Page 9 of Love Lessons
Charli’s hands pause on the steak knives. “But maybe he doesn’t deserve you?”
“He doesn’t.” I place a swan in the middle of a plate. “He treated me like used goods at the end. But maybe he’s learned some things, you know? Maybe he’s matured.”
“Maybe,” Charli says carefully.
“Hey girls!” We look up to see Heidi Jo Castro bounce into the room. “The steaks have been flipped, and Neil said to tell you both that it’s almost time for dinner.”
“Yay!” I say, enthusiastic for Neil’s cooking. “I’ll open the prosecco.”
“The glasses are in here,” Charli says, crossing to a cabinet full of stemware. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
Ten minuteslater we’re sitting around the table. Because everyone else is coupled up, I end up beside Ian. He’s seated to my left, exactly how things are situated on our little block on Hudson Avenue, too.
But I’m ignoring him, of course. I’m busy passing out glasses of prosecco.
“Give us a toast,” Charli demands.
“To Italy!” I say raising my glass. “The birthplace of DaVinci, prosecco, Prada, and Armani.”
Ian lets out a snort. But he raises his glass—with a tattooed arm—along with everyone else. I touch my glass to his without looking at him.
I’m just cutting my first bite of steak when Jason Castro asks, “So how much trouble are you in, Crikey? Heidi says the GM is pissed off at you.”
My neighbor grimaces. “The charges were dropped this morning. The cop overreached. I’m not in any legal trouble, but Hugh is real mad.”
“Charges?” I gasp.
“Got arrested last night.” He grunts. “The cop who showed up to the party got a little overzealous.”
My insides seize up, and I forget to breathe. Oh myGod. He gotarrested?
“So what happens now?” Heidi Jo asks. “That mugshot was unfortunate.”
A chuckle ripples around the table.
“Go ahead and laugh,” Ian says, ignoring his prosecco glass to grab his beer. I watch his thick fingers close around the bottle. He takes a sip, and his throat works as he swallows. “But nobody take my picture in Italy, okay? I’m supposed to avoid attention. They’re having me do a bunch of volunteer work when I get back.” He shakes his rugged head. “The meeting was torture, but the email they sent me afterwards was worse.”
“How so?” Sylvie asks.
He grimaces. “How many times can the worddisappointedcrop up in one email? Hugh and Tommy say that I don’t do enough charity work and that I haven’t been representing the team in a way that makes it easier to shrug off this mugshot headline. So they want me to spend the summer working on my image. They want weekly calls with me.Lotsof charity work next year, which is fine. But they want me to work with a stylist and maybe an image consultant. They said to buy some new suits and, like, basically make over my entire life.”
There’s a collective groan from all the hockey players around the table—men and women. “That’s bullshit,” Anton says. “There’s nothing wrong with you. And everyone knows summer is for rest and recuperation, and for thinking about things thataren’trelated to the hockey season.”
“He’s just pissed about the end of the season,” Neil suggests. “It’s basically his job to get us to the final round, so he’s processing the loss badly.”
“His job? I think that was my job,” Ian says darkly. “He’s still pissed about the penalty I drew, right?”
Heidi Jo reaches over and pats his hand. “It could have happened to anyone. And Hugh will eventually realize that making it to theconference finalis not exactly a stain on his legacy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “Didn’t know I had a visit to the NYPD holding tank on my bingo card, but it is what it is. And you know I’m going to spend the summer kissing management’s ass. I’ll do the charity work. I’ll get a haircut.”
“Don’t forget the stylist!” Charli chirps. “You’re sitting next to one, so…”
My face heats immediately. “Happy to help,” I say, hoping I sound like I mean it. The truth is that I could use another famous athlete on my client roster. I could useallthe famous clients. Even the ones who intimidate me.
“No need for a stylist,” he says quickly. “What I need is more of Drake’s cheesy cauliflower. Stuff is addictive.”
