“I remember.” I smile wryly, recalling that snowy night back in college when we walked home from a party. I see a shared recollection in her eyes. “It’s good to slow down and take a minute to enjoy something beautiful.”
When we arrive at the stairs down to the station, we pause at the green railing. “Thanks for all you’re doing for me,” I say. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s my job,” she says lightly. “I’ll check in with you again next week. I may not have much to tell you, but I think it’s good to keep the lines of communication open. And call me if you have any questions at all.”
I hate that she’s talking to me in such businesslike tone. And I don’t know why I hate it. “Sure. Well. We’ll talk soon.”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for dinner, too.”
“My pleasure.”
Neither of us is making a move. Just spewing out banalities. Like we’ve never kissed until we couldn’t breathe. Like we’ve never banged our brains out. On a beach, no less. Christ. My dick thickens remembering that. I have to stop thinking about that.
“Good night.” I take a step back. “Send me a naked selfie when you get home so I know you got there safely.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth hangs open. Then she laughs. “Hunter!”
I grin, trying to keep things light despite the tension now crackling around us. “Just kidding. But seriously. Text me. I’m worried you might get on the wrong train.”
Her mouth opens on an outraged protest but then she meets my eyes and sees I’m teasing. She shakes her head. “I know which train to get on.”
“Text me.”
She huffs. “Fine. Good night.” With a wave she turns and jogs down the steps.
I watch her hair bounce, her skirt fluttering around her thighs. Then she disappears.
I turn to the street. There are taxis everywhere and I stride to the curb to hail one to take me home.
She texts me before I’m even home. And even sends a naked photo—of her bare feet.
I grin as I text back. Sexy feet.
Oh Christ. She’s not some chick I’ve been sexting with. She’s my agent. She’s…Kate.
I had fun tonight. It was even fun talking business with her. She impressed me so much, and that was fucking hot. Even hotter than seeing her in a dress with bare legs. Then watching a game with her…also fun. She’s so animated and passionate about hockey. You gotta love that, right?
I mean, not love. Not that kind of love.
Her turning the wrong way and getting us lost should have been annoying. Instead, it was amusing. It’s cool seeing perfect, in control Kate with a tiny little flaw. Which she hates. But that’s who she is. She’s almost perfect, and I’m…not.
* * *
KATE
* * *
After our discussion at the Golden Bottle last night, I do some research. I’m curious about why Hunter doesn’t want to play for the Bears. They have a new coach who’s been pretty successful so far and seems popular with the team. Bears’ management has a reputation for being supportive of their players. The roster is pretty damn good. I study it, looking for a clue about Hunter’s objections, then on a hunch I google the Swift Current Warriors bus crash.
And a piece of the puzzle falls into place.
I didn’t realize that Easton Millar and Josh Heller were also on that bus when it crashed. They’ve both joined the team in the last couple of seasons. Hunter must know them. But what I don’t understand is why he doesn’t want to play with them.
So, it’s a piece of the puzzle but not the complete picture. Do I need to know? Of course I do.
The more research I do, the more people I talk to, the more I learn about each team’s situation, the more it seems like the Bears would be a great place for Hunter. Somehow, I have to convince him of that. And to do that, I need to know what’s going on with him.
I spend a bunch of time on the phone, talking to connections at various teams and a few other agents. There are all kinds of rumors, and I know better than to trust rumors, but usually rumors start for a reason. The Golden Eagles are apparently in serious talks with another winger’s agent. The Leafs are supposedly meeting with John Waring. This prompts me to make a few more calls to stay on the radar and make sure they remember Hunter’s on the market and has what they need.
And I call my dad again, to check in. Because that’s what I do, even if he does have someone in his life who’s apparently monitoring his meals and activity. I don’t know if she knows what a workaholic Dad is, or that he loves fettuccine alfredo and prime rib and deep-fried anything, all things he should avoid. I don’t know if she really cares.
We chat for a while, a little about business, and then about Jenelle. Wonder of wonders, Ryan called Dad after I bugged him to, so that’s good. Ryan’s flying around between North and South Carolina and Texas, but he’s going to try to get to Chicago for a few days between tournaments, and Dad suggests I come home then too.
“I’ll definitely try,” I tell him. “Just give me a bit of notice to book a flight.”
“I will. Okay, take care Katy.”
“You take care, too, Dad. Love you.”
Then I text Ryan to ask him to let me know his plans about going home. I add, What do you think about Dad having a girlfriend?
As usual, his reply comes hours later. It’s cool.
Also as usual, the minimal words required. I sigh. We all have good relationships and grew even closer after Mom died, so I know it’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to us. It’s just him and his busy schedule.
Soledad and I go out Friday night to see a new Broadway play, A Life of Truth and Lies. We both love it, and I leave the theater feeling uplifted. We walk a few blocks down Seventh Avenue to go to a thirtieth-floor rooftop cocktail lounge. The drinks are super expensive, but the spectacular, sparkly view of the city is worth it and it’s fun spending time with her yakking about all kinds of things.
I’d love to talk more about Hunter, but tonight I keep my thoughts and mixed-up feelings to myself.
11
Hunter
I don’t know why I’m doing this, other than the fact that I have nothing else to do.
Kate told me to go home to Calgary, and I will at some point, but right now I want to be here. So I agree to go with Hakim to some kind of kids’ picnic thing in Central Park, which is a fundraiser for Langmore Children’s Hospital.
I like kids. And kids usually like me. So maybe it’ll be fun.
It’s Sunday afternoon, a bright, warm day in May. The park is green and shaded with the soft light unique to Central Park. Hakim and I find the event, already swarming with kids and parents and…oh sweet Jesus. Mascots.
I feel the blood drain out of my face. Sweat breaks out on my back and my feet stop moving.
Hakim jerks his head around. “What? What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I swallow. I don’t tell people about my fear. So far, I’ve managed to avoid the Storm mascot at any events we’ve done and nobody’s noticed that I duck out when he’s around. “I sort of don’t feel well.”