Page 83 of Pipe Dreams
“That could be good, right?” He drained the last drops of his wine, which he’d ordered from the restaurant’s by-the-glass menu, because Lauren wasn’t drinking.
“We’ll see.”
She looked a little shifty-eyed, like she didn’t want to talk about it. So he changed the subject. “How do you feel about our chances against Detroit tomorrow? They had a great season, but they seem to be choking. What do you think of their defense?”
“Until this week, I haven’t been paying attention to Detroit,” she said, and her expression was sheepish.
“Really? Nate must have you traveling all over hell if you don’t have this year’s stats memorized.”
She shrugged. “I haven’t followed hockey. Not since...” She cleared her throat. “Two years ago.”
“Atall?” Somehow this was more shocking to Mike than any of Lauren’s other revelations this month.
She shook her head. “It reminded me too much of my old life, and watching would have been like staying in the past.”
A silence settled over them. For a moment they just took each other in. He hoped she was happy to be here with him tonight. There was still a lot of sadness he needed to push past. He could do it, though. He wasn’t going to give up.
Lauren broke their staring contest first. “Actually, I watch golf now.” She folded her napkin.
“Golf?”
Her brow furrowed, and she gave a serious nod. “I like it for its gamesmanship, and its tension. I mean, theaggression, right? And you never know what’s going to happen with those golf carts. It gets hairy out there.”
“Yeah?”Seriously?
She tossed the napkin on the table. “You are so fucking gullible.”
A bark of laughter escaped his chest. “Jesus, Lo.”
She smiled at him and shook her head. And he kept laughing. He was dabbing his eyes before he finally stopped. “I was trying to picture it.”
“I know.” She stretched her fork across to stab a scrap of prosciutto off his plate.
He watched her mouth as she chewed, and wished he could just tuck her under his arm, carry her back to his lonely bed and hold her all night long. It wasn’t going to happen, though. Not tonight. He wasn’t quite ready to havethattalk with Elsa yet. The Lauren-will-be-around-a-lot-more-often talk.
Better to ease her into it. He signaled for the check.
In an effort to prolong Lauren’s visit, if only for a few minutes, they walked over to the Promenade and looked out at the river. The Staten Island ferry chugged toward lower Manhattan in the distance, and tulips were blooming in thick beds beside the walkway.
He took Lauren’s hand, and they walked among all the other couples, as if the events of this evening were the most ordinary thing in the world.
They weren’t, but maybe they could be.
“I’d better head back,” Lauren said eventually. She tightened her trench coat against the breeze off the river.
“I’ll call you a car.”
She shook her head with a smile. “Just walk me to the subway. It’s the fastest way to Midtown.”
Grudgingly, he did.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said when they were only a block from the subway entrance.
“Any time,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I mean that literally. When the play-offs are over, we can spend more time together.”
“That would be nice,” she said, which wasn’t exactly a promise.
He tugged her in for a kiss that lingered as long as he dared. “I wish you were still traveling with the team.”
