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“That’s not what I meant. You looked kind of unhappy.” The hand she places against my chest is light, teasing, but not unwelcome. “What can I do to put a smile on your face?”
That little question alone is enough to get my engine revving. Not just the question, but the way she asks it. There’s no need to wonder what’s behind her coy, playful tone. “I can think of a few things.”
“So can I.” She taps her nails against me, smirking. “But I could use a drink first.”
Finally, the bartender approaches, and I order for both of us. I wonder if a girl like this — beautiful, clever, sexy — would one day end up turning into a woman like my mother. Was she ever like this? She must have been to some degree, at least, or else she never would have fooled my father into thinking she was worth marrying. I wonder how long it took before she let the mask fall, since all she was ever interested in was his money. I know that much. That’s still all that interests her, spending his wealth. I can count on one hand the number of Christmases we spent together, the years she wasn’t off with friends in one fabulous place or another. Sometimes she wouldn’t even call, and later I would get an excuse about her losing track of time. As if Christmas day doesn’t fall on the same date every year.
“What do you do for a living?”
Yes, that question usually comes up. “I play hockey.”
Her eyes go wide on cue. “Like, professionally?”
“Yeah. Not in the NHL, though – but I was up in Seattle for a while, playing with the Orcas. I might end up back there this season.”
Her interest just went from high to extreme. What is it about athletes that turns women on so much? I mean, not that I would ever complain. I’ve definitely used it to my advantage many times. And I’m going to use it to my advantage again tonight. I know I will. That’s the entire reason I came out at all.
Even if it feels like I’m going through the motions, just like I go through the motions of being who I need to be. The sort of social skill Ash possesses has never come naturally to me, which is why I compensate so hard for the lack of it. I doubt I’ll ever feel quite at home here, no matter how much I wish I did.
In fact, as I stand here sipping on whiskey while the girl whose name I’ve already forgotten drinks a martini, it hits me that the only time I can remember feeling really plugged in and alive, like I really belonged, was with Harlow. That last weekend we spent at the lake, the four of us. I was me, really, and truly. Relaxed, at ease. At peace with the world and with life.
Compared to that, making small talk in some generic club falls pretty damn short.
But I have to forget her somehow, don’t I? If not forget, then at least get her out of my system. I’m too damn young to spend the rest of my life longing for a woman who either doesn’t want me or doesn’t consider being with me worth working for. No matter the reason why, the outcome is the same.
The blond — was it Stacy? Sarah? — polishes off her colorful drink before giving me a playful little smile. “What do you like to do for fun, Mr. Hockey Player?”
My dick responds in the usual way, but I still have to force a smile. This is so fucking empty. Am I always going to feel this way? Has being with Harlow ruined me for every other woman for the rest of my life?
I bolt back what’s left in my glass, feeling a little grim but determined to push past it. “How about we get out of here and I’ll show you?”
26
RYDER
All I want to do today is stay in bed and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a while. At least, that’s the plan. I’m used to getting up early, even on the weekends, even when I don’t want to — one of those things your body trains itself into. Plus, I’ve always read it’s no good to fuck with your schedule on the weekend the way most people like to do. It throws off your natural rhythm or some shit like that.
This morning, I don’t give a damn about my natural rhythm. I don’t care about very much at all, really. Not even the decision I’m supposed to be rethinking to make Coach Kozak happy. I mean, I told the guy what he needed to hear, but I’m not changing my mind. I doubt anything could make me do that. Anything reasonably realistic, anyway.
I mean, Harlow’s not coming back. That’s over. And I doubt facing those two will get any easier even with plenty of time to smooth things over. Hell, they’ll probably go back up to Seattle any day now, so it’s not like we could have much of a chance to work things out, anyway.
With my luck, I’ll stick around, and they’ll never go back, so I’ll have to see them all the time. No, that doesn’t seem like it would be any easier. This is a shit situation all around, no matter how I look at it.
The last thing I feel like dealing with is my ringing phone. It can’t be too early — the birds have been singing for what feels like forever, and I’ve been fighting to keep my eyes closed in spite of the sunlight shining on the other side of my eyelids for what feels like just as long. Still, not many people in my life actually bother calling, not when it’s so much easier to send a text. Especially on a weekend morning when people don’t usually want to be interrupted.
It’s a relief when the noise stops — but then it starts back up again right away.
Of all times for Harlow’s face to flash in front of my mind’s eye. What if something’s wrong with her? What if?
It’s not her or anybody else from the team. “Erin?” I whisper, and now I’m torn between whether I should ignore the call from my foster mother or find out what she wants. It’s not that we have a bad relationship or anything like that. But it’s not like there was ever any affection. I was too old for that by the time I landed on her doorstep. I had been bounced from too many foster homes by then. Letting myself get attached was a liability, and I didn’t want to put myself through that again. I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy for her to deal with my sullen ass.
That’s what makes me answer the call. Remembering how she always tried.
“Hello? Erin?”
“Ryder. Thank God you answered. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
I sit upright all at once. “What is it? What happened?”
