Page 118 of Brooklynaire
“Sure,” Nate says immediately. He takes my hand, and we set off down the street. The limo follows us, of course. Nate’s security guys are always watching. Someday I’ll get used to it,right?
“About this party.” I don’t know how to phrase my request in a way that doesn’t allow all my neuroses to pop out atonce.
“I won’t stick my tongue down your throat, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Nate squeezes my hand. “I know you’d rather ease everyone into theidea.”
“Right! Exactly. I don’t want it to be scandalous. Except later. Privately. When you see my newunderwear.”
Nate stops abruptly on the sidewalk. “Newunderwear?”
“You bet. And we won tonight, so I’m going to launder it carefully and wear it again for games six and seven. It’s my lucky underwear.Obviously.”
“Obviously.” Nate’s smile is amused. He puts his hands up to my face and shakes his head. “I’m going to make it yourgetting luckyunderwear as soon as I can. Maybe we can sneak past theparty.”
We can’t, and he knows it. But right there under the street lamp he kisses me very thoroughly anyway. I grip his shoulders and sigh as he tastes me. It’s the kind of kiss that lets me know that tonight is a big deal forhim.
And for me, too. It’s the night I get over myself and enjoy Nate, instead of worrying what it allmeans.
He sighs as he draws back. “That will have to hold me for an hour, Iguess.”
We walk the rest of the way to the Ritz, and Nate drops my hand to follow me through the revolving door. He doesn’t pick it up again, probably out of respect for easing people into this new thing betweenus.
“Hey!” Castro and Trevi call from a roped-off area at one end of the lobby bar. “Look who’shere.”
I don’t know if they mean me or Nate. He skipped tonight’s press conference again. I would too, if I werehim.
“Good work tonight, boys!” he says, and they hoot in reply. We move further into the bar area, and the players fall quiet as the team owner approaches. He and Coach Worthington are the only two men who can bring a total hush to the locker room just by showing theirfaces.
“This man needs a beer,” O’Doul says, waving down thebartender.
“Two,” Nate says, and I try not to turn red as Nate hands me one before taking one for himself. “I’ll buy a round, guys,” he says to more applause. “And there’s something I want tosay.”
“Speech!” Leo Trevihollers.
Nate smiles and takes a sip of his beer. “First of all, I want to thank you for participating in my top-secret, multi-year conspiracy to exact revenge on a Dallas hockey player. Those of you who were in on it will get your bonus checks just as soon as you win the Cup onSaturday.”
A good-natured howl of laughter erupts in thebar.
Nate swigs his beer and waits for it to die down. “In all seriousness, it’s never fun to have your personal life hashed out in the press. But people have talked a lot of smack about our team from the beginning. We’re too young. We’re too uppity. Repositioning the franchise will be a disaster. You’ve done an impressive job of ignoring that noise, and focusing on what reallycounts.”
The players and their families applaud, and I feel a little flutter in my chest. Focusing on what really counts is at the top of my to-do list,too.
“That article in the post was totally wrong, anyway,” Nate adds. His grin turns devilish, and I wonder whether he’s about to add,it wasn’t our bed, it was the kitchen table. But no. “I bought a hockey team because I wanted to watch you guys kill it out there tonight. And—contrary to the news reports—I would like to personally thank Bart and Juliet Palacio for their intervention in my personal life. Because if they hadn’t found each other, then I wouldn’t have this fine woman right here in mylife.”
My brain is still processing that sentence when Nate steps to the side, puts an arm around my waist, and kisses mycheek.
The barerupts. Georgia and Lauren let out matching shrieks, and I distinctly hear Castro’s “what the fuck?” and O’Doul’s suddenlaughter.
Weirdly, I could swear that at least a few voices say, “Oh,finally.”
My whole body flashes hot at the unexpected attention. I experience a brief moment of terror and discomfort, but then it sinks in that nearly everyone I know is beaming at me. Someone has called for champagne, and since we’re at the Ritz, where everything goes smoothly, I hear the sound of corks popping only secondslater.
To the sound of cheers, I slip an arm around Nate’s waist. And then I pinch him. “What happened to easing them into it?” Imutter.
“I’m buying drinks. Duh. That easeseverything.”
Leo Trevi stands up on a barstool with a pint glass in his hand and a spoon. Which he starts banging on the glass. “Kiss!”
“Oh, Christ,” I mutter. Then I put a hand on Nate’s chest and stand on tiptoes. I kiss Nate’s smile only once, but I make it a good one. Then I point my finger like a gun at Leo Trevi and cock the safety. “That’s it. That’s the whole show. Ask again and your luggage goes missing on the flighthome.”
