She swallows, her eyes darkening. “I don’t like jocks,” she whispers.
I don’t even react, I’m so stupefied by her loveliness. “Okay.”
She jumps up, clasps her hands together and takes a few steps. “Well. I guess our mission for tonight is accomplished.”
I stand, too, more slowly. “Are you kicking me out?”
She grimaces. “Maybe?”
“Do you want to go to the Amber Horse?”
She blinks extravagant eyelashes. “Oh. Um. I don’t think so.”
“Okay.”
“Are you going?”
“Not if you’re not.”
“Why not?” She stares at me curiously.
“Because that looks douchey, when a guy takes his girlfriend home and then goes out without her.”
“But we’re…”
I lift an eyebrow.
Her voice trails off. “Right. Well. That’s very, um, noble of you. But you can totally go hang out with your friends if you want.”
“I know.” I start toward the French doors to the foyer.
“Okay then.” She follows me and retrieves my coat from the closet for me.
“When do you want to watch a game?” I ask, pushing my arms into the sleeves.
“Oh. I don’t know. What’s your schedule like?”
“Games Monday and Tuesday.” I think. “Thursday and Saturday again. They’re all here, except Monday we play the Islanders.”
She nods. “You’re a busy guy.”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“How about Friday?”
There goes one of my off days. Being a Friday, the guys will probably try to convince me to go out, but I usually resist and stay home with a couple of good books and a hockey game on TV. Ah well. I’ll still be watching the game. “Sure. Here?”
“Okay.”
I nod. “Sounds good. See you then.”
Out on the street, I stop and tip my head back. Fuck! I wanted to kiss her! I damn near did. That’s not cool.
I start walking. Where I live is almost exactly on the other side of Central Park from here. Central Park is a lot safer than it used to be but still, I’d probably get lost in there in the dark if I tried to walk home through it.
I hail a cab and sink into the back seat as we travel through city streets. And again, I ask myself what the fuck I’m doing.
The fact that Roman Fuckface showed up at the game tonight affirms that we need to keep up this ridiculous charade. The fact that I’m going up against the man who signs my paycheck confirms that I have lost my goddamn mind. And on top of that, my entire organized life is being fucked up.
9
Emerie
I’m not here at Penn Station a couple of hours before game time because I think I’ll see Owen. Not at all. This isn’t unusual for me, especially on a Tuesday when Cat stays late at school for pottery club.
I have to stop myself from constantly scanning the people walking through the station. That’s not like me. Usually, it’s easy for me to lose myself in my music. So I do that.
Somehow, I look up just as he’s walking by. I recognize his size and shape immediately. He’s wearing a smile before our eyes even meet. This time I notice he’s with a couple of other big, well-dressed men, but he’s the only one who slows down as he passes by.
My lips pull up into a smile as I sing. He gives me a tiny nod and a bubble of happiness swells in my chest. He keeps walking, though, quickening his steps to catch up to his friends.
I can’t stop smiling for the rest of my time there.
We share this secret.
The only other person who knows my secret is my best friend, Janiya. We’ve been friends since high school. She was my best friend when my mom died, and she knew the shitty years after that when I was grieving and rebelling against the hurt, not getting the love I needed because Vince didn’t give two shits. I told her when I started busking and she swore to keep it secret, and she always has.
Now she’s living in India, it’s not that hard to keep it secret.
Tonight, we’re doing a video chat. I miss her so much. I’ve let other friendships slide over the years, my attention focused on Cat, but I try to stay in touch with Janiya even though she’s far away now.
Now I have another secret. But I have to tell her this one, too. I can’t keep it from her.
When it’s time to go, I pack up and chat with Elijah, another musician ready to take over my spot. “You coming to open mic night at the Mystic Nomad on Monday?” he asks.
“No.” I grin. He doesn’t know me that well. Everyone else knows I don’t do open mic nights.
“You should come! Acoustic solos or duets. You can play two songs. You’d do great there.”
I shake my head. “I’m not interested. Plus, they start early, don’t they?”
“Four-thirty.”
“Yeah, I have to pick up my little sister from school.”
He shrugs.
As we talk, I manage to slip some of my haul of cash into his bucket. I’ll drop the rest in another busker’s case later. I leave my gear at Mr. Cantor’s luggage store, then take the subway to Cat’s school.
She’s chatty about her day, and I’m grateful for that so I don’t have to pry things from her. I want to know what’s going on in her life, what her problems and fears are, what her successes are and who her friends are. We walk home from there. Klara has dinner ready for us to heat up a bit later.
“Thank you, Klara, you rock.”
She smiles. Her steel-gray hair is in a low bun, her eyeglasses low on her nose. She’s worked for Vince for a few years. At first, she was distinctly reserved and professional with all of us, but I can’t handle having “servants,” so I treat her like a friend who helps us, and gradually that’s what she’s become. She sees what happens with Vince, and I think she feels sorry for us, although she never says a word against Vince. She just steps in and does what needs to be done, and I kind of love her for it.
“I rock,” she repeats. “This is a good thing, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I am off tomorrow,” she reminds us. “But dinner is in the fridge for you to heat up. There is enough for Mr. D’Agostino if he’s home. I made the potatoes you love,” she adds for Cat. “Good night, my lovelies.”
“Good night, Klara.”
After dinner, I settle into my couch in my bedroom with my computer to talk to Janiya. She’s living in India now, working in her family’s business.
“Hi! I miss you!”
I smile at her face on my screen. “I miss you, too!” I hold up a small, wrapped parcel. “I got your gift.”
“Ohhh! Open it!”
I peel off the tissue and reveal a small stone sculpture. My eyes widen as I take in the couple portrayed in a…sexual position.
Janiya laughs. “The look on your face!”
I bite my lip and raise my eyes to my computer. “It’s lovely.”
She chortles. “It’s an erotic sculpture from Khajuraho temple. We went there. It was amazing!”
“Okay.”
“No, seriously, it is beautiful. There’s all kinds of symbolism. Not all the sculptures are erotic, and it’s believed that the temples are a celebration of womanhood.”