lip at me. "Those cookies were perfection. I worked on that recipe for years."

"I've had better." Lie. Those were hands down the best cookies I'd ever eaten but it was fun to watch her bristle like a porcupine. I pointed to the coffeecake cooling on her kitchen island. "I bet that's dry as dust. Your co-workers probably pity-eat it every month.

"Pity-eat? That's not even a thing!"

"Sure it is. Just ask your co-workers."

She yanked a knife out of the drawer and for a minute I thought she was going to shank me. But she ripped into the coffeecake and cut a piece, which she promptly shoved at my mouth. "I'll give you pity-eat. Take a bite."

"Get me some water to wash it down with so I don't choke. It's probably dry."

She moved it toward my mouth again, and I grabbed her hand as I opened up and took a big bite. Perfection. It was absolute perfection, the buttery, cinnamon cake melting in my mouth, the flavor exploding on my tongue. I finished off the piece in two more bites. When I swallowed the last bit, I looked into those impossibly blue-violet eyes and popped two of her fingers in my mouth, nibbling and sucking off the crumbs. Her gorgeous eyes were wide and round, but she sure as hell didn't stop me.

When I stopped and released her hand, she was staring at me, her full lips slightly open.

"Not bad," I smirked at her. "But I've had better."

With a huff, she shrugged and nailed me with a glance. "I assume you came over here for a reason? Other than to insult my baking skills?"

I smirked at her. "Yeah, I told that guy we had plans for tomorrow. So we have to make plans for tomorrow so I'm not a liar."

"I can live with you being a liar. After all, I'm sure all those women leaving your apartment only get the truth."

"I already explained that I'm upfront with them from the start. But anyway, about tomorrow, I have a game, so you can come see me play."

"Um, hockey isn't really my thing. But thanks anyway."

"I'm leaving two tickets for you at Will Call. Bring a friend." Then, just to stick it to her a little more, I add, "You do have a friend, right?"

As expected, my little neighbor fires up, red staining her cheeks. "Of course I have friends!"

"Then I'll see you there. Puck drops at seven, so you'll probably want to get there at around 6:30."

I walk out the door, listening to her grumble the whole way out.