Page 39 of Must Love Hockey
“Right. Or at least it’s my mom’s thing. But, God, work ethic isn’t everything. Charles literally stays an hour after every other new hire in his office, every night. He chose the job over me a long time ago, and I’m just expected to nod along with it. I’m so tired of people who want to help me plan my future.”
“Huh. I’d like to plan a few nights in your future,” he mutters.
I crack up laughing. “Let me guess—there’d be some nakedness involved?”
“Well,afterdinner,” he says, and I laugh again. “But I know you need me to back off. I’ll do that if you need me to. But just so you know, I want to date you. Last night wasn’t just a hookup for me.”
“Me neither,” I say softly. “I like you. But this is a strange time for me.”
“I know. And I hate that we’re headed out on a road trip tonight,” he says wistfully. “Can I call you tomorrow from… wherever?”
I laugh. “Sure. Maybe you’ll figure out where the game is by then.”
“Let’s hope so. Although the team doesn’t care, so long as I bring the visitor sweaters on the road. I’ll probably get teased for leaving the bar with you last night.”
“Oh boy.” My face heats as I wonder how raunchy the locker room can get. “Will it be bad?”
“Nah. They go hard at each other but easy on me. It’s poor sportsmanship to be a dick to the guy who makes less than a tenth as much as you do.”
“It’s nice that they realize that.”
“Right?” He squeezes my hand. “Besides, if someone is an asshole, they risk payback. I might just forget their favorite color of tape or neglect to get the stink out of their pads.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’d do that?”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “I’d be tempted.”
I’m still laughing as I look up to crossthe Avenue toward my apartment building. There’s a man seated on the stoop, watching me, clutching a generous bouquet of roses.
It’s Charles.
TWELVE
WHO IS THAT?
Emily
Charles watches us approach, shock on his face.
James says, “Sweetheart, is that…?”
“Yes,” I say tersely. I loosen my grip on his hand, because I’m not about to rub it in Charles’s face.
James takes the hint and releases my hand, but not without running his index finger up my palm on the dismount. The boy hasmoves. “Should I go?” he asks quietly.
I stop and turn to him. “Probably.” I can almost feel Charles’s stare burning a hole through me.
“All right.” His dark eyes are grave. “But we’ll talk tomorrow morning. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.” He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheekbone. He shoots a look at Charles that I swear has the force of Trevi’s slap shot.
Then he casually turns around and strolls back toward Midwood.
I take a deep, slow breath, peel my eyes off James’s ass, and try to gather my wits.
Charles is already on his feet and pacing toward me. “Who isthat?”
“A friend.”
“Afriend,” he repeats. “Emily!”
