Page 24 of Fake Shot

“I don’t think so. It’s not a big deal. I’m going to go meet with him tonight because it’s important to her that we at least hear what he has to offer. Besides, the food at La Gallina is amazing, so at least I’ll enjoy my dinner, even if it’s a terrible conversation.”

It’s like a rock is sitting on my stomach, pressing it down and making me sick. She’s doing this because it’s what she thinks Audrey needs her to do. I wonder if there’s anything she wouldn’t do for her siblings.

“I don’t think Audrey would want you to go to this meeting if she knew how much you were dreading it.”

“I’m not dreading it,” she says as she pulls into the alley and slips into the parking spot near the back door beforeturning toward me. Her lips spread across her bright white teeth in a tight smile. “It’ll be fine. So anyway, what are your plans tonight?”

“I’m meeting a friend for drinks,” I tell her, the idea forming in my mind as the words come out of my mouth.

“Oh? Where are you going?” The question is asked like an afterthought as she reaches for the door handle.

“La Gallina.”

She freezes, then looks over at me. “Colt.” My name is spoken like a warning to not get involved. “I don’t need you there to protect me, or whatever ridiculous notion you have in your head right now.”

Like hell she doesn’t. My mom raised me better than to let a woman walk into a situation where she’s clearly not comfortable, without some sort of backup.This is just about protecting her,I assure myself.

“It’s just drinks, Jules. Don’t read too much into it.”

Chapter Nine

JULES

I’m halfway through my appetizer when Colt walks into La Gallina with Zach Reid, one of the team’s new defensemen. Zach does not look pleased to be at this upscale tapas restaurant, and it makes me wonder where he’d rather be instead. Probably home with his new girlfriend.

My eyes follow them as they walk over to the bar, which isn’t as packed now with the dinner crowd as it’ll be later tonight when the bar fully fills in. Colt pulls out his seat and angles it so his side is to the bar and he’s facing Zach, with me right in his line of sight.

The way he sits there looking all broody with his eyes narrowed in on our table has me feeling quite flustered. It has nothing to do with the way his black shirt clings to his muscular chest beneath the open lapels of his tan tailored suit, or the way he’s styled his dark blonde hair, and how his beard is neatly trimmed close to his face. No, it’s the way hiseyebrows form a straight line above each of those dark eyes as he scowls in my direction.

I don’t know why he’s bothered to come here and act all pissed off about it. It’s not like I want him to witness what’s sure to be an awkward dinner. In fact, as we headed into my house earlier, I specifically asked himnotto come. There are at least thirty other restaurants on Newbury Street where he could have met Zach for a drink.

My eyes must have lingered on Colt for too long, because Jerome Waters casually glances over his shoulder.

“Oh, look,” he says as he turns back toward me. “The most overpaid player in professional hockey is here.”

I can’t hold back my laugh, both because it’s something I’d say myself, and because the disdain comes out sounding more like jealousy.

“Not a Rebels fan?” I ask.

“Lifelong Rebels fan, actually.” Taking his napkin off his lap, he dabs the corner of his mouth. And that’s when I realize he hasn’t done his homework, because if he had, he’d know I was related to Jameson Flynn, and every Rebels fan knows he’s a retired player and Colt’s best friend. “I just happen to think we could take the nine million dollars a year that’s currently going to pay that man’s salary and signing bonuses and spend it on newer players, instead of wasting it financing the end of his career.”

I don’t know where the overwhelming desire to defend Colt comes from, but it rears up in me, coursing through my blood like lava. I’m about to open my mouth and start spewing statistics about Colt’s save percentage (best in the league) and number of shutouts this season (second highest in the league).

He might be nearing the end of his career, I want to tell Jerome,but he’s performing better than almost any other goalie. I catch myself just in time.

“Well, now,” I say, my voice thick as I force myself to sound friendly and professional, even though I’m not feeling it. “Since we’re not here to talk hockey, tell me more about what interests you in our nonprofit.”

“I think you have this backward.” He gives me a sly smile, almost a smirk, as he rests his elbows on the table in front of him, steepling his fingertips as he peers over them at me, his dark eyes narrowed. “I thinkyou’resupposed to be tellingmewhy I should be interested in donating to your cause.”

There’s a teasing quality to his voice, but it feels disingenuous. I can’t shake the feeling that no matter what I say, he’ll want a harder sell. That he won’t be happy until I’mbegginghim to donate, which is the last thing in the world I’m likely to do. I’d eat my own vomit before I’d pander to a man like that.

“I told you when we met,” I say, “we have an amazing program for mentoring females who are entering the trades, but the need far outpaces what we can provide, and we require additional funds to grow the program.”

“I guess I still don’t understand why women need this special mentoring that men don’t get.”

“Workplace studies on underrepresented populations—which, in construction, women are—all show the same thing. Access to more experienced people who have had similar work experiences, and can answer questions and guide them, improves the way people feel about their jobs and increases the likelihood of them staying in the profession.”

I wish I could tell him the types of questions we’vegotten, like, “How do I hide a used tampon in a portable toilet so every guy on the job site doesn’t know I’m on my period?” or “What do I say to a co-worker who says my ass looks cute in my jeans?” or “How do I handle it when the guys joke about me being a diversity hire because I’m the only woman?”

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