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For anyone who feels like they are about to face-plant right in the ass crack of life Oof That’s gonna hurt, but you ’ ve got this. I hear romance books help. Oh look! You’ve got one in your hand or ear or someone amazing is holding your phone and tapping it to turn the page so you don’t have to. Excellent! Look at you! Your life is about to make a turnaround worthy of a ro-mance protagonist Way to go!
Also, this one goes out to Mr. Oreo himself, Samuel J. Porcello. He invented the white creme filling in the Oreo but only ate them occasionally (the horror!) and didn’t dunk his Oreos in milk (the tragedy!) Despite those sad life errors on his part, I couldn’t have written this book without the deliciousness he created. Thanks, Sam!#TeamDoubleStuf
Yes, I have had a lot of coffee today Why do you ask?
Hockey players were a superstitious bunch something that had definitely rubbed off on Astrid, since she’d practically grownuprink-sideasherdadmovedfromjobtojob,culminatingwithhiscurrentstintastheCajunRage’sheadcoach.There wasnoreasontojinxherandTig’smarriagebeforeitbeganbyignoringtheoldwives’talethatitwasbadluckforthegroom toseethebridebeforethebigevent.
Insteadofthetuxhe’dpickedoutfortheirwedding,TigwaswearingablueT-shirtwithaHarborCityIceKnightshockey logoonitandabaseballcappulleddownlowonhisface.HerbrainwastryingtoworkoutwhytheCajunRage’sstargoalie wouldbewearingtheteam’sarchnemesis’smerchwhensherealizedhewassittinginfrontofawindowoverlookingtheNew Orleans’airporttarmac Realizationsuckedtheairoutofherlungslikeasouped-upShop-Vac He wasn’t coming.
“Astrid,babe,IwishthedealtheIceKnightsofferedmetoplayforthemhadn’tbeensogood,butitis Ihadtotakeit,”Tig said as a single, perfectly timed tear slid down his cheek. “The catch is I have to leave today. Right now. They want me betweenthepipesfortomorrow’sgame Myflightboardsinhalfanhour”
Here she was, wearing her dead mother’s wedding gown and doing her best stump-on-a-log impression, while several hundred people includingthe entire roster, front office, and coachingstaff of the CajunRage hockeyteam waited inthe churchforthefirststrainsof“HereComestheBride”
“You’renotsayinganything,andyoualways havesomethingtosay,”Tigsaid,sinkinglower intohis seatattheDeltaSky Lounge and shovinghis baseball cap farther downas ifthatwould help the guywho was supposed to be the CajunRage’s goaliefortherestofhiscareergounrecognized.“Please,”hepleaded,“saysomething.”
Forwhatmayhavebeen probablywas thefirsttimeinherlife,shecouldn’t “Astrid,”Tigsaid,jostlingthephoneinhis handashegotupsoall shesaw for asecondwasaplaneonthetarmacbeforehepointedthecamerabackathimselfashe startedpacing.“Ijust ”
There were more words;Astrid knew there were because she could see Tig’s mouthmoving, butshe didn’thear a single solitarysyllablebecausesomethinginsidehercracked.Everythingthathadbeenmutedandmovingatthespeedofaslothstuck inmolassesbrokefreeandcamerushingather thebone-deephurt,therawanger,theicycertaintythateverything(including her)hadchangedforever.Itallslammedagainstherchestandknockedtheshockrightoutofher.
Anger blottedouther visionfor asecondas shetriedtoprocess whatinthefuckwas happening.Shehadn’tbeentheone who’d pushed to get married Nor had she been the one who’d talked about how cute their kids would be And she most definitely had not been the one who’d insisted on a huge church wedding with photographers from Entertainment fucking Weekly documentingeverymoment
Shesuckedinabreathandblinkedher visionclear until shecouldonceagainseethemanshe’dthoughtshewasgoingto marry.Hewasstillrunninghismouth.“Stop.Talking.Tig.”
Her ice-cold tone should have gotten the message through, but it didn’t Tig continued, holding the mic of his plug-in headphonesclosetohismouthasheplowedforward.
If it hadn’t been a part of her life since her dad popped a mini-puck in her mouth instead of a teething ring, she’d hate anythingthathadtodowithiceskates,vulcanizedrubber,andpenaltyboxes
Thenhe hungup, his tearful face replaced onher screenbya picture fromher eighth-grade Sadie Hawkins dance, when she’d finally worked up the courage to ask Tig to be her date They were both in braces and wearing what now were embarrassinglycringyoutfits butbackthenwere the absolute must-haves. She had a hockeypuck–shaped wristcorsage. He wasalreadyworkingongrowinghisblondmullet,theflowthatwouldbecomehissignaturelook.Theywerelookingateach otherasifthewholeworldwastheirsandtheyweregoingtoconquerittogether.
Thathad beenthe beginningofitall. Sure, she’d gone outondates now and thenwithother guys, butithad never meant anything She’dfalleninlovewithTigJoneswhenshewastwelveyearsold,andnomatterwhathadhappenedbetweenthem, shehadneverfallenoutoflovewithhim.
Well,thatendednow Thismoment.
Thisveryfuckingbreath.
Astridballeduphermother’sveilinherhandandlockedeyesonherreflection.Todaywassupposedtobeadayforsolemn vows,anditsureashellwasstillgoingtobe.Staringrightatherowntear-stainedface,AstridO’Malleysworetoherselfon all that she held dear that she was officially and forever done with the craptastic trinity of men, love, and stupid fucking hockey.
D
O. N. E Done.
Andthat’s exactlywhatshe was goingto tell everyone crowded into the pews whenshe marched outintothatchurchand toldthemtheweddingwasoffandthatTigJoneswasacompleteandutterasshole.
ChapterTwo
PRESENT DAY
Sure,thesignoutsideoftheWaterburybarsaidthePenaltyBox,butCalMatsenknewhewasactuallyinhell. Evenworse,he couldn’tevengeta beer ata fuckingsports bar because itwas sodamncrowded The space betweenthe cornerboothwherehewassittingandthebarwashipstoelbowswiththreekindsofpeople.
One, tourists who made the trekacross the bridge to WaterburyfromHarbor Citybecause some travel app said the bar ownedbyanow-retiredIceKnightsdefensemanandfuturehockeyhalloffamer,ZachBlackburn,wasamust-see.
Two,diehardhockeyfanswhoactedasiftheywerehavingareligiousexperienceastheystaredatthewallscoveredinteam memorabilia and tried to work up the courage to approach the handful of past and current players around Cal who were shootingtheshit.
Cal had a beard once, well, as good as he could grow duringhis firstand onlyplayoffruntwo years ago withthe Cajun Rage Hehadn’tlikeditthen,andthatwasn’tgoingtochangenow
“Theyitch,”hegrumbledashewatchedthehockeygameplayingononeofthetenscreenswithinhisview. “It’s always somethingwithyou Never satisfied Almost makes me feel sorryfor Jonesy Nah, I take that back The kid deserveswhateveryou’reabouttosendhisway.”Blackburnscowled.“Whatwereyouthinkingsayingyestothatjob?Evenif it’s only for the rest of the season, that’s more time thanI’d want to ever spend again withTig fuckin’Jones. The kid’s a jackass TheabsolutepurefuckingjoyIfeltatthethoughtofneverhavingtoplaywithhimagainmayhavebeenthelastpushI neededtoofficiallyretire.”
Cal didn’t need to be reminded about Tig Jones’s less-than-charming personality Everyone knew about it There were magazine cover stories and social media fanaccounts documentinghis assholery or eccentricities, dependingonwho was talking And it was now Cal’s job to be a goalie whisperer to the giant prickwho had gone fromthe best inthe league to someonewhocouldn’tstopashotfromhisgrannyusingalimpspaghettinoodleinsteadofahockeystick.
LuckyfuckingCal.
But the thing was most goalies were high-strung weirdos He should know; he’d been one Goalies were superstitious, temperamental,andslightlyunhinged.Theywereannoyinglycalmuntiltheyweren’t,andthentheGatoradebottlesittingonthe back of the net felt their fury They were more than a little intense and had earned their collective reputation as hockey’s misfits.Theywereabreedapart.Theyhadtobe.Theyweretheplayerontheicewhowillinglygotintoanetwherethey’ddo whateverittooktostopafrozenrubberdiskcomingatthematahundredmilesperhourfromcrossingthegoalline including takingthatpucktothehelmetifthat’swhatwasneeded.
Notafterwhathadhappenedbefore Onebeerandthreefansaskinghimifhewas that CalMatsenlaterandhewasonthetrainheadedacrossthewaterandback intoHarbor City.He gotoffthe trainandwalkedthe three blocks tohis building,the bottomfloor ofwhichwas The Flying Sow Pub Hepausedandlookedatthesignonthedoor Hisfridgewasempty,anditpromisedcheeseburgers Perusual,his stomachmadethedecision.Hepivotedandheadedinside.
TherewerefiveTVsonclosedcaptioning,andthankfucknoneofthemweretunedintohockey He’dhadenoughoftheishe-that-guy-who-had-the-thing-happen-during-that-playoff-game looks for one night. Four of the screens were showing football,andthelastonehadonarerunofsomerealityshowweddingoutinWyomingthathadsuckedhismomandsistersin overthesummer.
The guy punched in some numbers on the machine and sauntered over to the empty barstool, a smirk plastered on his punchable face. What made it a target? Cal couldn’t say, just aninstinct that had always served himwell whenit came to knowingwherethenextshotwascomingfrom.
Thebartender really,herhairwasmoreblackthanbrownandpulledintosomekindofbraidthatwentdownherbacklike anarrow pointingto her verysmackable ass turned and started toward Cal. Butthenthe firstfive notes ofa sappyTaylor SwiftsongaboutRomeoandJulietcameoutofthespeakers Thebartender’seyesnarrowedhalfasecondbeforeshewhipped aroundandmarchedovertothejukebox.Sheyankedthepowercordout,cuttingthesongmid-lyric.Thetwodipshitsatthebar chuckledintotheirpintsasifthey’djustplayedtheultimateprank
“This is the dumbest thing and coming from you of all people.” He smacked his pint down, sending some of the beer sloshing over the side onto the otherwise pristine bar “This is a hockey town,” he said, getting louder with each word “EveryonetalksabouttheIceKnights.”
SeeingAndythedipshitgethiswhatforfromthehotguywho’dcomeinwantingacheeseburger.Forgetaknightinshining armor;she had a hangrydefender one withdark, wavyhair, biceps thatmade her bite downonher lip,and intense brown eyesthatdidn’tevenhaveahintoflaughlinesaroundthem.Itwasn’tthathewasn’toldenoughfor them,butitwasasifhe neversmiled Notevenalittle Notevenasmirk Notevenafterhe’dhadtwocheeseburgersandamaltedchocolateshakethat he’ddippedhisfriesin.
Andy squirmed against the bar, but her grump who must have parked his white horse in front of the bar didn’t relent a millimeter
Astrid reached outand laid her hand onher growlyguardian’s fine-as-fuckforearm. Immediately, the pressure onAndy’s armvisiblyrelented,butthemandidn’treleasehishold
So instead ofsayingwhatshe should, she sether elbows onthe bar and rested her chininher hands so she could better committheagonizedexpressiononAndy’sfacetomemory “Ican’tcallhimoff” Andynarrowedhiseyesasmuchashecouldatthemoment,whichwasquiteafeatconsideringtherewasahandsquishing hisfacetothebar “Howcome?”
“He’s notmygoon.Infact,Idon’tknow him.” Butshe was planningtochange thatas soonas her shiftwas over andshe couldstriphimofeverystitchofclothinghehadon Shemightwanthimtokeepthatpinksweateron,though Thatcontrastof softandhardreallyflippedherswitch.“Also,Ikindofenjoyseeingtheguywhoswearsheisn’tthereasonwhythetipjaris alwaysalittlelighthavingdifficulties.”
Herveryownpaladindidn’tletgo,butheliftedaneyebrowinquestionbeforeshakinghisheadasifinhisopinionthatsadass excuse for anapologydidn’tevenbeginto cover it Onthat, theywere agreed She looked backdownatsquashed-face Andy.
Takingthatasayes,shepressedherpalmtohissternum,andohmyGod,thesweaterwassoftandhischestwasvery,very, verymuchnot.Themanwas solid.Butitwasn’tlikeazero-percentbodyfat,gym-ratkindofno-giverigiditythatmadeher think of high-protein diet farts and pushup contests Nope, this was the I-have-shit-to-do-with-my-life kind of brawn of someonewhomayspendsometimeatthebenchpressbutdidn’tlivethere.
God knew she had a whole stackofcome-ons thatshe’d beenusingduringthe pastfive years ofmakingup for losttime beingonlywiththedickwhoshallnotbenamed Sheneededsomethingstraightforward,somethingbold,something Shegotit.
Her lipswerealreadyformingthefirstwordwhenhisgazecaughthers Her mindwentblankimmediatelyattheshockof howhewaslookingather asifhewantedtoeatherupinthebestwaypossiblerighthere,rightnow,whoeverwaswatching bedamned
God,shereallywasamess NexttimeNolaaskedhertocoverhershiftatthebar,shewasgoingtosayno Okay,thatwasalie.Astridknew thesituation.Nola’saunthadthepubupforsale,andthatmeantall thebartenderswere fleeingformoresecureemployment.ThatmeantNolawasworkingdoublethenumberofshiftsshenormallywould.Andthat meantAstridcoveredforhersoshecouldhaveararenightoffbecausethat’sjustwhatfriendsdid.Nolaandthethirdintheir bestfriend trinity, Thea, had beenthere for her after the debacle ofher almostweddingday, and she’d always be there for them
Rideordie or,inthiscase,rideandpourpints.
Andysatinhis seatand sulked while his buddykepthis attentionfocused solelyonhis beer Meanwhile, Astrid couldn’t stopsneakinglooksovertotheotherendofthebarwherehermuscledherosatscrollinghisphone.Yeah,staringwasn’tpolite, butshe’dbasicallygrownupinonehockeylockerroomoranother,andthathadn’texactlybeenetiquetteschool.
She snagged the FuckHockeyjar, gave Andya smugsmile, and walked over to the cashregister, where she leftitbefore makingherwaydowntotheotherendofthebar.
Shestoppedinfromofherdefender Hedidn’tlookup
She waited, her palms getting sweaty and her nerve wearing thin. She was half a second away fromthe embarrassment burningher cheekstodevelopintospontaneouscombustionwhenthemanlaidhisphonescreen-downonthebar andlooked herstraightintheeyes notathertitswhereguysnormallyfocusedbutatherveryboring,veryordinarybrowneyes.
Pull it together, girl You have talked to men before That’s all he is Just a man Shereleasedhishandwithoutdroolingor moaningor somethingelseequallyembarrassingandfocusedonsmall talk She wasbehindthebar,forfuck’ssake.Smalltalkwasabartender’sstockintrade.
“Ihave a full fridge athome” She suckedthe orange powder offher fingertips,enjoyingthe wayhis eyes darkenedas he watched.“AndthepersonI’mfillinginforshouldbehereanyminute,soI’llbefine.”
Andthis finally wasfamiliarterritory.Usuallythemensheconsideredsleepingwithdidn’tthrow heroffhergamelike Cal did Thatwas the beautyofknowingthatanythingthathappened was justfor funand there was no chance ofher heart gettinginvolved.Itmadeeverythingeasier.
He smiled. No, he didn’t curl his lips or make a one-sided grin. Cal honest-to-God, genuinely smiled and that’s what nearlysenther braininto bufferingmode againbecause the manhad a sexyfuckingsmile thatpromised all the rightwrong things.
“Challenge accepted” He grabbeda penfromthe masonjar full ofthemsittingonthe bar andscrawledsomethingonthe cardboardbeercoasterbeforeslidingitacrosstoher.“Soyouknowwheretofindmelaterifyouwanttofindoutjusthowup tothetaskIam”
Hehadn’tgivenafuckaboutthatwhenhe’dleftforbeerswithBlackburnandhiswife,butthatwasbeforehe’dwalkedinto the Flying Sow Pub and lost his fucking mind Wherever it was, he highly doubted he’d find it in the mess he called an apartment.
Thecupboardsheldexactlytwoplates,twobowls,andtwoglasses.Thedrawerbythedishwasherwashometofourforks, zero spoons, and one steakknife thathad alreadybeenthere whenhe moved in(yes, he’d washed it) The island was bare exceptforastackofmismatchednapkinsfromtakeoutordershe’dhaddelivered.
The onlyfurniture inthe livingroomwas a foldingchair, the TV, and his PlayStation Atleasthis mattress wasn’tonthe floorinthebedroom,butfuckin’A,whatinthehellhadhebeenthinkinggivingAstrid his address?
Theanswerwashehadn’tbeenthinking.
Andnow ifsheshowedup,shewas either goingtoassumehehadnever outgrownthefratstageor hewas aserial killer Honestly,hewasn’tsurewhichwouldbeworse.
Too late now to second-guess the first period now, numbnuts
He grabbed one of the plastic grocery bags he’d squashed into another plastic grocery bag hanging on a hook in the otherwisemostlyemptypantryandstartedstuffingitwiththeVito’stakeawaybag,areceiptthatwasalmostastallashewas fromthepharmacyonthecorner he’dliterallyonlyboughttoothpaste andaboutamillionemptyproteinshakebottlesthat hadn’tmadetheirwayintothetrash.
Hewasafuckingslob
Tomorrow,he’dgethisshittogether.GetsomefurniturefromIKEAandspendthenextforty-eighthourscursingwhiletrying tofollow thesupposedlysimplesixteen-stepinstructions Itdidn’tmatterthathecouldrebuildanengine,install new brakes, andevenfigureoutwhyacar wasmakingthathmmm-hurr-hmmmsound,butSwedishfurnitureaccompaniedonlybypicture directionsfuckedhimovereverytime.
BLACKBURN: Fallon wants to know if you made it home.
MATSEN: Nah. Got kidnapped by Girl Scouts.
BLACKBURN: Hope you got some Thin Mints out of it Fallon wants you to come over for dinner on Wednesday AndtothinkthatatonetimeBlackburnhadbeenknownastheguywholedtheleagueinstupidpenalties,hencehisformer monikerasthemosthatedmaninHarborCity.
A nice person would probably say these texts were evidence of emotional growth and maturity For Cal, it was an opportunitytogivehisfriendshit.
MATSEN: Should I give your wife my number so she can talk to me directly?
BLACKBURN: Depends Do you like having an unbroken nose?
Despite the pastfive years ofAstrid beingonwhather friend Thea called The Worldwide New DickTour, she sucked at flirting Like she’d once gone into depthaboutthe absolutelypure happiness knownas enchiladas duringa date inLondon Okay,yesshehadbeentravelingthroughEnglandatthetimeandhaddiscoveredthetruehorrorthatwasMexicanfoodweek onthe Great British Bake-Off wasnotaone-offthing Tosayshewasscaredforherstomachafterseeingforwhatpassedasa tacowasputtingitlightly.Asthesizeofherasscouldattest,shewasawomanwhotookherfoodasseriouslyassheusedto takegoalsagainstaveragesandpenaltykillpercentages.
Noneofthathadanythingtodowithwhyshewasstandinginthehallway,brainblankingonwhattosaynext Itwasn’t just thatshekeptgettingdistractedbythewaythesleeves ofhis pinksweater stretchedaroundhis biceps althoughthatwas an issuebecausedamn,she’dalwaysthoughtofherselfasaforearmwomanuntilnow Soyeah,thatwasanissue,butthebigger onewasthatherpalmshadgoneclammyandawholeflock(swarm?)ofbutterflieshadtakenupresidenceinherchest.She’d neveradmitittoanothersoul(notevenNolaandThea),butshewasfuckingnervous
Afterherfive-yeartour,onewouldthinkshenevergotanxiousaboutallofthepre-dicking,duringdicking,andgetting-outof-there-before-he-woke-up dicking. The expectationwould be thatshe didn’tgetcaughtup inthe is-my-ass-too-big, don’tmake-that-face-when-he’s-looking,suck-in-your-gut-when-you’re-on-topnervousness anymore Some wouldpresume thather tough-chickattitudewentbonedeepinsteadofbarelygoingbelowtheskin.
The truthshe’d goto her grave withwas thatall ofthis was justawkward as fuckandshe feltitall the waydownto the solesofhersize-eightshoes.(Yeah,shedidhaveginormousfeetforsomeonewhoonlygottoasmidgeoverfivetwowiththe helpofahighponytail.)JustbeingonCal’sdoorstepwasmakinghertoestwitchandherstomachdothatflippy-floppything. Itdidn’tmakeitanyeasierthathewasjuststaringather
Theworldcouldbeexplodingandallagoalieshouldbedoingwaswatchingthepuck,anticipatingwhereitwasgoingnext, and doingwhatever it tookto stop it fromgoingpast the posts. That level of clear-headed focus was somethingthat every goalieneededtomakeitinthepros
And now he was standing in the middle of his tiny kitchen unable to remember how to make pasta because Astrid was hummingoff-keyasshedroppedtwopiecesofwhitebreadinthetoaster.
“This is justthe appetizer toast,” she said before plantingher palms onthe counter and doinga spinliftthingso she was sittingonit.“Toholdusoveruntilthepasta’sdone.Youaregoingtoputthatinboilingwater,right?”
That’s right Making pasta is really hard there, Matsen You wanna take a remedial course on how to breathe next?
“Familydinners everySundayandeachofus kids hadtoplanandmake dinner once a week a chore thatwasn’talways usedfor evil butitdefinitelyhappened”Heusedoneofhisforkstopushthepenneall thewayintotheboilingwater “One timemysistermadeblackbeanandbroccolipizza whichwasasbadasitsounds butshe’dmadeitspecificallybecauseI was goingout ona date that night About halfwaythroughthe movie, the raffinose and fiber hit The sounds I was making wouldhaveyourstomachgrowlssoundlikewhispers.”
“Wow.”Astridgotthesinglewordoutandthenpressedherlipstogetherasshetriedtofightbackalaughthatkeptcoming outinlittleburstsofhigh-pitchedsqueakysounds “Iambothfrightenedandimpressed” “Yeah, you don’t want to cross my sister, Roxy. She’s very creative.” Pasta doing its thing for the next few minutes, he butteredthetoastwhenitpoppedupandhandedoneoftheslicestoAstrid
Calwasabouttorespondwith“afreshsheetofice,”buthestoppedhimselfrightintime.Therewasn’taFuckHockeyjarat his house,buthewasn’tgoingtopushhis luck.Thenshetookabiteoftoastandletoutamoanheavywiththereverenceof someonestandingcloseenoughtotheStanleyCuptoseethedentfromwhenPatrickRoydroppedit.
“Boundaries are important,” she said, all sugaryinsincerity “I’msure there are a bunchoffolks who have the same rule Theylikeitinthebed,lightsoff,notalking.”
Shebrokeacornerofhertoastoffandhelditaninchfromhislipsasifhimopeningforherwasaforegoneconclusion It wasaridiculousfuckingassumptionthathehadnointentionofmakingcometrue until,awholehalfsecondlater,hedid.She fedthetoastcornertohim,herfingertipsbrushinghislipsandsendingablastofdesirethroughhim.
“Soboring,”shesaid,herdesire-darkenedgazesteadyevenashervoiceshook. “ButifItalkmywaythroughthisinthekitchenwiththelightson ”Hedippedhisheadlower,inhalingthesweetscentof her, his lips nearly grazing the curve of her ear, the line of her jaw, the fucking A-level temptation of her mouth before straighteningbackup.“That’snotboring?”
Theapocalypsecouldhavestartedinhislivingroomandhewouldn’thavenoticedashegrabbedacondomfromhiswallet and rolled it onwhile watching Astrid come down. She had a blissed-out expression on her face, and her eyes were half closedasshecaughtherbreath Herlegswerestill wideopen,herinner thighspinkfromrubbingagainsthisscruff,andshe was tracingher fingertips over her stomachwhenshe let out a soft sighof satisfactionas if she’d reached the peakof her pleasure
Shecircledherclitassheplayedwithherbreast,hercoretighteningaroundhim,andheknewhewouldn’tlastmuchlonger. So he gave into the urge to lookdown, his gaze goingfromher finger onher clitto his cockslidinginand outofher tight entranceandbackagain.Speedingup,herodealongtheedgeneedingtomatchherasshegrippedhimtighterandtighteruntil she came. After that, there was no holdingbackhis orgasm. He pounded into her one last time, fillingher completelyand cominghardwithalow,gutturalgroan
“Good” She slipped her T-shirt on, and thenshe pulled onher jeans, coveringup that glorious bare ass fromsight She leanedoverandbrushedherlipsacrosshis.“Igottago.”
Shockfrozehimforasecond Yeah,he’dpulledthefuck-and-fleemovebeforehimself,buthe’dneverbeentheoneleft He hadnofuckingcluehowtoprocessthatorwhattosaynow,sohewentwithwhathefiguredwasthepolitefuck-boyresponse. “CanIatleastgetyouanUber?”
Hecouldstilltasteheronhislipswhenhewatchedherwalkouthisfrontdoor,closingitwithasolidclickbehindher.He made it five whole seconds before hustlingover to the door. He cracked it open because he was lookingout for her not becausehewasacreep intimetowatchherdisappeardownthestairsand,nodoubt,outofhislife.
“He lives inyour building? Your teeny-tinybuildingwithlike eightapartments?” Dr. Kowekci said, notreallyaskingthe questioneventhoughtherewerequestionmarksattheendofeachsentence maybeevenaftereachword Shetappedtheend ofherglassesagainstherchinandthenputthembackon,lettingoutalittlehuhsoundashereyebrowssettledbackintoplace. “Considering your pattern has been to only have sex with men you probably would never see again, to choose to be with someoneyou’llmorethanlikelyrunintoagainis very interesting”
“He’s justa hotguyImetatthe bar,” Astrid said, droppingher gaze to the high-end Persianrugonthe floor betweenthe leather club couchwhere she satwithher legs crisscross applesauce and the club chair where Dr Kowekci was “Nothing more.Nothingless.”
“Andwhenyourunintohimonthestairsorgettingyourmail?”hertherapistasked Astrid’s stomachexecuted a round-off as she imagined Cal standinginfront of the line of brass postal boxes inthe tiny lobby.He’dpulloutsomesalesfliersandaninvitationtooneofthebuilding’srooftopBBQs,lookupatthestairs,andspot her He’ddrophismailandrushovertoher,sweepherupintohisarms,andcarryhertohisapartmentwherehe’dstripher, fuckher,andfeedherspaghetti.
“Exactly,”Astridsaidwhile not imaginingthesamemailscenariobutthistimewithCalshirtless. Dr Koweckitiltedherheadtotherightandscrunchedhereyebrowstogetherinthemiddle “YouknowwhatIthink?”
Astrid shoved down her what-the-fuck nerves at a new eyebrow move and straightened her shoulders, donning her best unbotheredcoolgirlpersonathatneverfooledDr Kowecki “ThatIhaveexcellentdisciplineandhavetakensexualself-care tonewheights?”
Astrid recoiled atthe idea. She wasn’tlookingfor growthor acceptance or movingon. She didn’tneed them. Indignation gnawedawayatherstomachliningasifshe’djustdownedatravelmugofespressospikedwithbatteryacid “Whatareyoutalkingabout?”shespluttered.
Dr KoweckihadheardalotaboutAndyinpastsessions,andshedrewhereyebrowstogetherinagood-pointnonverbal “Okay, so this manstuckup for you. And youare the womanwho swears she needs no one and nothingfromanyone else ever Theeeeeeen,”shedrewthewordout,“yousleptwithhimeventhoughhelivesinyourbuildingandthere’snowayyou’ll beabletopulltheusualnever-see-them-againroutinethatyou’veadheredtoforthepastfiveyears.”
Dr Kowecki leanedforward,her gaze kind “Notevenstartingtolookfor someone whoyoucouldmaybe share your life with?Aromanticpartnerisn’tamustinlife,butitcanbeverynicetohavethatbondwithanotherperson,toknowtheylove youandwillalwaysbetherewhenyouneedthem”
“IhaveNolaandTheaforthat,”Astridinterjected.
The therapistnodded witha dip ofher head as ifto say, Point noted. “I’monlyaskingbecause despite all ofyour selfimposedrulesnottofuckwhereyousleep,eat,orrecreate,whichyou’vefollowedtothe T forthepastfiveyears,youhadsex withapersonwhosupportedyou whetheryouneededitornot thatyoucannotavoidseeingagain.”Shepausedasifgiving Astridtimetoprepare “Whenyougotuptoday,didyouregrettheothernightwithhim?”
Somethingcomplexand sharp and uncomfortable started creepingforward, windingaround the barricades she’d builtand slitheringcloser likeitdeservedtobehere Sheclosedher eyesandsuckedinadeepbreath,usingall thatair toshovethat thing backinthedeepdarkwhereitbelonged.
“No regrets,” Astrid said, hatingthe quiver inher voice. “Never. He had a good time. I had a good time. Everyone had orgasms”
“Ifyoureallybelieve that, thenit’s no bigdeal to spend some time thinkingabout what scares youso muchabout being vulnerablewithanother person,”Dr Kowecki said,soundingwaytooreasonable “Inour nextsession,wecanchataboutif that’s reallywhatyouwantoutoflife, and how does your avoidance ofestablishingtrue intimacywitha possible romantic partnertieintothat?”
HerstepsfeelinglighterthefartherdownEighthAvenueshewent,shewasheadboppingalongtothesongonherearbuds and barelyevenfeltthe urge to lookdownCove Streetto the giantbillboard showingTigJones hawkingunderwear so she couldflipitoff.Themoodyblack-and-whiteimageshowedoffexactlywhyfanshadstartedchanting“GiantPrick”duringIce Knightsgames,andthespotinfrontofthebillboardhadbecomeatouristfavoriteforselfies
Afterthattherapysession,though,she’dhadenoughofdealingwitholdshitthatshereallywastotallyandcompletelyover. Plussheneededtogethermindrightforherweeklydinneratherdad’s.They’dplayrummytodecidewhogottopickwhere they’dorderfoodfrom,watchaclassicblack-and-whitefilmnoire,andstudiouslyavoidtalkingaboutorlookingatthehockey photosthathadbeenturnedfacedownforhervisit.Hedidn’thavetodothat.Yeah,shehadtheFuckHockeyjaratthepub,but thatdidn’tmeanshewantedherdadtopretendthesporthelovedmorethananything(excludingher)didn’texist Herdadwas clumsilysweetthatway,sortalikehow hemadesuretodropsomanyhints aboutknowingpeoplewhopaintedhouses after whathappened withTigthatshe had to tell himpointblankshe appreciated the over-the-top support, buthe didn’tneed to contractamurdererforhertounderstandthelengthshe’dgotososhewouldn’tfeelsad.
Sheknewthat hadalwaysknownthat.
Andwhena year ago,after helosthis jobwiththeRage,he’dgottenofferedthe jobas the Ice Knights coachwhere he’d have free reinto hire all ofthe assistantcoaches he wanted? Well, she broke her no-hockey-talkrule for himand told him straightupthatshedidn’tcareaboutwhathadhappenedwithTiganymoreandthathehadtotakewhathadalwaysbeenhis dreamjobwiththeleague’spremiereteam evenifthatmeanthavingthatassholeforagoalie.Shewasoverthedrama,the whispers,theslylookstothepointitwasasifheralmostweddinghadneverhappened.Allofwhichwastrue.
However,itwasimmediatelyapparentthatsomethingwasuptheminuteshewalkedthroughthedoortoherdad’spenthouse. Thecardsweren’tsittingonthediningroomtable Herdadhadonactualpantsinsteadofthepajamabottomswithbabyotters frolicking on themthat she’d gotten himfor Christmas he usually wore for their dinners. And the mouth-watering scent of cheeseburgers and cajunfries fromVitos hit her before she evengot to the diningroomto see the table piled highwitha cateringorderforatleastten.
Feeling a little like Dr. Kowecki, she lifted an eyebrow in question. The too-wide smile he gave her in response did absolutelynothingtoeasethesenseofimpendingdreadmakingherpalmssweaty
Shesnorted “Notbeyondwhothatoneguythatisinhalfasceneinamoviebecauseyoudon’twanttoaskAlexa” “She never understands what I’masking. Iaskfor how manytablespoons are ina cup and she tells me the weather,” he grumbled “ThatisnothelpfulwhenIaminthemiddleofrollingrawmeatballs” ForgetthestereotypicalO’Malleycornbeefandhash;herdad’sspecialtywaslasagnamadewithmeatballsthatputaperson intheworld’sbestfoodcoma Hedidn’tcookoften,butwhenhedid,itwasfantastic “Iwantyoutocomeback,”heblurtedout,therequestcominginlikeaverbalsprintwithoutanybreathingspacebetweenthe words.“Ineedyoutobemyassistantagain.”
She stepped backinvoluntarily, her hand goingto her stomachand pressinginto it hard as her pulse kicked up
“Youcanhave all ofthat well, almost” His smile faded, and he letouta wearysigh His broad shoulders rounded, the onesthatalwaysseemedliketheycouldeasilybeartheweightofthewholeworld.“Iwouldn’taskifitwasn’tabigdeal.”
He ranhis fingers over the edge ofone ofthe overturnedphotos,the distinctive frame ofwhichgave itawayas a picture fromhis last game as a player It was a shot of himinthe penaltybox, eye alreadypuffingup fromthe punchhe’d taken, grinninglikeamanwhowasthehappiesthe’deverbeeninhisentirelife.
Her dadwasn’twrong They’dbeenateamoftwofor aslongasshecouldremember,soithadbeennatural for her togo into the familybusiness. She broughther organizational mindset, and he always came withthe chaotic determination. Ithad worked,andshe’dlovedeveryminuteofit Yeah,shedidthesamepersonalorganizingwithherclientsnow,butitwasn’tthe same.Somethingwasmissing.
“Onthreeconditions.One,myin-persondealingswiththeteamarelimited.Two,don’tthinkthiswillchangemymindabout hockey It’sstilldeadtomeafterthisseason Three,absolutelynodealingwiththepress,notellingthepressI’mhelping,no press period.” Lettingouta huffofbreath,she shother dadher bestno-nonsense glare as he noddedinagreementtoall her demands “Ibetternotregretthis”
She most definitely would probably regret this, but she wouldn’t regret the way her dad’s face went from hopeful but worriedtoabsolutejoy.
Herushedoverandpulledherupfromthecouch,thenwrappedherupinabearhug “Youwon’t,Ipromise” Hespunheraround,andifshe’dbeenthesamesizeastheStanleyCup,heprobablywouldhavehoistedheroverhisheadin triumph She was aboutto squeakouta plea for himto loosenhis hold so she could take ina full breathwhenthe doorbell rang,andhereleasedherlikeshewasahotpotato.
“Thatwould be the coachingstaff,” he said, the tips ofhis ears turningthe shade ofred thatonlyappeared whenhe was abouttogettossedoutofagameorwasembarrassed.
