Page 6 of Playing for Keeps

I clutch at my heart, hearing those words. “Oh, god, I’m acting like my father. You’re absolutely right. I have no idea what you want.”

He plucks the test tube from my hand and holds my fingers in his much-bigger, rough palms, as if I might be somehow included amongst the things Gunnar wants. His voice is like honey. “I’m serious, though. I hate living alone. I have a spare room, and Pittsburgh’s a pretty cool city.”

I smile at his offer. “I’ve only been to the ballet, years ago. I…” I don’t want to admit that I performed in the pit because my father told me it was an important experience for my Juilliard application. I don’t want to discuss doing the right thing all the time. “Tell me what’s cool about it.” I grab another tube from a server walking past and tip it down the hatch. Why stop making bad decisions now?

Gunnar smiles. “We have three rivers, for starters. You can ride a bike along the river all the way to D.C. if you want. Not that I ever went that far. And there’s a bar near my place that used to be a brass foundry, andthenit was a funeral home. And there’s a space museum.”

I laugh, surprised by his list. “I wasn’t expecting that array of highlights.”

He leans back in his seat, palms turned up. “What? You think I just care about bashing my brothers off the boards?”

I shrug. “I know it takes a lot of practice and dedication to be professional at something.” I feel my tongue struggling to form all the words. “I’m glad you get to make time for that stuff.”

He reaches for my hand. His skin feels like it's on fire, for sure. I glance down to check, wondering if there’s a pharmacy nearby for my burns. But it’s just two hands touching on the table. “Come back with me tomorrow. You need a place to stay while you figure things out. I need a roommate.”

I frown. “Why do you hate living alone?”

Gunnar grins and shrugs. “I’m the middle of four kids. I’ve never even had my bedroom until now, and it’s weird. Too quiet.”

“That’s a lot of family.” He nods. I withdraw my hand and place it on my lap. “Say I come to Pittsburgh and crash at your place. What’s in it for you?”

He jerks his head, a carefree gesture. “I get to know I helped a talented woman find her way.”

The flush on my cheeks is unexpected, and I bring my palms up to feel my heated skin. “I would feel bad taking advantage,” I tell him. “I’d be a bad roommate.”

“We should just get married, then. You’d make a great wife.” Gunnar laughs, and his blue eyes light up in the dim room. I don’t know how many tubes we drank or how much sipping whiskey. He leans closer, closer, until his breath tickles my skin. “Fuck it, right?”

I laugh, but he isn’t laughing. He’s staring at me, his blue eyes a bit out, thumb stroking mine. I feel every swipe of that digit deep in my core, like the vibrations of my instrument, only more sensual. I’ve never been very sexual, nor have I ever felt a burning physical desire. What he’s suggesting feels ludicrous, impulsive, and utterly ridiculous. It's the exact opposite of what a refined, upper east side prodigy would do instead of showing up for her audition at the New York Symphony. I’ve had enough alcohol to know my family will explode in rage, yet not so much that it dampens my enjoyment of that thought. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Fuck it.”

CHAPTER 4

GUNNAR

Sunlight streamsinto the strange hotel room as Emerson and I sit on the bed, staring blankly at one another and sipping water from the smudged hotel glasses, until Brian bangs on the door and starts hollering for me to open up.

I do so, and he bursts in, shaking his head and popping Tums into his mouth. “G Stag. I saw you twelve hours ago, man.” I don’t mutter that it’s been more like sixteen. I just wince. Brian gestures at me with his bottle of antacid. “I can’t control things if you can’t stop and think before you act, kid. You’re like a damn puppy.”

“Stop and think” has always been tricky for me. As a goalie, if I stop to think, I’m fucked. I operate off instinct and fast-twitch muscles. On the ice, I’m praised for acting before I think. Off the ice, well … I do shit like anxiety-puke in the locker room sink and get married in Vegas.

Brian sinks onto the pull-out couch and presses a palm to his chest, closing his eyes. “Okay. We’re going to fix this.” He springs back to his feet and stares at Emerson. “Tell me your name and if there is anything I should know about your family.”

Emerson frowns and shares her name, then sighs and adds, “My father is the director of the New York City Symphony. He’sgoing to really, really hate this.” I know I don’t know her well but I sense a little bit of smug excitement at the idea of pissing off her father. I can’t relate because my parents are amazing, but I do love a good act of spite. I’m happy enough to help her with that if I remember correctly all the things she told me about him.

Brian nods and starts pacing. “I’m going to need my cleanup crew for this. When does the team fly back to Pittsburgh?” He looks at his watch. “Well, you missed that flight, G Stag.”

My heart sinks at that news. Just what I need…to be perceived as a flake right when I need to be proving myself after a huge debut loss. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Brian rolls his eyes.

My hungover brain shrinks from Brian’s volume as he moans and groans, looking shit up on his phone and hollering when he sees photos of me on social media, staggering through the casino with my arm around Emerson’s cello, which is strapped to her back. We look pretty cute together, I think. But I don’t say that out loud because I value my life and trusted it to this agent.

Emerson finishes her water, rubs her temples, and raises her hand. Brian blinks at her and then gestures for her to speak. “Um, I was just curious why this is such a bad thing? We can probably get it annulled pretty easily, right?”

Brian sits down again, this time in the chair next to my wife. “Ms. Saltzer. Emerson. You were seen.” He shows her an article fromBuzz Chat, featuring a picture of us exiting the chapel with Emerson tossing a small bouquet at whoever took the photo. The headline proclaims,DID HOCKEY HEIR MARRY MUSIC ROYALTY?In another photo, I’m kissing her neck. I wish I could remember doing that and what she tasted like. I adjust myself in my seat, focusing on the sensation in my junk. I don’t think I had sex last night. I’d feel it if I had. So at least I didn’t dothatwhile we were shitfaced.

Brian explains that he literally just signed the paperwork for me to be an ambassador for the children’s hospital, about our strategic goal of presenting me to be photographed with kids and puppies to enhance my swoon factor and let the public pressure the Fury to start me on the reg.

Brian chugs another mouthful of Tums. “You grew up at a country club, right?” She nods, looking miserable about it. “Then you know why we can’t just ignore this sort of thing.” He gestures at her with the bottle. “And now you’re the woman who took this stud off the market, so brace yourself for that backlash.”

---