Page 78 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan

Chapter Twenty

Tyler

The gallery is crowded as we make our way in, and I'm happily surprised to see that people aren't turning to me and pointing. Normally, wherever I go, all I hear are whispers of, "That's Tyler Kane, the hockey player," or "That's Tyler Kane, the millionaire." But no one cares—because in New York City, in the art scene, I’m no one. And I love it.

As soon as we walk in, a young lady with a tray of several glasses of champagne walks up to us.

“Would you like a drink?” she asks.

I grab two. “Thank you,” I say, handing one to a beaming Erica and taking the other for myself.

“You're welcome. We have hors d'oeuvres, as well. Others will be walking around, if you want anything to eat. Enjoy the art show.”

“We will,” I say.

I watch as Erica takes a sip. “This is good. I’m not normally one for champagne, but this must be a higher quality than what my friends and I normally get. I'm surprised y’all don't always get Dom Pérignon or something, right?”

“You must be mistaken if you think my friends and I are balling like that.”

“I guess I was mistaken then.” She smiles. “So, thank you for joining me this evening.”

I wondered if it was going to be weird between us, especially after the first time. I’d been nervous and tense the entire night that we'd slept together. I'd been nervous that she'd leave. I'd been nervous that she wouldn't talk to me. But everything has been great the last twenty-four hours. It was like magic—and I don’t believe in magic, so that has me kind of scared.

“These pieces are amazing,” she says. “Do you have a favorite?”

“No, I don't think so. I'm not even sure who's exhibiting.”

I haven't told her that one of my pieces is going to be exhibited. I don’t know why. Maybe because I didn’t want her to think I’m boastful. Maybe because I want to see if she would recognize herself.

But then I see Pierre Mangione walking up to us, and my heart thuds.

“Ah, there you are, Tyler. So good to see you—and you, too,” he says. “We are about to put your piece up, but we have two. Which one would you like?”

“The Brooklyn Bridge,” I say quickly.

“Ah, the bridge.” He frowns slightly and then looks over at Erica. His eyes widen, and he smiles. He looks back at me, and I'm nervous about what he’s going to say next.

“Not the heart piece?”

“No, not the heart piece.” I give him a look, and he nods.

“Très bien,” he says. “Let me tell them we will put up the bridge piece. It is stunning, of course.”

“Thank you.”

I look over at Erica, who looks like she's trying to figure out a puzzle.

“You didn’t tell me that you had a piece in the exhibit.”

“I didn’t know until just now that one of my pieces would actually be put up,” I say.

“Cool. That’s awesome. I can’t wait to see it. So, you completed the piece from when we went to the Brooklyn Bridge?”

“Yeah. You might remember that I didn’t actually start the piece.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, laughing. “I kind of forgot that part. So what was the other one? What was the heart piece?”

“Oh, it was an anatomical drawing of a heart. I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be as appreciated.”