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I sat up straighter. “For what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“You’ll like this one, I promise. It’ll make you feel better.”
I scowled down the phone at him — I’d believe that when I saw it — but I was sort of curious, and a little excited. I was still mostly pissed, but under that, I felt… cared-for, this warm little spark in my churning anger.
“I have to get back,” I said. “But, yeah, see you later. And, Spencer?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“Save your thanks for later. Trust me, you’ll love this.”
He hung up. I smiled, and I shook my head slowly. No surprise could cancel out the partners’ rejection, but somehow, that smile wouldn’t wipe off my face.
CHAPTER 7
SPENCER
Icould feel Izzy’s tension like a third passenger in my truck. An unfriendly presence, big and sharp-elbowed. She was sitting so straight she was making my back hurt, her jaw so tight I thought she’d crack a molar.
“I get it,” I said. “Losing out is the worst.”
She made a heh sound, not quite a laugh.
“What? You’ve seen me lose. You know I’ve been there.”
She unclenched her fists, then clenched them again. Shook her head tightly, side to side. “It’s not the same,” she said.
“How is it not, except more people see it? I lose on live TV. You get that, right?”
“That’s it exactly. You lose on live TV. You’re in the NHL already. At the top of your game. Even when you don’t win, the game’s still high-level. I’m in the minor leagues. Hell, I’m on the bench. I can’t even get in the game, let alone lose it.”
I knew how that felt too, being benched for long stretches, feeling like my game would never get started. But now wasn’t the time to get into all that. Not with Izzy beside me kneading her fists, kicking the floor mat, a ball of frustration.
“You need to work out that rage,” I said. “Slam your way through it.”
“And how do I do that?” She kicked the floor mat again. “Where are we going?”
“Right here,” I said. I pulled up in front of my athletic club. “We’re going to play squash. Trust me. It works.”
Izzy’s mouth turned down. “I’ve never played squash.”
“Good. You’ll get angrier when I kick your ass. You’ll start to fight back, and when you do, you’ll feel better.”
Izzy looked doubtful, but she unhooked her seat belt. “I don’t have gym clothes,” she said.
“Yeah, you do. I brought them.” I pulled out her gym bag from under her seat. She snatched it away from me and hopped out of the truck. I thought she’d slam the door, too, but she shut it gently. She stood in the parking lot breathing hard through her nose.
“Come on,” I said. “You’ll see. You’ll love it.”
She followed me in, and I got her a guest pass. We split up to get changed and met again on the court. Izzy was standing there swinging her racquet.
“How do you play?”
