“What are you talking about?” I look at her.
She looks around behind us to make sure no one is paying us any attention and leans in. “Maksim Petrov?” Her smile says she already knows she’s right. “I saw you two at the party last weekend. I haven’t seen you blush that much since we were sixteen and Troy Iverness came to dinner at my house.” She laughs. “He thought there was something medically wrong with you because you kept staring at him and not saying a word.”
“Funny, Jana,” I say, remembering that moment.
She grabs another green olive. “Seriously though, he’s hot and he’s got all that anger out on the ice. I bet you could help him work some of it off in the bedroom.” Her eyebrows waggle.
“You know I don’t sleep with hockey players,” I say.
Sadly, it’s true. Regardless of the way they’ve always appealed to me, I’ve seen the other side and it’s not pretty. Take Troy Iverness, for example. I thought he was the best father and husband when he’d come over to the Gerhardts’, only to find out he was sleeping with the nanny. Talk about idols being knocked from pedestals.
“That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows there are bad seeds in every bunch.”
“Well, knowing my luck, I’ll pick the bad seed and end up watering it.”
She laughs. “You’re so hard on yourself.”
I shrug. “You’d be too.”
I was the poorest in my private school in high school. Only got to go because when my parents divorced, my mom made my dad pay for it. He could barely afford it while trying to support his new family. Then I got wait-listed while all my friends got into their colleges of choice because their parents either knew someone or were alums themselves. Mr. Gerhardt pulled the final string for me that got me into Vanderbilt. I’m still paying off those loans.
Jana graduated from Vanderbilt too, and while I went on to get my doctorate, she came home and has been at her dad’s side in his business. One day this team will probably be hers.
“Plus, I’m the team’s therapist now. I can’t sleep with him now anyway.”
She rests her chin in her palm, her perfectly manicured nails tapping her cheek. “Still, you gotta wonder with a man like him. Where does all that pent-up energy go? I think for sure the bedroom.”
Jealousy picks at me while I watch Jana’s mind shift to what it would be like to sleep with Maksim. She shrugs then drinks from her martini and plops another two olives in her glass. The girl loves olives to the point of grossness.
“Petrov is sent to the sin bin again,” the announcer calls on the televisions that line the walls of the suite.
My gaze falls to the Jumbotron, where they show a replay of Maksim grabbing the jersey of another player and punching him.
“Goddamn it,” Mr. Gerhardt murmurs behind me. “Jana, may I have a word with Paisley?”
Jana cringes and stands. “Sure, Dad, but don’t take it out on Paisley.”
He winds his hand around her waist and kisses her cheek. “I know. Go find your mother.” Mr. Gerhardt takes his daughter’s seat and stares at the big screen above the ice. “How are things going with Maksim?”
I busy myself with piling cheese on a cracker. “It’s good. We’ve had one session so far.”
“Good. He’s not giving you a hard time, is he?” He twirls his scotch around his cup and brings the glass to his lips. “He can be difficult. Didn’t seem happy when I told him about counseling.”
I smack on a fake smile. “It’s early days and you know I can’t discuss with you—”
He raises his hand. “Understandable.” He nods a few times.
I think I’ve appeased him until the crowd laughs and our eyes fly to the screen again. Maksim is spraying water from his bottle onto a fan of the opposing team on the other side of the plexiglass.
“This is the kind of shit he needs to stop. Next thing I know he’s going to start a bench brawl.” He turns my way. “Maksim is a great guy. When I recruited him, he and his family were so thankful, and don’t get me wrong, he gets results on the ice, but that temper…” He shakes his head. “Well, I hope for his sake you fix him.”
He pats me on the hand and walks away.
Fix.
I hate that word. As if something is wrong with someone and they’re seeing me because they need rewiring. I’m not a car mechanic and their engine isn’t broken. Whatever the reason for Maksim’s blowups, I know it will be hard to get him to let me in. The odd thing is, it’s only on the ice. Off the ice, Maksim is known for making the rounds at children’s hospitals and autographing anything a fan gives him. It’s like a switch goes off in him once his skates hit the ice.
The game ends and I’m stuffing my phone in my purse when Jana swings her arm through mine.
“Dad’s got a request.”
I groan because I’d bet a month’s rent of my dinky apartment that the request isn’t something I’ll be thrilled about. “What?”
“He wants us to head over to Carmelo’s.”
My forehead crinkles. “The Fury bar? Why?”
“He wants us to make sure they’re behaving.” She shrugs.
“Since when are we chaperones for the team?”
She laughs. “Come on. It’ll be fun. We need a night together that doesn’t involve binging Netflix and eating junk food.”
Jana’s right, but I’m not telling her that. Lately, when she’s not out on a date, she joins me in a Netflix and chill session that I’m sure is the antithesis of what that phrase is supposed to mean. I stopped going to bars because when I go with Jana, I usually end up playing wingwoman and entertaining whatever guy the guy who’s interested in her calls over. For some reason, that guy is always the shyest guy ever and getting him to speak is like trying to pry open up a vault with a crowbar—an exercise in futility.
“Okay, then I guess that’s what we’re doing.” I don’t bother putting up a fight because I’ve had a few drinks and the idea of being around Maksim is appealing. Maybe seeing him in his element will help me figure out some things about him.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at Carmelo’s and are seated in a booth in the bar area.
I pick up a menu. “I think I’m going to eat.”
Jana snatches it from my grasp. “What are you going to do? Eat a rack of ribs or a big bowl of spaghetti right as the team gets here?”
I grab the menu back. “First off, I’m a grown adult and if I want to eat, I eat. Second of all, what does it matter? I’m their therapist, not their eye candy.”
She grips the edge of the menu and I pull it back. Soon we’re having a tug-of-war with it.
“Maksim will be here,” she stage-whispers.
“So?”
“So I know you like him, and having spaghetti all over your face isn’t going to make him crazy with lust.” I release the menu and she flies back into the booth with an oomph. “Seriously?”
“You’re playing games.” I point at her. “Did your dad even really want us to come here?”
She grins.
“Jana!”