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20
Beau
Ipulled into the parking lot. The extremely full parking lot. Not much else annoyed me more than being late. Tardiness is for the weak and unfocused. “Goddamn it,” I said to myself, surrounded by silence. Even the radio got on my nerves, so I’d shut it off.
Finally, I found a spot at the far end and pulled in. I grabbed my bag, then headed inside. My temper had not cooled from last night or this morning.
My head shook when I thought about how I had been so ready to make a real move on Gigi. Then hearing her talk to her mom about me—Fuck. Her words still rattled around in my brain. “Mom, he’s a player.”
Christ.
“I don’t feel that way toward him.”
Damn it.
Everything she’d said played on a relentless loop of hell inside my head.
I took another deep breath, hoping that one would calm me.
Nope.
The handle already hot from the morning sun, I swung the heavy black door open. One more breath. That one helped a bit. Nothing in the world calmed me like the smell of a hockey rink.
A few people milled around as I strode to the windows overlooking the ice. The women were already out there. I looked down at my phone. Our team had a meeting in exactly—two minutes.
Just like clockwork, the men began filing out of the dressing room. “Trey,” I called, catching sight of him. He finished talking to Luis and walked over to me.
“What’s up, man? You’re late, hurry up. Meeting’s that way,” he said, jerking his thumb down the hall.
“I know. Do you know where the other dog is? There’s only one at our apartment. I searched everywhere. Is he at your place?”
He gazed down to the ground, then peered up at me. “No, he’s not at my place. You talk to G this morning?” he asked, and I found it an odd question. For all he knew, I had been home all night.
“No.”
“Talk to her. But get your ass to the meeting. Coach will not be pleased if you skip,” he said, backing away from me.
“You know where my dog is?” I asked, reading from his face that he did, but did not want to tell me.
“Talk to your woman.”
“She won’t answer my fucking calls.”
“Maybe you should have answered last night, man.” After that parting word of advice, he spun around on his heel and dashed down the hall to the meeting.
My head was officially ready to explode. Yeah, I’d had my phone off. I did that because I had no idea what I would say to G. I needed time to think about what to do. The show had messed with my head and then overhearing Gigi’s conversation had added to the collateral damage.
Now, I needed to have a chat with her and find out where the other dog was.
I swiftly moved in the opposite direction of the meeting and in through the rink doors. As soon as I stepped into the chilled air, I filled my lungs deeply with the crisp, frozen scent that I loved so much.
Gigi was not too far off, so I yelled her name. Her head snapped in my direction, then she immediately turned her back on me. “Geneviève!” I shouted, louder this time.
Her coach spoke to her and Gigi shook her head. Christ this woman was maddening. Like the hothead I was, I unlatched the lock on the boards and stepped onto the ice. Then I called her name again.
This time when she saw me, she dropped her head to her chest and skated over. “Get off the ice, Moreau. This is our time,” she said, sounding mean and pissed off.
For some reason, I began speaking to her in French. It was bad enough that we had an audience at the other end of the ice. This way at least they wouldn’t understand us. “You won’t answer my texts or calls. What do you expect?”
