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“The perfect age. Time has not withered them.” Rachel sighs. “They have so much stamina. And they’re grateful, too. Like get down on their knees and pray at your lady garden grateful.”
“You obviously haven’t met a hockey player,” I tell her. “They’re not grateful. They’re flooded with attention.”
“Ah well. There’s always the Golden Mates app,” Rachel says consolingly.
I don’t tell her that Allison has already sent me an email with instructions on how to load my profile onto the dating app. I’d completely forgotten about being part of the beta team. Or maybe I’d just hoped that since I agreed before I got the orders to take this project in Morgantown that she’d forget about it.
But apparently her boyfriend is delighted that I’m away from New York. He wants beta testers all over the eastern region.
So now I have this stupid profile to write and I’m too damn nice to say no.
This is the problem with me. At work I can say no without flinching at all. I’m representing businesses and they want me to be ruthless.
But outside of work? It’s like trying to push a rock up a hill.
Exhausting.
A knock at the door makes me jump.
“Just a minute,” I tell Rachel, because I haven’t actually gotten to what I wanted to run past her. “Come in,” I call out.
Goran Olssen, the Mavericks’ center half, puts his head around the door. Ever since he gave me a bulls-eye view of goods, he’s been bringing me coffee every day to say sorry.
“American with hot milk,” he says, mispronouncing Americano. “Just how you like it.”
“Thank you, but you don’t have to keep doing this. It wasn’t your fault.” The bruise on my cheek is now a sepia shade. Like an old movie but in flesh form.
He shrugs. “My mom says if I hurt people I need to make up for it.”
“You didn’t hurt me. I did. I’m the one who had an argument with the door,” I remind him.
“Who are you talking to?” Rachel asks, her voice echoing through the speaker.
“Um, one of the team.”
“Goran,” he answers at the same time.
“Hi Goran,” Rachel says, her voice low. I wince, because now she’s going to have so many questions. “I’m Mackenzie’s friend.”
“Hi Mackenzie’s friend.” He smiles at me and I smile back. He’s a good kid. “I should go,” he tells me. “I have rehab. Then we have practice.”
“Sure.” I nod. “Thanks for dropping by.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “American again?”
“You don’t have to,” I remind him.
“I know. But I want to.” He nods his head at me then walks out, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Oh my God,” Rachel squeals.
“Don’t start,” I warn her.
“Seriously? You have guys bringing you coffee in the morning? How old is this one? His accent is amazing.”
“Guy. One guy. And he does it because for some stupid reason he thinks he has something to do with the bruise on my face. Which he doesn’t. But if it makes him feel better to bring me a drink in the morning, then all is good.”
“What’s his last name?” Rachel asks.
