A crease forms between her eyebrows. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”
“I’m happy. It’s great.” Even I know I don’t sound happy. I sigh. “It’s complicated.”
She pushes out her bottom lip and nods thoughtfully. “Oh.” She blinks. “I guess I don’t know much about professional sports. A win seems like a good thing.”
“It is. It should be. Our coach is…demanding.”
She tilts her head. “Oh. Yeah. You know, I said to Carlin last night he looks mean.”
I choke out a laugh. “Mean. Well. You know, you’re…ah hell, I shouldn’t talk about it.”
“What happens in the dressing room stays in the dressing room.”
I laugh again, relaxing. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Our eyes meet and heat slides up from my chest into my face. The tug of attraction is really hard to resist. “Here’s your pay.” I hand her the envelope I folded up and shoved into my pocket. “Cash.”
“Thanks.” She takes it and unfolds it. I watch her slender fingers move on the paper. Her nails are not short, but not long, no polish on them.
“Have you had breakfast?” I blurt out.
“Um. No.”
“Want to get something?”
She blinks a few times. Her eyelashes are crazy long, and I don’t think they’re fake. It would be okay if they were; lots of girls wear false eyelashes these days.
Shit. She’s going to brush me off again.
“You don’t have to suck up to me. I’ll take the job offer of looking after Otis, if it’s still open.”
I want to punch a fist into the air. Yes! I grin. “That’s not what I was doing. But yeah, it’s still open. That’s great. We can talk about the details,” I offer in an effort to convince her.
“Look, maybe we should get this out in the open.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Get what out in the open?”
“You asked me out for dinner. I didn’t think that was a good idea. I still don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get personally involved if we’re going to have a business relationship.”
Dammit. She’s probably right. “I get it.” I hold my hands up. “Just business. A business breakfast.”
She still hesitates, then says coolly, “Okay. Let’s go get breakfast.”
She opens a closet door and pulls out a black puffy jacket. When she’s zipped it up, she wraps a big plaid scarf around her neck and tugs a knit cap down over her shiny hair. “I’ll just grab my purse.”
She hustles to the far end of the living room and a spiral staircase there. She jogs lightly up, disappearing. I hear footsteps above—I guess there’s a loft up there that’s her bedroom—then she returns, adjusting the strap of the bag across her chest. “Okay!”
We set off along 73rd toward Central Park, Otis trotting along, stopping here and there to sniff interesting spots.
This isn’t a date. It’s a business meeting. We have things to discuss. Important dog details.
We chat about weather and Nashville and how this trip was just a quick in and out. “It’s a fun place to visit when we have time to hang out,” I say.
“Is that your favorite city to visit?”
“You mean, to play in?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d say so. It’s also nice to go to Florida and California in the winter. Playing in some of the classic places is pretty cool, though.”
“Like…”
“Boston. Philly. Toronto and Montreal. And when I play in Calgary or Winnipeg, there are usually lots of friends and family there watching.”
“Is that where you’re from? I mean, Canada.”
“Yeah. I grew up in Regina. There’s no NHL team there, it’s kind of in between Winnipeg and Calgary.”
“Your family is still there?”
My throat tightens. “Just my mom.” I never mention Bryce and my dad to people who don’t know about them. It just makes things super awkward and uncomfortable and leads to other topics I don’t want to discuss.
“How’d you end up here in New York? Oh wait, you said you were traded here. It must be a culture shock compared to Regina, I assume. Not that I know anything about Regina.”
“It’s definitely a culture shock,” I assure her, smiling.
We pause at the lights at Columbus and wait. A woman walking a dog approaches, and her pooch wants to make friends with Otis. Otis, the little weirdo, growls and backs away.
“Sorry,” I say to the woman. “He’s got issues.”
Lilly bends to pat the small dog, a ridiculous fluff ball with a pink tongue. “Hi there. Aren’t you cute?”
Seeing Lilly let the dog sniff her hand, Otis gets braver and edges closer. I keep an eye on him.
“What’s his name? Or her name?” Lilly asks the woman.
“Daisy.”
“Hi, Daisy. You’re so pretty.”
Otis is right in there now.
“I walk dogs for a living,” Lilly says, handing the woman a card. “If you ever need help.”
With a smile, the woman and Daisy continue on. The light changes and we start across the street. “I think you made Otis jealous,” I comment.
Lilly laughs. “Maybe. You should take him to the dog run sometime so he can be off the leash and make friends.”
“Uh. Okay.”
We continue chatting until we enter the park. It’s Sunday morning and people are walking and running on the paths. Lilly knows the way to the little restaurant I was thinking of. We watch some kids climbing rocks and playing hide-and-seek, and many dogs, and then we arrive at our destination. We’re lucky enough to snag a table right away, and Lilly sits there with Otis while I go in to get coffees and breakfast sandwiches—egg, avocado, and cheddar cheese on a brioche bun.
The smell of fresh-baked bread has my stomach growling. Guess that toast wasn’t enough.
I carry our food back outside. The walk has tuckered Otis out, thankfully, and he’s sprawled at Lilly’s feet. She has her face turned to the sun, her dark hair blazing with fiery highlights, her eyes closed. When I set down the tray, she opens her eyes and smiles. “This is so nice.”
“Yeah. Great to have this kind of weather.”