Must Love Dogs...and Hockey

by Kelly Jamieson

  I give my head a shake. “Uh, you weren’t kidding. That’s a lot.”

  “Right?” Her smile is crooked.

  I study her face. The shadows in her eyes tell me how much she hates the situation she’s in, but I also see a determined set to her jaw and pride in the way she holds her head up. “You need to do what’s right for you,” I say slowly. “I’m sure your friend and your family understand.”

  “I hope so. I just want…to be successful at something. So I’m doing it.”

  “Good.” A small ache develops behind my breastbone at her words. Her desire to be successful and prove herself. Don’t we all want that? But for her it’s even more poignant, given what she’s been through.

  “It’ll all work out,” she says with a lift of her chin. “The lawsuit. My new business. It’s going to be fine.”

  Our lunches arrive and we spend a few minutes in silence as the server refills water glasses and we pick up our cutlery to dig in.

  I think about the conversation we just had. Not just her sharing what she did, but me as well. I feel like something shifted. Like we’re both seeing each other a little differently. Not that I looked down on her, but it seemed to me like she was someone who breezes through life without a care. Show me someone who’s always cheerful and smiling, always expecting things to work out, and I’ll show you someone who doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.

  But now I can see she does have a clue. She’s smart and fierce and she’s been through some heavy shit. And at first, she was clearly unimpressed with me, but now I think she’s looking at me with a little more respect. Maybe.

  “Thanks for telling me,” I say. “It must have been hard going through that.”

  She nods. “Not to be all depressing, but yeah. I struggled. My boyfriend broke up with me because of it, which didn’t help.”

  My mouth falls open. “What the fuck?”

  She grins. “Right? Way to kick someone when she’s down. But honestly, I don’t blame him. I was staying in bed all day, drinking too much, watching every episode of I Am a Killer on Netflix.”

  My eyebrows fly up. “I Am a Killer?”

  “It’s really good! Those people are so messed up.”

  “I can see why your boyfriend was worried.”

  She laughs, and it’s a genuine, mirthful laugh. “I know. He probably thought I was going to murder him. I just got fascinated with it. It kind of made me realize my life isn’t so bad. Anyway, if he couldn’t stick with me through bad times, he wasn’t worth it.”

  “Absolutely. Prick.”

  She nods and reaches for some fries. “Want some salmon?”

  “Yep.” We exchange food.

  I’m impressed that she stood up for her beliefs with her employer. It sucks that she got fired for it. I’m not exactly someone who believes in suing over every little thing, and it sounds like her life was pretty fucked up because of what happened, but I admire her courage. I also reluctantly admire her belief that it’s all going to work out. It’s foreign to me. Scary. Which makes her…brave?

  The rest of our lunch conversation is lighter, more impersonal—things we like to do in New York. We both love theater and restaurants and music. We both love the energy and the diversity of the city and the different neighborhoods. I’m not much into museums or galleries, but I’m open to checking them out. And we both have a weird fondness for the subway, dirty and crowded as it can be.

  “You see the strangest things,” Lilly says, holding another French fry. “The most interesting people. And it’s so strange, thinking that you’re riding through all these tunnels and the whole city is above you. I love the old-fashioned, European feel of Grand Central Terminal.”

  “Yeah! That’s what I thought too—it reminded me of Europe. I played in hockey tournaments there, in Germany and Italy.”

  “Cool.”

  Our server offers dessert and when we decline brings the check. We keep talking about travel—places we’ve been, places we want to go. Then Lilly reaches for her phone and checks the time. “Oops! I better go. I have to pick up Apollo soon.”

  I reach for the check at the same time she does, but I wave her off. I wouldn’t let her pay anyway, but knowing more about her financial situation I’m definitely buying lunch. Happily, she doesn’t argue, instead smiling and saying. “Thank you. Lunch was great.”

  It was.

  Out on the sidewalk, she pulls her mitts on. One end of her scarf is loose, so I take it and loop it around her neck. “Which way are you going?”

  She points down Broadway, the opposite direction of my place.

  “Okay. You’ll take Otis out on Saturday?” That’s our next game, here at home.

  “Yes.” She nods firmly.

  “Great.” I don’t move. I don’t know when I’ll see her again.

  “Thanks again for lunch.” She doesn’t move either. For a moment we watch each other, and I feel like I’m resisting a physical pull as I take a step backward. She takes a step back too.

  “Bye.”

  “Bye, Easton.”

  We each take another step. Finally I give my head a mental shake, grin, and lift my hand in a wave. Jesus, man, get a grip.

  I stride along the sidewalk. Fuck, what is wrong with me? Not only am I getting attached to a dog, I’m getting all sappy over a woman. I know better than that.

  What I need is some good fucking.

  Problem is, I keep thinking about fucking Lilly.

  Chapter 10

  Lilly

  It’s girls’ night out at the Hungry Dog Lounge in the East Village. We’re going to play Skee-Ball and drink cocktails and eat pizza.

  Carlin and I take the subway and meet up with Maya and Adriana at the bar. It’s Thursday night and the place is jumping. We make our way through the noisy crowd and find a high-top table with only three stools.

  I glance around and spy a table with a couple of guys and an empty stool. I slide over there. “Hey,” I say with a smile. “Are you guys using this stool?”

  They smile back at me.

  “You can have it, but you have to sit here with us,” one guy says.

  I laugh. They’re teasing me. “I can’t ditch my friends, though.” I gesture at the others nearby with a mock sad face.

  “Not even for us?” He gives me a flirty smile.

  He’s cute.

  But I’m not interested.

  Dammit, why not?

  “You can take it,” the other guy says kindly.

  “Thanks.” I lift the stool and carry it over to our table.

  “What was that about?” Maya asks.

  “I almost had to sit with them.” I slide onto the stool.

  “You should have.” Carlin eyes them. “They’re both hot.”

  “I know.” I sigh. “But it’s girls’ night. Right?”

  “Chicks before dicks,” Maya says.

  “I’m not interested in dick anyway.” I wave a hand.

  “Except that of a certain hockey player,” Carlin says.

  All eyes turn to me.

  “What?” I stare back at them.

  “You seem to be developing a little crush on Easton Millar,” Carlin says.

  “I am not!”

  “You talk about him all the time.”

  “I talk about his dog. He’s a client.”

  “Suuuure.”

  “We need to meet this guy,” Maya says. She pulls out her phone. With a few swipes, she has Easton’s team headshot on her screen. She nods approvingly. “Okay, I get it.” She shows the phone to Adriana, then Carlin.

  “You two had lunch together yesterday,” Carlin points out.

  Again, Maya and Adriana give me wide eyes.

  “It was just lunch.” I raise my hands.

  A waitress arrives
at our table. I order a draft beer and the others order cocktails. Drinks come with a free pizza, making this a great place for someone broke like me to hang out.

  “And I have another New York Bears client,” I tell them. “I’ll be walking Loki for Colton Gunnerson. He’s their goalie.”

  “That’s great!” Maya nods. “Is he single?”

  “He lives with his girlfriend. She’s a Victoria’s Secret model.”

  “Ah.”

  “And I got two more emails today from potential clients.” It seems like my addition of “Easton Millar, forward for the New York Bears, says Lilly at Walk ’n Wag genuinely loves her clients and provides convenient and responsive care” has helped get me some attention. I have to make sure and thank him for that.

  “Congratulations!” Adriana gives me her sweet smile. “You’re killing this.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that. But I’m glad I’m getting more jobs.”

  Our drinks arrive. Adriana picks hers up. “To Walk ’n Wag.”

  We all toast. I’m feeling pretty good today. Things are looking up. Also, I keep remembering how Easton looked at me yesterday, during our lunch when his eyes were warm and his smile flirty, and after when our eyes locked and neither of us wanted to move away. I got all heated and tingly and practically floated all the way to Apollo’s home.

  It’s been a while since I felt like that. I felt…desired. Appreciated. Like I was the focus of all Easton’s attention. And that attention was…exciting.

  “I couldn’t date Easton,” I say. “He’s a client.”

  The girls all grin. “So you have thought about it,” Maya says.

  “Okay, maybe I have. I keep telling him we can’t date.”

  “He’s asked you?” Maya nearly shouts.

  “Well, yeah—for lunch yesterday.”

  “But it wasn’t a date.”

  “No. Or the time you went for brunch,” Carlin points out.

  I roll my eyes. “That definitely wasn’t a date.”

  Maya grins. “You’re in denial, girl.”

  “Why can’t you date him?” Adriana asks.

  “Because he’s a client.”

  “Phhhht.”

  “Think how awkward it would be if things didn’t work out. I’d probably lose him as a client, which means, I’d probably lose Otis. And then I wouldn’t have a famous hockey player endorsement, and what little business I’ve built would go down the sewer.”

  They all nod.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Carlin says.

  “Also, I’m not interested in dating. Guys who find out my situation assume I’m a big loser who makes trouble with my employers, sues them when I don’t get what I want, and then lazes around waiting for the big payoff.”

  Carlin winces. “Those guys you went out with were dirtbags.”

  “Yeah,” Maya agrees with an emphatic nod. “You don’t know that Easton would think that.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  I realize what I just spilled.

  “You told him?” Adriana gasps.

  I rub the condensation on the glass of my beer. “Er, yeah. Not all the details.”

  They all fall silent. “I don’t know, Lilly. Maybe you should see where things go with him.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want a relationship.” I pause. “I wouldn’t mind a bonefest.”

  “That’s what I said!” Carlin slaps a hand on the table. “You are interested in his dick!”

  “Go for it,” Maya says, lifting her margarita. “Just make sure you’re clear with him what it is.”

  I shake my head. “Still a bad idea.”

  Except I can’t stop thinking about it, while we change the subject to the toxic co-worker Maya’s dealing with at work; while we play Skee-Ball; while the two guys at the nearby table flirt with us again; and while Carlin and I ride the subway home. What if I give in to the temptation? Maybe…is it worth the risk?

  Easton

  “It was a fucking stupid play! You had eight seconds left! To try and force that through when you haven’t been scoring all game? Give me a fucking break!” Coach’s face is as red as my jersey.

  Tonight, it’s my turn for his wrath. I deserve it. I screwed up. But I know I did, and I don’t need him going on and on about it. Jesus.

  “Get that puck to the net, get a rebound, maybe you get it in,” he yells.

  “I know,” I say. “I realize that now.” That was how the whole night went for me, trying to force things and make plays that weren’t there. “You’ve made your point. You don’t need to go on and on.”

  Coach’s face tightens and his eyes bulge in their sockets at my back talk. For a moment, I think he’s going to snap the clipboard in his hands. “We’ll talk more about this Monday.” Then he turns to Jammer. “And you! You jumped into the rush and got caught deep in their end when Millar here is trying to make fancy-ass passes.”

  Jammer winces. Yeah, that was another screwup. When the Florida D-man picked up my attempt at a seam pass to JBo, he slid it to their talented center Sandberg, who was off flying up the ice with his winger. Jammer’s partner on defense, Nate, was on his own chasing them. And they scored. With four seconds on the clock.

  We’d been trading goals the whole game, and with four minutes left in the game, Bergie gave us the lead. That got us all amped up and we weren’t focused enough on defending that lead, especially me.

  Then we lost in overtime.

  There’s a rock in my gut as I strip off my jersey and my shoulder pads. I’m on the list for the media to talk to, so I’ve got to wipe the sweat off my face, grab a baseball cap to hide my soaked hair, and put on a game face in front of the cameras.

  Of course they’re asking questions about the same thing Coach just gave me hell for. But I have to own it. “Yeah, sure, I want to make nice passes, but that was obviously a dumb move,” I tell the reporters. “I should have kept it simple and just chipped the puck in, got the puck to the net, and hopefully create something off that. I didn’t do that.”

  I don’t bother cooling down on the bike like I usually do. I hit the shower and dress in my suit, not wanting to stick around. I don’t see Cookie, so I leave the arena and trudge to the subway station on 28th Street. I have a knit cap pulled down low over my forehead and a scarf around my chin. I don’t feel like dealing with any fans right now. Right now, I feel like kicking the tiled wall behind me.

  I pull out my phone when I’m on the train and check my messages. There’s the usual text from Lilly with a picture of Otis, which she sends before she leaves. It was sent two hours ago.

  I wish she was still there.

  No, I don’t. I don’t need to inflict this black mood on anyone. Poor Otis will have to deal with me.

  About twenty-five minutes later I’m hooking up Otis’s leash to his collar and heading back out into the night. Saturday night traffic still streams along 9A in ribbons of light and hissing tires, but Riverside is quieter. I walk toward the park, Otis happily romping and sniffing the base of the trees on the boulevard. I take a few deep breaths of chilled air, trying to loosen the tension that’s accumulated in my shoulders and neck. I’ll need a massage tomorrow for sure.

  I’m trying not to beat myself up over one bad night. We all have them. In this business, we have them in front of millions of people. And one livid coach. I’ve made mistakes before and I’ll make them again. We have to learn to deal with it and put it behind us. Coach’s diatribe doesn’t make it easier to let it go, though. It makes it harder. And the last thing I want is to be afraid the next time I step onto the ice, afraid of screwing up and being in his line of fire again. Fear doesn’t make you play better. It’s not a good motivator. It’s a mental game killer.

  I can’t let that happen to me. I can’t be afraid and lose my edge. I can�
�t let this affect my game.

  I round the corner onto 72nd and cross over to the little round park around the Eleanor Roosevelt statue. The trees are bare now in mid-November, the branches black against the pale overcast sky. I keep walking until I’m at the corner of 73rd. Lilly’s street. She’s only a few buildings away.

  Don’t be stupid. It’s nearly midnight.

  I pull my phone out and tap in a text, replying to Lilly’s last one. Thanks for the pic. You still awake?

  It only takes a few seconds for the jumping dots to appear. Then her reply. Yeah. Why?

  I’m not sure what to say. Then my gaze lands on Otis and a cynical smile lifts my lips. Why not? Otis wants to see you again.

  I’m using my dog as chick bait. I’m scum.

  I get a smiling emoji back.

  I’ve turned the corner and with a few more steps I’ll be right in front of her door. We’re out for a walk. Can we stop by?

  This reply takes a little longer. Sure?

  I ring her buzzer, then lean my head against the doorframe. Otis knows where we are and he’s wriggling his butt, his feet tapping on the step in a doggy dance. She lets us in, and we open the door to step into the hall.

  Wearing a curious expression and a small smile, her face peers out in the space between her door and the doorframe, which widens when she sees us. “Hey. What’s up?”

  Otis springs toward her, jumping up and down. She bends to pick him up. “Hello, handsome. How’s my guy?”

  That greeting…those words…Christ.

  “I took Otis for a walk. We were close and…”

  “Come in.” She stands back, still holding a wriggling Otis.

  I walk past her to enter the apartment. The living room is empty, with only a couple of lamps and the TV providing light. A soft blanket is crumpled on the sofa and a glass half full of red wine sits on the coffee table. I turn to Lilly. “Did you watch the game?”