CHAPTER 23
Harlow
I patiently wait at the table for Stone to arrive. This is not the first time I’ve hung out with him after a game. As he had done in the past, a reservation for a high-top table was made at Mario’s, and I enjoy a frosty glass of strawberry lemonade while I wait for him to finish his business at the arena.
The Titans won tonight, and it was one of the best games I’ve ever seen in my life. Part of that has to do with the fact that they came back from a 2–to–0 deficit in the third period, to win 4–2 over the Quebec Royals.
That’s right, four goals scored in the third period alone.
Two of which were Stone’s.
I’m sure this is one of the best games I’ve ever seen because Stone played like he was on fire. And while I’m quite sure I’m his number one fan, it is vastly different now that we’ve become intimate. I cannot get all poetic about how amazing last night was with him, how touched I was this morning when he took Odin out and was patient with my boy. Or how much it meant that he settled in for breakfast and good conversation with a gracious laugh that Odin spoiled his bedroom plans.
Hell, I was disappointed, too, but the time we spent talking was just as good.
Many women might even go so far as to say that what I had with Stone last night was transcendental.
Life-changing.
I can’t say that, though.
My life is still the same, amazing in all its glorious ways. But it has been so greatly enhanced by getting to know Stone, and now taking this relationship to a new level, what has changed is my future. I know in my gut that he is going to be responsible for a lot of goodness yet to come.
And so maybe that’s why it was the best game I’ve ever seen—because of a man I am probably falling in love with who was instrumental in helping his team win. And every Titans win is a healing balm to the cuts this city has endured since the plane crash.
Mario’s starts to fill up with people from the arena trickling over. I see a couple of lawyers who I know fairly well, and they hang out at the table with me for a bit. They ask me to join them at their table, but I let them know I’m waiting for a friend. I would’ve invited them to stay, but frankly I am looking forward to alone time with Stone.
The waitress is overly solicitous as I’m sure she’s been told this table belongs to Stone Dumelin. I no more get finished with my strawberry lemonade than she has a refill for me.
She returns a few moments later and says, “There’s a guy at the bar who wants to buy you a drink. I told him you weren’t drinking, but he insists I come over and offer one to you, anyway.”
I follow her gaze to a very handsome man sitting by himself with a beer in front of him. He’s watching me like a hawk, and when our eyes meet, he raises his beer in a silent toast, his eyes hopeful for an invitation.
I give my attention back to the waitress. “Politely decline. I’m definitely not drinking, and I’m waiting here for my boyfriend.”
The waitress leans in closer, conspiratorially. “So, you’re dating Stone Dumelin?”
Hadn’t meant to reveal that to anyone, so I play coy. “Just tell the man thank you, but no thanks.”
Slightly disappointed I didn’t give her what she wanted, she still winks at me. “You got it.”
I sip my strawberry lemonade, which I now realize must look ridiculous sitting in the bar area of Mario’s full of rowdy Titans fans most of whom are drinking booze. And those who aren’t, aren’t drinking strawberry lemonade from the kids’ menu.
I shrug to myself. Who cares what people think?
Someone touches me on the shoulder, and I swivel in my chair to see the man from the bar who wanted to buy me a drink. Without invitation, he puts his beer on the table and leans an elbow on it to face me. “I can’t believe you’re not going to let me buy you a drink.”
Taking the guy in up close, I note that he isn’t merely handsome but devastatingly gorgeous. I hadn’t really paid much attention to it when he was sitting over at the bar, but now that he’s in my face, I can’t help but notice that his looks are movie-star quality.
I glance around and notice that several women are watching him talk to me.
I bring my attention back to him, offering a polite smile. “I’m with someone, so it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
The man smirks and looks around, back to me, and quips, “I don’t see anybody with you.”
No matter how good-looking, his cocky attitude has now annoyed me. I don’t like people who can’t take no for an answer. Stone’s father immediately comes to mind. Someone with so much ego that they can’t believe someone would have a differing opinion.
The man sticks his hand out for me to shake. “I’m Trevor.”
I look from his hand to him, prepared to decline his introduction a little more sternly. I don’t get a chance, though, because Stone appears on my other side and moves in close to me. He kisses my cheek and then puts his elbow on the table to look past me to the man who still has his hand outstretched.
Stone nods down at it. “Pretty sure she’s not interested in meeting you.”
The guy’s mouth falls open as recognition dawns. “Holy shit. You’re Stone Dumelin.”
“That would be me.” Tipping his head to me, Stone adds, “And this would be my girlfriend you’re hitting on.”
The man flushes with embarrassment, and I almost feel bad for him. Stone apparently does feel bad for him because he takes the man’s hand, still stuck out in introduction, and shakes it. “Nice to meet you, Trevor. Did you catch the game?”
The guy gushes. “I did, and you were fucking amazing tonight. You are the best acquisition this team could’ve gotten.”
Trevor continues gushing while I enjoy the warmth left behind by Stone calling me his girlfriend. There are accolades for Stone, and for Gage as well, laments that Coen isn’t playing up to par, and absolute thrills to the fans that we might make the playoffs.
But Stone doesn’t let him go on too long. “Hey… you want a picture or an autograph or something? I’d like to have some time with my girl.”
The man, of course, has forgotten me altogether. His evening has become far better getting to meet Stone than I ever could’ve made it by accepting his offer of a drink. I watch in amusement as Trevor whips out his phone, comes around the table, and takes a selfie with Stone. This, unfortunately, springs the door wide open, and other fans start approaching. Stone graciously takes picture after picture.
The waitress comes up and asks me if I know what Stone wants to drink.
“Just a water,” I reply. “With lemon.”
It will do me no good to ask Stone if he wants a beer, which I know is his go-to alcoholic beverage just through conversations we’ve had. Over the last few weeks we’ve been hanging out, he’s laid down the law that he’s not drinking around me, even though I’ve assured him it’s okay. I think it’s sweet that he wants to be supportive of me and my alcoholism, but I also don’t expect people to give up their responsible use of alcohol.
Ten minutes later, Stone finally extricates himself and plops down on the stool next to me. The water is in place, and he grabs it for a sip before setting it down.