Page 111 of Faking All the Way
I don’t really know how to respond to that, and I don’t want to get into some lengthy explanation of how it’s not actually my place, so I don’t say anything. She turns around pertly, heading back over to the sleek black BMW parked out front, then gives us a little wave before sliding into the driver’s seat.
We watch her drive away, neither of us speaking until her taillights disappear down the long driveway. Then Asher scoffs under his breath, shaking his head.
“Jesus. Of course she’d come out of the woodwork now.”
I close the door and turn to face him. “Did you know she was in town?”
“No.” He runs a hand through his hair, scowling. “I had no idea. I shouldn’t have mentioned I was in Maplewood in those interviews. She wouldn’t have known where I was otherwise.”His expression darkens, something bitter crossing his features. “Of course she’d try to ‘reconnect’ now. Now that I have another NHL contract and I’m worth something again. That’s all she ever cared about. My status, my earning potential. Not me.”
The tightness in his voice, the hurt and anger underneath the bitterness, makes my chest ache. I want to reach for him, to offer some comfort, but I’m also thrown off by the sudden appearance of his ex.
And although I try not to let it get to me, I can’t help comparing myself to her—thin and polished and so conventionally beautiful.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head as if to clear it, then nods as if brushing off the strange encounter with his ex. “Yeah, I’m good. And you were right, we should definitely do something fun together after I’m done at my dad’s. Where did you want to meet up for that ice carving thing?”
We make arrangements to meet downtown around three, then he goes upstairs to shower and dress. When he comes back down, his hair is damp and he’s wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt that hugs his broad chest and strong arms.
He kisses me before heading out, his hand cupping the back of my neck. “See you this afternoon.”
Then he’s gone, and the cabin feels too quiet.
I shower too, taking my time under the hot water, trying to wash away the unsettled feeling that Alexis’s visit left behind. Afterward, I get dressed and sit down at my art station, intending to work on the illustration I’ve been doing for Asher. The secret one, the drawing of him skating.
But I’m agitated, unable to get into a flow. My lines are shaky, my focus scattered, and after an hour of making no progress, I give up. Feeling like I can’t be cooped up in the cabin right now, I decide to drive into town early. Maybe I’ll go back to thatbookstore I like, even though I already finished my Christmas shopping. I just need to get out of here, clear my head, do something normal.
I crank up the music on the drive, then park near the town square and walk to All About Books, the cold air helping to clear my mind. The bookstore is one of my favorite places in Maplewood. Small and cozy, with creaking wooden floors and floor to ceiling shelves packed with books. The owner, Mrs. Libby, knows me by name and always has recommendations ready.
I’m browsing the fiction section, running my fingers along the spines, when a voice says brightly, “Oh, hi, Kat!”
I turn to find Alexis standing at the end of the aisle.
“Oh. Hi.” I smile politely, although my stomach drops a little. I really just wanted to browse books and relax, not make awkward small talk with Asher’s ex.
“I’ve been exploring the town,” she says, her heels tapping on the wooden floor as she steps closer “Isn’t this place charming? I love these little independent bookstores. So much character.”
I nod politely, not really wanting to get into a conversation with her. But there’s no easy escape without being obviously rude, and the aisle is narrow.
“So what do you do for work?” she asks, glancing at the books I’ve been looking at.
“Um, illustration. Children’s books, mostly.”
“Oh, how fun!” She makes a face as if she’s impressed, although there’s an undercurrent of something I don’t like in her tone. Then she tips her head to one side. “Remind me, how long have you and Asher been together?”
I don’t think either of us ever told her, but I answer anyway. “Seven months.”
“Huh.” She pulls out a book, glancing at the cover before putting it back. “I have to say, I’m a bit surprised he’s withsomeone seriously right now. Given everything happening with his career.”
I look at her more carefully, trying to read her expression. “What do you mean?”
She waves her hand dismissively, as if her comment was nothing important. “Oh, I just mean the timing is interesting. This is such a transitional period for him professionally.”
Instead of dropping it though, she leans in, as if she’s about to share some kind of insider knowledge.
“I’ve just seen it before in the hockey world. I dated Asher for three years, you know. And I’ve been around professional sports for most of my adult life. Players in transition, especially ones dealing with career uncertainty like Asher has been, often look for something temporary. Something comfortable and uncomplicated while they figure out their next move.”
My stomach twists, each word landing like a small blow.
