After they moved to that duplex after Dad split, she’d always been around. And when puberty hit him like a semitruck and he went all muscle and jawline, the other girls noticed. Fuck, did they notice. But she always just kept being... Harriet. He’d sometimes catch himself waiting for it—a lingering glance when he stripped off his shirt after mowing the lawn, maybe a moment of tension when they squeezed past each other in that narrow hallway. But there was nothing. No calculated brushes of skin, no heated looks.
In a world that acted like he was some kind of Everest to conquer, Harriet had treated him simply like Gale. And yeah, maybe he’d wanted her to see him in that idolized way, just a little. But what really drew him to her was how she seemed to see and like him for exactly who he was. That hit different.
“So, uh, I guess you’re stuck on my exclusive list now. No take-backs.”
“Stuck? That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement to making this list,” Harriet shot back. “I prefer to think of it as being granted VIP access.”
“VIP? Fine, but don’t let it go to your head. The perks are limited.”
“Way to burst my bubble. Here I was anticipating five-star customer service and unlimited free refills.”
Gale’s shoulders sank away from his ears. He hadn’t realized quite how much he’d missed this—just hanging out, zero pressure. “Best I can offer is decent company and maybe some creative Finnish or Russian terms that I picked up from some of the guys.”
“Tempting,” Harriet mused. “But I might need alittlemore incentive to keep my VIP status.”
“I’m open to negotiations, what you got?”
A moment of silence passed before Harriet delicately cleared her throat. “To be honest, there is a professional reason behind this call.”
“Really?” Gale opened his eyes. “That’s interesting, considering you work with computers and I work with, you know, frozen water and vulcanized rubber.”
“Yes, well, while those two fields don’t typically intersect, in my case, they do. I work for an AI startup called TrainTech,” she said.
That’s right—he remembered Brooke mentioning Harriet’s PhD defense. The idea of Dr. Smythe was always hot.
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t want to brag but I’ve seen all the Terminator movies,” he said.
Harriet’s throaty laugh made him grip his phone harder. “Well, rest assured our AI is a lot less murdery. We’ve been developing a program designed to optimize athlete performance. We’re moving into beta testing, and we need some high-profile users.”
“Ah.” Pieces clicked like a puzzle. “And I’m high profile?”
“Yeah, you know you are. And I wish I had enough pride to say, ‘Hey, don’t worry about saying no.’ But real talk? I don’t.”
Gale let out a surprised chuckle. “You don’t have pride, or I shouldn’t worry about saying no?”
“The pride thing. Definitely the pride thing,” Harriet replied, a smile in her voice. “My CEO is pushing hard for your participation, and I believe in what we’ve created. I need a win, and—”
“Harriet,” Gale cut in, “it’s okay. I’m not going to make you beg.”
“Good. Going down on my knees isn’t really my brand,” she bristled.
Fuck. The way she said it sent his mind straight to the gutter, but Gale bit his tongue. Harriet didn’t need some locker room smart-ass routine, but a guy who gave a damn.
“Let’s just say I’m familiar with the concept of needing a win,” he said.
“You’d consider it?”
His gaze drifted back to the empty pool. Scratch that, not empty anymore. A bullfrog was swimming across it. Great.
“There’s a saying I like,” he said finally. “‘It’s not about how you celebrate the win, it’s how you bounce back from a loss that shows what you’re made of.’ It’s time I start bouncing.”
“That could hurt on the ice,” Harriet teased.
“Good thing I have a high pain tolerance.”
“Well, using E.M.M.A.—that’s our AI—should result in considerably less bruising. We’ll do things like outfit you with biometric-data wrist sensors. These will track everything from your heart rate and muscle fatigue to your reaction times. We’ll also use high-speed cameras to capture your movements. E.M.M.A. will analyze all this data to create a comprehensive profile of your playing style, physical capabilities, and...”
As Harriet explained the process—recording his routines, meals, feeding his techniques into the AI—he found himself oddly energized. Her words flowed with that old familiar rhythm that had always captivated him, making even the most complex ideas feel accessible. It wasn’t just the plan that sparked hope; it was her voice, steady and sure, laying it all out.
