Page 51 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

“He’s asked you?” Maya nearly shouts.

“Well, yeah—for lunch yesterday.”

“But it wasn’t a date.”

“No. Or the time you went for brunch,” Carlin points out.

I roll my eyes. “That definitely wasn’t a date.”

Maya grins. “You’re in denial, girl.”

“Why can’t you date him?” Adriana asks.

“Because he’s a client.”

“Phhhht.”

“Think how awkward it would be if things didn’t work out. I’d probably lose him as a client, which means, I’d probably lose Otis. And then I wouldn’t have a famous hockey player endorsement, and what little business I’ve built would go down the sewer.”

They all nod.

“I suppose that’s true,” Carlin says.

“Also, I’m not interested in dating. Guys who find out my situation assume I’m a big loser who makes trouble with my employers, sues them when I don’t get what I want, and then lazes around waiting for the big payoff.”

Carlin winces. “Those guys you went out with were dirtbags.”

“Yeah,” Maya agrees with an emphatic nod. “You don’t know that Easton would think that.”

“He doesn’t.”

I realize what I just spilled.

“You told him?” Adriana gasps.

I rub the condensation on the glass of my beer. “Er, yeah. Not all the details.”

They all fall silent. “I don’t know, Lilly. Maybe you should see where things go with him.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want a relationship.” I pause. “I wouldn’t mind a bonefest.”

“That’s what I said!” Carlin slaps a hand on the table. “Youareinterested in his dick!”

“Go for it,” Maya says, lifting her margarita. “Just make sure you’re clear with him what it is.”

I shake my head. “Still a bad idea.”

Except I can’t stop thinking about it, while we change the subject to the toxic co-worker Maya’s dealing with at work; while we play Skee-Ball; while the two guys at the nearby table flirt with us again; and while Carlin and I ride the subway home. What if I give in to the temptation? Maybe…is it worth the risk?

Easton

“It was a fucking stupid play! You had eight seconds left! To try and force that through when you haven’t been scoring all game? Give me a fucking break!” Coach’s face is as red as my jersey.

Tonight, it’s my turn for his wrath. I deserve it. I screwed up. But I know I did, and I don’t need him going on and on about it. Jesus.

“Get that puck to the net, get a rebound, maybe you get it in,” he yells.

“I know,” I say. “I realize that now.” That was how the whole night went for me, trying to force things and make plays that weren’t there. “You’ve made your point. You don’t need to go on and on.”

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