Page 9 of Sure Shot
By the time my birthday rolled around, all the hockey rookies were turning up for training camp. Since I was based in New York, I’d met a few of the young guys who were playing for New York and New Jersey.
Tank had been one of them.
And the night of my birthday, my boss had plans to entertain a few rookies at Sparks Steak House. “Spend your big night with us!” Henry Kassman had said, inviting me out to the dinner.
“You don’t need to buy me a steak for my birthday,” I’d insisted.
“Listen, Rookie, it’s not like that,” he’d said. “After twenty years at this job, I don’t really need another steak dinner at Sparks. I’d rather go home and read a Patterson thriller until the book hits me in the face when I nod off. But this is the business. I gotta welcome some young punks to the city and show ’em a good time. If you come out tonight, you’ll be doing me a favor.”
“Oh,” I’d said slowly, trying to decide whether or not to believe him.
“Do you like creamed spinach?”
“I really don’t know.” Twenty-one-year-old Bess hadn’t had much experience with fine dining.
“It’s so good. I promise. And the steak is to die for. Come out. Enjoy a glass of expensive birthday wine on me. Chat up some rookies. It’ll be great.”
So I’d gone, wearing a sleeveless silk top that I’d bought on sale at Bloomingdales on the way there. I’d tried the spinach, and it had been delicious. I’d eaten a filet mignon so tender that it seemed to melt on my tongue like butter. And I drank fine red wine for the first time in my life.
Every time I’d looked across the table, my gaze had locked with a hot twenty-three-year-old rookie from Washington state named Mark Tankiewicz. He’d been handsome and brash, with piercing green-gray eyes. He hadn’t been worried about which fork to use or how to pronounce Cabernet Sauvignon.
“My motto is simple,” he’d told the table, his wine glass practically disappearing into his big hand. “In any situation I just ask myself,what can I get away with?And then I do that.”
Everyone had laughed, but the idea had stuck with me. To this very day, I remind myself of his words when I feel intimidated.What can I get away with?It had been a powerful dose of wisdom for a young, clueless woman trying to make it in the testosterone-soaked world of professional sports.
Tank had been so comfortable in his own skin. As I’d gazed at him across the table, I’d relaxed for the first time since starting my job six weeks earlier. And when the meal ended, I’d been a little drunk and completely in love with my exciting New York City life.
I was also half in love with Tank, with his wavy brown hair and broody eyes.
Afterward, Henry Kassman had cars waiting outside to take everyone home, but one car had been running late. “You take this one, Mr. Kassman,” Tank had offered. “Age before beauty. I don’t need a car. Heck, I’ll share with Bess. She can drop me at the hotel on her way home.”
I’d felt jitters in my tummy at the sound of my name on his lips.
“Sounds like a plan, son, if Bess doesn’t object,” Henry had said. “Good night, everyone. Go home, get some rest, boys. You’re going to need it for the rest of training camp.”
I’d gotten into that car with Tank and given the driver the address of the tiny studio apartment I’d rented in a walkup building in the West fifties. “And there will be a first stop, at…” I’d turned to Tank for instructions.
He’d lifted my hand and kissed my palm, sending tingles through my body. “Let’s make it one stop, instead. Your birthday isn’t quite over yet, right? And I’m really good at celebrating.”
After I’d gotten over my shock, I’d stammered out my approval of this plan. Then Tank had placed a hand on my knee, given it a dirty squeeze, and told the driver to take us to the Marriott Marquis.
The man hadn’t been lying. He’d beenexceptionallygood at celebrating. Then, and for many nights afterward.
Fast forward nine years, and I’d shaken the man’s hand, pretending I didn’t remember any of it.
I sneak another look at Tank, wondering how to privately apologize. His gaze jumps right to mine. And then it darkens, sweeping down my body with a bold, possessive slowness.
Holy heck. My neck heats as I turn away. Even after all these years, it’s shockingly easy to remember running my hands over his chest, cataloging all the dips and valleys of his muscled torso. It’s not an exaggeration to say that everything I know about sex, I learned from him. He hadn’t been my first lover, but he’d been my first good one. Myonlygood one, if we’re being honest.
Not that I should be allowing myself to have these thoughts. I know for a fact that he’s married. The day I’d found the wedding pictures on social media was the last day I’d allowed myself to look him up.
I scan the yard, looking for his wife. I’ve obviously never met her. But maybe I should. It might snap me out of my reverie.
There aren’t any unfamiliar women outside, though. She must be in the house. Meanwhile, I’d better get my apology speech ready. It’s only a matter of time until I bump into Tank at the team facility.I’m sorry your hotness temporarily scrambled my brain.
No, it’s bad form to blame the victim.I’m sorry that old memories briefly interrupted the brain function of this sex-starved woman in the throes of a midlife crisis.
That’s too pathetic to say out loud. Even if it’s true.
