Page 91 of Playing the Field
“Yes. I was going to have us walk up the street to this marketplace area that has some food stalls and a roof deck where we could hang out.”
He nods. “We’ll do that next time. Promise.”
He pulls the car into an alley that leads to a parking lot. “Don’t move,” he instructs, coming around to open my door. At least, that’s what I think he’s doing. But then I hear the trunk open. And close.
When he comes around to my side of the car, he’s wearing a sport coat over his tee and faded jeans, and he presents me with a giant bouquet of daisies. I don’t know why pinpricks of tears hit my eyes, but I pretend it’s the sun and accept the bouquet.
“Thank you. I love them.”
He takes my hand, and we walk under a dated-looking sign that looks like it belongs on an old drive-in. Inside the squat brick space is a classic steakhouse with red booths, a long, ebony wood bar, and a fireplace burning in a corner. It’s cool and dark inside, and as soon as the door closes behind us, I feel transported to a bygone era.
A host leads us to a table in the back, near the fireplace, and takes my flowers to put in a vase for later.
“This place is awesome,” I say. “The fabulous tour of Hunter’s haunts continues.”
“I have so many more places I want to go with you.”
“Good. Because I have a relatively open calendar. That’s the good thing about being an introvert.”
He laughs. “You keep calling yourself that, but you don’t seem that way to me.”
“You bring out another side of me. I like it.”
We order martinis with olives because it’s that kind of place. When they arrive at our table, Hunter lifts his for a toast. I’m expecting something short and sweet. “To us,” or another variation on the theme.
Instead, his expression goes serious, and he asks me a question.
“Do you know why I was at the airport that day?”
“Which day?”
“The day we ran into each other at the bar, before your flight.”
It’s funny that I never asked him about it. At first, I was embarrassed for not recognizing him, and later, it seemed like a blip in time. But come to think of it, I have no idea why he was there.
“I assume you had to fly someplace.”
He chuckles. “That would be a reasonable assumption at an airport. Yeah. I was going to visit my mom. For an indeterminate length of time.”
I feel a tiny pang of panic, and I don’t know why. Is he telling me there’s something he needs to do back home? Is his mom okay?
“Why indeterminate?”
“Because I thought I was getting dropped from the team. Traded to some god-awful place I probably didn’t want to go. I’d been warned enough times. Even though the fans like seeing me dump guys on their asses, I knew my days were all but numberedwith the Devils, and I wanted to beat them to the punch. I was going to leave town and not look back.”
The idea hits me hard. He and I never would have crossed paths in the kitchen, never would have felt the chemistry that now seems irresistible, never would have found ourselves here.
“Why didn’t you go?” My voice is quiet, but so is the room. It suddenly feels like we’re the only ones here, and the moment hangs heavy like a wet bag of sand.
“You.”
I blink hard. It’s not what I was expecting at all.
“But you didn’t know me. You said you didn’t recognize me.”
“I know. I had no way of finding you and really not a snowball’s chance in hell of tracking you down, except…” He looks guilty, pressing his lips together like he might get in trouble.
“What?”
