“I recommend our What the Hell’s Lager,” the man says.
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll have the same,” Hunter says, pushing the card across the counter.
We both look up to the TV. There are only about six minutes left in the second period and Dallas is up two-one. We watch one of the Dallas players do a spinorama to avoid a Dman and get a shot on goal, and we both make the same impressed noise. I glance sideways at Hunter in amusement and our eyes lock. There’s no question that we both love hockey and that’s a strong bond between us.
Our beers arrive, deliciously cold and bitter.
“Who are you cheering for?” I ask Hunter.
He shrugs. “I don’t really care. I think St. Louis is a good team. They should win.”
I nod. “I don’t disagree.”
We watch silently, and in the last minute of the period, St. Louis gets the puck. The player breaks for the Dallas net while two Dmen chase him. Hunter and I (and a few other patrons in the bar) let out a cheer that explodes when he scores. I turn to Hunter and he lifts his hand for a high five.
“Tied it up!” I say.
During the intermission, we dissect the brief part of the game we saw.
“Callum doesn’t seem to be getting a lot of ice time,” Hunter comments.
“Yeah.” I make a yikes face. “He’s a fourth line winger. He’s got potential.”
“He’s young.”
“Yes. All my clients are young.”
“Except me.”
I eye him. “Well, I do believe you are my oldest client, but I’d hardly say twenty-six is old.”
“Seriously? All your clients are younger than me?”
I push my lips out. “I’m a new agent. I don’t even have that many clients.”
“You will.” He lifts his beer to his lips and swallows.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” I say it casually, but deep inside, it moves me. Because I haven’t had a lot of votes of confidence. Even my dad is hesitant about me being an agent, and my experience at Pinnacle Sports Management did nothing to build my confidence. In fact, it was the opposite.
He hitches one shoulder. “I know you. You’re smart, knowledgeable, tough.”
I nod. The word tough is exactly what I want to hear. That’s how I want people to see me. When my mom died, Dad and Ryan didn’t need to see me helpless and crying. I had to step up and take care of things. My hockey teammates needed me to be strong and dependable. My clients need me to be fierce on their behalf.
At the same time, I feel a faint longing deep in my heart to be seen as something other than tough…to be seen as soft. Attractive. Even…sexy.
But those things are what got me in trouble and I can’t go there again.
“Thanks.” I say it matter-of-factly and lift my beer to him in a toast.
10
Hunter
For some reason, I get the feeling that Kate didn’t like being called tough. Maybe because she’s a woman, and that sounds…masculine? But she’s a feminist and she’d take my head off with a hockey stick if I said that. Maybe tough is the wrong word. I probably should have said strong. Tenacious. Smart. Yeah, those are better words.
The moment has passed though, as the game resumes. We order another round of drinks for the last period, cheering as St. Louis takes the lead. When Dallas pulls their goalie and throws everything they’ve got at the St. Louis net, we’re on the edges of our seats. I don’t even care who wins, but it’s fun watching Kate cheer on Callum’s team, fun getting swept up in the fervor.
I wish it was me on the ice, still in the playoffs.
Oh well. There’s always next year.
Down to the last seconds, one last shot on goal, St. Louis makes the save…and they win.
Kate throws her hands in the air with a cheer.
She always was competitive. And loyal. I remember her coming to my games at Bayard and loudly cheering us on. I always liked it when she was there. Even more than I cared if my girlfriends were there.
Kate’s eyes sparkle as she picks up her nearly empty beer glass and tosses it back. “That was fun.”
“Not as much fun as playing, but yeah…it was.”
“I guess I should get going.”
I don’t want the evening to end, but this was supposed to be a business dinner. I mean, it was a business dinner, as she so clearly emphasized when it came time to pay. So I nod and finish my own beer, then settle up the bill with the bartender. This time, I’m paying and Kate acquiesces gracefully.
“How are you getting home?” I ask out on the street. “Do you need a cab or an Uber?”
“I’ll take the subway.”
I frown. “It’s late.”
“It’s fine.” She shakes her head with a tiny eye roll, and I smile. “I do it all the time. How about you?”
“Uber. Let me walk you the station at least, and I’ll call a car from there.”
“Okay.” She pulls out her phone and studies the map, then points. “There’s a station a few blocks away.”
We set out along Nineth Avenue. It’s gotten cooler, and I eye her light jacket. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You’re always cold.”
Her eyes widen. “You remember that.”
“Sure.” Of course I remember that.
She looks so pretty in the floaty, flowery dress that matches her blue eyes. I like seeing her legs.
Don’t think about her legs. Don’t think about the rest of her body. Which is absolutely smoking hot. I’m a jerk. She’s my agent. But I’ve seen her naked and I’ll never forget that if I live to be six hundred years old.
“Um…” Kate stops. “This is Forty-eighth Street.”
“Yeah.”
“Shit!” She pulls out her phone again. “I turned the wrong way.”
I frown bemusedly and take the phone from her hand. “Yep. You did.”
We turn and back track.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I have a terrible sense of direction and for some reason this city confuses me.”
“How can it confuse you? It’s a grid. Mostly.”
“I know, but I always get my directions turned around. I’ve added a lot of steps to some days because I went the wrong way.”
I shake my head, smiling. “I think we’re good now.”
We pass Forty-second Street and I pause, taking Kate’s elbow and drawing her out of the crowds of people still thronging the sidewalk. “Look.”
She follows my gesture. The street is bright as daylight—lit with dazzling neon in shades of pink, scarlet, green and white, taillights of cars glowing red. Towers glitter above us against the dark sky. Energy pulses around us, dynamic and vibrant.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, eyes wide. “Chaotic…excessive…but beautiful.”
“Yeah.” We stay there for a moment, taking in the vibe. It fills me with electricity.
She turns her face up to me. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making me stop and look.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m always in a rush, always going somewhere, doing something. Sometimes I don’t pay attention to things like that.”