Page 4 of Made for Mayhem

“You’re not from here,” I said.

She huffed a laugh. “What gave it away? Me staring at my map like it personally betrayed me?”

“Dead giveaway.”

“I got off at the wrong stop,” she said. “Possibly the wrong line. Honestly, I have no idea where I am or how to get back to the apartment I moved into today.”

I scrubbed a hand along my jaw, the reflex to help battling the voice in my head telling me not to get involved.

“Maybe I’ll⁠—”

I stopped her with a light touch to the arm, careful this time. “Hang on.” I nodded toward her phone. “Where are you trying to go?”

She turned the screen so I could see the red pin. “Uptown. I think. Unless this map is lying to me, which feels possible at this point.”

I scanned the busy street—the traffic still snarled, the trains not back to normal yet after the post-game surge. “We can walk a bit. Get you somewhere easier to navigate until things calm down.”

Her brows lifted, those blue eyes sparkling in the streetlights. “We? If you’re thinking about robbing me, I should warn you, it’s a bad idea. I’m very nice, and you’ll feel extra bad when you realize I have literally nothing to my name.”

A real laugh—surprising and unguarded—broke through. “Good to know,” I said. “I’ll cross you off the list.”

She smiled, quick and bright, then went back to her phone.

“Come on.” I tipped my head east. “Worst case, you end up with a great story about narrowly avoiding a mugging.”

She slipped her phone into her pocket and fell into step beside me. “I feel very reassured.”

“Good,” I said. “I’d hate to ruin your first night in the city.”

Her eyes flicked to me, studying my face mostly hidden in shadows between my hood and hat. “Huddy, right? Is that your name?”

I stared down at her, waiting for the realization of who I was to click, but it never did. So instead of giving her anymore, I just nodded.

“Huddy,” she repeated, one brow lifted. “What kind of name is that? Sounds like a nickname.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets, avoiding looking up at the Chicago Storm banners hanging from the streetlights brandishing my name and face. “It is.”

She waited for more, eyes bright with curiosity, but I didn’t offer an explanation.

“Just Huddy?” she pressed, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Just Huddy.”

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “So, if that’s the nickname, what’s the real one? Hudson? Humphrey? Horatio? Oh, wait!” She pointed at me. “Herbert. You look like a Herbert.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the grin from slipping. “Not even close.”

“Okay, Huckleberry,” she tried, leaning toward me like she was deadly serious about solving this mystery. “Harold? Sir Wallace T. Hudsington the Third?”

A laugh broke free before I could stop it—low and rough, the kind I hadn’t heard from myself in far too long.

Her face lit up as if she’d won something, and her shoulder bumped into my arm. “There it is. I knew you could smile.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I muttered, but my lips still twitched.

“I’m Daisy,” she said, then glanced up at me with mischief written all over her face. “Since you so kindly asked.”

I shook my head, barely holding back another laugh. “Nice to meet you, Daisy. Welcome to Chicago.”