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“Maybe I can take you to dinner some time to make up for it.”
“A date?” I didn’t expect this. We’ve got on well today and that night at the game, but I still suspected Damian’s in a relationship with Zander.
“A something.” He shrugs. “Call it atonement. We can discuss more on the evils done to women. Or hockey, if you prefer.”
“Yes, you can have my number,” I say, holding my hand out for his phone. “Maybe, to dinner. A definite yes to further discussion on the evils of the world. We may be able to help each other out there.”
“I’ll take what I can get,” he says, taking his phone back from me after I’ve programed myself in under the contact name ‘Unwitting Prey’. When he sees it, he laughs louder than he has any other time, as if he’s suddenly more at ease with me. “For now, anyway, Ms. Cole.”
“So maybe he’s not gay,” Kit muses when we settle in front of the TV at home later. The game is about to start, and I’ve made a pot of chili for dinner. It’s Kit’s favorite out of the dozen or so things I cook regularly. We take turns, and between the two of us, we eat healthily enough. Especially by college student standards. Though Kit has already graduated, she stopped at her master’s degree, not wanting to wrack up more student debt. Which is rather sizeable.
Dad pays for my schooling. Or what’s left after the scholarships and grants I’ve managed to land. I’m grateful for his generosity and don’t like it all the same. I want to be self-sufficient, though I may not be headed down the right career path for that. But those are problems for future days. I need to finish the PhD program first.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t want to ask what his relationship with Zan is, and he never offered up any information there. But why would he flirt and ask me out if there is a romance between them?”
“I don’t know, Willa, but be careful. You don’t need to be crushing on two men you can’t have.”
“Oh god, right?”
“Right. I could still hook you up with Will from my work,” Kit teases.
“Fuck off,” I say, sending her a look of pure terror. “Will and Willa, can you imagine? Plus, the guy couldn’t even look me in the eye when you introduced him at your company Christmas party last year. Like my mere presence flustered him.”
“That’s charming,” she protests.
“Then you date him.”
“No, thank you,” Kit says primly.
The game starts with little excitement. Ten minutes into the first period, neither team has scored, though both have gotten decent shots on goal in. “Does Isla still talk to Tyson?”
Tyson Murphy plays for the Vancouver team and was the only man my sister seriously dated before marrying Cillian. The two men have something like an on-ice rivalry, even though I don’t think they have real hard feelings toward each other. Or at least I know Cillian doesn’t.
It’s good for the crowds though, each team’s star player play fighting over a woman. They tend to be chippier with one another than what’s necessary. But that’s hockey, it’s a weird sport.
“They’re still friendly when they run into each other. But I don’t think there’s much contact past that.”
“I’ll never get over the fact that she’s had two of the best-looking men in the sport,” Kit says, then takes another large bite of chili.
“Lucky bitch.”
“Lucky bitch,” she repeats, appreciating the men on the ice, even if she’s sworn off all things related to penises.
Tyson takes the puck into our end and shoots, but our goalie, Hugo Blom, blocks it. Tyson tries for a rebound which also gets blocked. Now, there’s a traffic jam in front of the net as both teams scramble for the puck in the middle of the scrum. The whistle blows, stopping the play, but Tyson and Cillian are still shoving each other. It’s Zander who gets in the middle and skates off with Cillian in tow before it can become penalty worthy.
My phone dings with a notification, pulling my attention away from the game. Isla’s contact shows with a new text message.
Sestra:
Zander is renting a condo in your building. Don’t be fucking weird about it.
Oh fuck!
“What,” Kit asks.
Me:
I make no promises.
