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Marisa nodded. “My father’s only surviving relative was my grandfather, who lived on the West Coast. As for my father, he was pursuing a minor league baseball career, and a wife and baby didn’t fit with his plans. He had big dreams and wanderlust.”
“So you believed Sal was the guy for you because he wasn’t bitten by the same bug.”
“I thought he was the right man. I was wrong.”
Cole suddenly understood. Marisa had thought Sal would never leave her. He wasn’t a professional athlete whose career came first. In other words, Sal was unlike her father...and unlike Cole, who’d left Welsdale at the first opportunity for hockey.
Marisa had discovered the truth about her father long after she’d finished high school at Pershing. So if Cole’s reaction after missing out on a potential hockey championship at Pershing hadn’t soured her on athletes, then the truth she learned about her father in her twenties certainly would have.
As Marisa steered the conversation back to scheduling a student field trip to the Razors’ arena, as well as setting up another time for her to review Serenghetti Construction’s old architectural plans, Cole realized one thing.
He’d had his chance with Marisa at eighteen, but these days she was looking for something—someone—different.
Six
Marisa had never been inside the New England Razors arena, which was located outside Springfield, Massachusetts. The closeness to the state border allowed the team to attract a sizable crowd from nearby Connecticut as well as from their home base, Massachusetts.
Marisa had just never counted herself among those fans. She’d always felt that going to a game would be a painful blast from the past where Cole was concerned. The Razors’ games were televised, but she could handle Cole Serenghetti’s power over her memories—sort of—when it was limited to a glimpse of a screen in a restaurant or other public place.
Right now, however, she was getting the full Cole Serenghetti effect as he stood a few feet away addressing a group of Pershing high school students. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved black tee. His clothing was casual, but no less potent on her senses. She was sensitive to his every move, and was having a hard time denying what it was: sexual awareness.
“Look,” Cole said to the kids arrayed before him in a semicircle inside the front entrance, “since it’s a Saturday and this is a half-day field trip, we’ll do a tour of the arena first and then some ice-skating. How does that sound?”
Some kids smiled, and others nodded their heads.
“And how many of you want to be professional hockey players?”
A few hands shot up. Marisa was glad to see those of three girls among them. Pershing fielded both boys’ and girls’ hockey teams, but the girls tended to drop out at a higher rate than the boys once they hit high school.
One of the students raised his hand. “Does your injury still bother you?”
Marisa sucked in a breath.
“It’s important to wear protective equipment,” Cole said. “Injuries do happen, but they’re unusual, especially the serious ones.”
The kids remained silent, as if they expected him to go on.
“In my case, I tore up my knee twice. I had surgery and therapy both times. After the second, I could walk without a problem, but playing professional hockey wasn’t in the cards.” Cole’s tone was even and matter-of-fact, and he betrayed no hint that the subject was a touchy one for him. “I was past thirty, and I’d already had several great seasons with the New England Razors. I had another career calling me.”
“So now you do construction?” a student piped up from the back row.
Cole gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Yup. But as CEO, I spend more time in the office than on a job site. I make sure we stay within our budget and that resources are allocated correctly among projects.” He cast Marisa a sidelong look. “I also go out and drum up more business.”
Marisa felt heat flood her cheeks even though she was the only one who could guess what Cole was alluding to.
A few days ago she and Cole had finally had their intended meeting at his offices to go over architectural plans for past projects. When she’d shown up this time, Cole had had the plans ready for review in a conference room. She must have appeared relieved that she wouldn’t have to step back inside Serenghetti Construction’s storage room, because Cole had shot her an amused and knowing look. Still, she’d gotten enough information to go back to Mr. Dobson with no surprises but some valuable input.
Fortunately, they hadn’t had the opportunity to discuss their encounter in the storage room. Every time Cole had looked as if he was about to bring it up, they’d been interrupted by a phone call or by an employee with a question.
Cole scanned the small crowd assembled before him.
“Today I’m going to show you career fields connected to hockey that you might not have thought of. Sure there are the players on the ice that everyone sees during the game. Their names make the news. But behind them is a whole other team of people who make professional hockey what it is.”
“Like who?” a couple of kids asked, speaking over each other.
“Well, I’m going to take you to the broadcast booth, in case anyone is interested in sports journalism. We’ll walk through the management offices to talk to marketing. And then we’ll go down to the locker rooms, where the sports medicine people do their stuff. Sound good?”
The kids nodded.
