“I wish I had your confidence. I’m always worried I’ll end up doing something the wrong way. Making a mistake.”
“Mistakes.” She waves a careless hand, giving me a scornful look. “Mistakes happen regardless. So long as you’re breathing, my dear, you will make mistakes. Is that any reason to hold yourself in one place, saying and doing nothing?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That is the only alternative to making mistakes though. That is the point I’m driving at. If you’re alive and breathing, mistakes are bound to happen. But is there ever so grievous a mistake that we can’t hope to recover?”
Is there? “I’m starting to wonder.”
“What does that mean? What are you concerned about?”
“No, we don’t have to talk about it now. Or ever.” I step down from the platform I’ve been standing on all this time. “I need to get out of this before I do something to ruin it before the wedding.”
“Don’t believe I’ll forget what you said so easily. I might be an old woman, but I still possess all of my faculties.”
Yes, she does. In fact, they seem to have gotten sharper with age.
It isn’t until we sit down to lunch at The Plaza that she brings it up again. Here I am, trying to forget the fact that Paxton stayed here, that I spent more than one night here with him, and she’s pestering me.
“So, what is it you’ve done that you don’t believe can be undone?” She spreads a napkin over her lap before picking up her cup of tea.
“It’s not such a big deal, really.”
“Dear, if you brought it up from seemingly nowhere, it means something to you. Which makes it, as you put it, a big deal. Really.”
The woman is impossible.
“You remember Matt.”
“Who could forget him? You talk about him all the time. And he’s tall with all that thick brown hair. And those eyes! Oh, he has the most marvelous eyes. And a body—”
“Yes, yes, fine, you know him.” I swear, she’s on a mission to embarrass me to death. “Anyway, we had a fight. A bad one. I feel terrible about it. Though he started it, if that matters.”
“It does, and it doesn’t. I’m sure once you got started and the two of you began shouting things back and forth, it didn’t matter much at all just who’d fired the first shot. It never does in the end.”
She’s right—at least, mostly. “He got in the way of a date I was on, and he admitted it to me. It was a deliberate act of sabotage.”
“Sounds like something out of a Cold War spy movie.”
“Come on.”
She chuckles, lowering her cup. “Does it come as any surprise? This is the same Matt who carried me up six flights of stairs to be sure I was able to attend your rooftop birthday party. And I remember the kiss he laid on you.”
“Sure, sure, but nothing ever came of that.”
“Except for his blatant sabotage of a date you were on.”
“I figured it had more to do with me being on a date with a friend of his.”
Her eyebrows basically leave her forehead; she raises them so far. “You’re dating a friend of his now? This hockey player?”
“He’s the one who introduced us!” I sit back, shamefaced since I probably shouldn’t be raising my voice in here. Certain things just aren’t done.
In a near whisper, I explain, “Turns out, Matt used to play hockey. I thought it was convenient when he offered to introduce me to his friends. And it was. I only met Luke, thanks to him.”
“I wonder if he regrets introducing you two now.”
“Too bad.”
She looks so disappointed that I want to crawl into a hole and stay there. It’s not fair that she’s such a pro at looking disappointed. The woman doesn’t have to say a word. The way she screws her face up and tightens her mouth says it all.
“Kathryn, you must know how difficult it would be for someone who is fond of you to see you dating someone else.”
“We’re not dating though. We never have. If he feels that way about me, why hasn’t he ever said anything?”
“Do you want to know what I suspect?”
“Please.”
“He’s kept his feelings to himself for the sake of your career.”
Gulp.
That can’t be true, can it?
Of course, this is the exact moment when our server brings a tray of sandwiches and places it on the table.
We both murmur our thanks before I lean in. “That’s not true.”
“How would you know?” She chooses a cucumber sandwich, eyeing me the whole time. “Has he ever told you so?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you ever asked?”
“I’d rather eat my tongue.”
“It doesn’t appear your tongue has made it onto our sandwich tray.”
“Well, there you go.”
I can’t believe she’s snickering at this like it’s funny. “Would you like to hear what a lifetime has taught me? Since we were only just talking about wisdom and experience, I see fit to share what I’ve learned.”
“If you must.”
“I must.” She looks me dead in the eye, straight-faced. “Talk to him, for God’s sake. Come out and speak to him about it. Ask him. What does he feel? What does it all mean?”
“If he would even talk to me after what I said to him.”
“Something tells me I don’t want to know about that.”
“No, you probably don’t.”
“Talk to him anyway. He seems like a very fine young man—aside from his impressive physical qualities. Regardless of any romantic entanglements, I would hate to see you lose him as a friend. Communication is the cornerstone of any relationship, whether it be platonic or not.”
“Do you and Peter have such open, honest communication?”
Her mouth twitches, though I can tell she’s not completely amused. “I was unaware we would be dissecting my relationship.”
“We aren’t. Don’t get so touchy.”
“She tells me not to be touchy.”
Now, she’s smiling full-on, which is a relief.
“Yes, to answer your question. There are no uncertainties between us. I know where he stands; he knows where I stand. You know better than nearly anyone how appalling I find the idea of withholding my opinion.”
“No comment.”
“Which is in and of itself a comment.”
Wow. Didn’t I just have the same exchange with Hayley recently? It’s funny, the way my tendencies reflect hers. I didn’t mean to absorb so much of her, but I guess it’s impossible not to once you’ve known someone long enough. And we are blood-related after all.
“So”—her voice is crisper, sharper, telling me the topic has shifted and right on time since I’m getting tired of hearing myself talk about my problems—“what do you think about the flowers? You know my preference for roses, but peonies and hydrangea have caught my fancy as of late.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You’re sure this is a good idea?”
Luke looks up at me from where he’s kneeling at my feet. Under any other circumstances, this would be a major turn-on. Who wouldn’t want a man like him at their feet? Oh, the fantasies I could spin up out of this situation.
If the situation didn’t include wearing ice skates.
“Why not? It’s just us. I told you, hardly anybody ever comes out to skate this early in the morning.”
Yes, and if it wasn’t for him urging me to do this, I wouldn’t be up this early to do nearly anything. How he does this every morning is a mystery to me.
“The things I do for research.”
His laughter rings out in the big, empty space. “Research? Is that what I am to you?”
“You know you’re more than that. But it takes a lot to get me on the ice. The last time I skated, I ended up with a sore butt for days.”
“If your butt gets sore, I can always massage it for you.”
“Ooh, I think it’s fee
ling sore right now, come to think of it.”
“Nope. You’re not gonna get out of this.” He pulls me to my feet and then helps me onto the ice. “Take your time. This isn’t the same as navigating skaters at Rockefeller Center. It’s just you and me.”
“I can just as easily make a fool out of myself when no one else is around.”
“Who cares about making a fool of yourself? I mean it.” He takes my hands and skates backward, pulling me along with him. He’s even graceful and sure-footed when skating in reverse.
“Nobody likes feeling foolish.” Though right now, with him leading me, with our hands linked, it’s easier to feel relaxed. He’s got this under control.
“No, but you have to learn to get through it and move on. Like skating in a way.” He smoothly leads me in a turn, so we don’t hit the wall. Even with his back to it, it’s like he sensed its nearness. I guess he’s spent enough time in the rink to know it like the back of his hand.
“What do you mean?”
“So long as you keep moving, you’re golden. If you hesitate or think too much about how your ass will ache if you fall, guess what happens?”
“Oh, I see.”
“You have to have more faith in yourself. Even if you fall, you’ll get back up. And there isn’t a single person in the world who’s ever laced up a pair of skates who hasn’t landed on their ass. So, everybody can relate, and nobody will think twice about it.”
“You think that applies to the rest of life too?”
What is he? Yoda or something? A guru?
“I do. Don’t you? It’s no good, getting too wrapped up in what might happen or what could go wrong. You waste the here and now when you’re concerned with the future, even a few minutes from now.”
That I can understand.
“Get out of your head and let your body do the thinking. You think too much anyway.”
He then does maybe the worst possible thing.
He lets go of me.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” It’s a squeak. I basically sound like a rubber duck.
“Over here. Come on. Meet me at the other end.” He glides backward, effortless, like he was born wearing skates.
I hate him right now.
What did he say about getting out of my head? I have to let my body do the thinking. That’s good for him since my body likes him a lot more than my head does right now.
Okay, I can do this. I can glide like a swan over a lake. I can glide like I was born to do this. And if I fall? I fall.
And I do.
Down I go with a bone-jarring crash. “Ow …” I want to bury myself someplace, especially since my butt is just about screaming and reminding me why this wasn’t a good idea in the first place.
“Oh no!” He’s laughing but gently as he skates back to me. “Okay, I didn’t know you would fall that fast. You’re not extremely coordinated, are you?”
“Gee, you’d think I would’ve warned you. Oh yeah, I did!” I reach up for him, and he helps me stand.
“Sorry. I didn’t know it was possible for anybody to be so uncoordinated.”
“I cannot stand you.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t laugh.” He pulls me into a hug, which I also sort of wish he wouldn’t do since now I have to make sure I don’t fall and take him down with me. A lot of good it would do, injuring the star of the team.
“Come on. We’ll take you to the locker room for some liniment.”
I let him lead me from the ice since, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve spent enough time out here to last the rest of my life.
“Is it okay? Me going into the locker room?”
“Sure. Nobody else will be there. Only team members are allowed in the team locker room. I don’t think anybody will mind if I bring a guest, just this once.”
And that’s how we end up alone in the locker room, which, surprisingly, isn’t too far off from what I imagined for my book. It’s colder, more sterile and bleaker, but otherwise, close to what I envisioned.
It’s so hard not to think about work, even when I tell myself I have to live in the moment. Wasn’t that what Luke just warned me about?
“I feel like I’m always in two places at once.”
He helps me onto one of the tables. “What do you mean?”
I fold my arms under my head and rest my cheek against them with a sigh. “My head is always partially in my work. Wondering how to get past a sticky spot, how to transition from one beat to another without being too clunky or obvious. Transitions have always given me trouble. Whether I should polish something further, whether my descriptions are realistic enough …”
“Got it.” He slowly rubs my back in big circles. “I sort of know what you’re talking about. All my decisions have to be about the game. Training. What’ll help me, what’ll hurt me.”
His hands move over my sore thighs and butt, warming the muscles, even through my jeans.
“Maybe it was worth falling just for this.”
“Hmm. I was thinking the same thing. Wondering why I didn’t get you out on the ice sooner.”
“Funny. You wouldn’t feel the same way if your butt were so sore.”
“Like I’ve never fallen. Like I’ve never had to spend nights sleeping on my stomach when being on my back was hell. Forget sitting. If I could’ve stood all day at school, I would have.”
His thumbs, meanwhile, are now stroking my inner thighs.
“That part doesn’t hurt,” I murmur, though I don’t exactly swat his hands away either. I’m not insane.
“Ever do it in a locker room?”
“What?” I barely have time to understand what he just asked before he flips me over onto my back. “Ouch!”
“Sorry. I’ll make it feel better.” He’s already working on my button, my zipper.
“Luke! Here?”
“Nobody will come in. Trust me. It’s been cleaned, and I’m the only home team member ever here at this time of the morning.” He glances up at me with a wicked grin. “Though I guess we’d better get to it before someone does stroll in.”
“Oh my God …” I close my eyes and wonder what the heck is happening to me. Who am I turning into? One of the girls I write about?
Holy smokes, I already wrote a scene like this!
There I go again, thinking about work.
I have to be inside my body, not in my head. I especially want to be because the man knows what he’s doing. Already, my jeans are off while he kisses his way up the insides of my legs until I shiver in anticipation.
One thing I know for sure as he works his magic on me: there’s truth to what people say about the threat of being discovered. It does make everything more exciting. I have to clench my fist and press it against my mouth to hold back the moans I know would attract attention from anybody who happened to be passing by.
He pulls me up to the very edge of the table and gets on his knees. Oh my God, he’s very good at this. Better than anybody I’ve ever been with. It isn’t long before I’m biting my knuckles and squeezing his head between my thighs, hoping like hell in the tiny corner of my brain that’s processing thought that we aren’t discovered just when I’m in the throes of passion.
But we aren’t. Everything’s quiet when Luke goes back to kissing the insides of my legs before moving on to other things.
When he raises his head, looking at me over the length of my torso, he asks the very last question I would ever expect to hear at a time like this, “Will you come to dinner with my family?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I’m nervous.”
“I can tell.”
I turn in my seat to glare at Luke, who’s smirking like the cat who might not have eaten the cream but who very much knows where the cream is kept and how to get at it. “Thanks. It would’ve been nicer if you’d told me there was nothing to be nervous about.”
“I’m sure I’ve told you that. When I first asked you to come for dinner.” He holds up one finger. “When
you called me later to ask if I meant it when I asked you to come to dinner.”
“Okay …”
A third finger. “This morning.” A fourth. “Before we got in the car.”
“I get it.”
“I’ve told you again and again there’s nothing to be worried about. My family is just a bunch of regular people. Dad’s a teacher. Mom took time off work to raise the kids and then went back to school for social work. They’ve lived in the same row home for thirty years and just paid off the mortgage. You can’t get more regular than them.”
“They sound great, but what will they think of me?” And oh, dear Lord, why do I care so much? It’s not like we’re planning on getting married or even dating exclusively.
This is just another Sunday dinner with nice people who are generous and kind enough to allow me in their home.
But I do want them to like me. I want everybody to like me. Maybe too much.
“Do you think they’ll like the flowers?” I’m holding a bouquet I painstakingly chose from the flower shop down the street. It took way more time than I feel comfortable with, but I wanted it to be perfect.
“They’ll love them. And of course, Mom will say you didn’t need to go to the trouble.”
“It’s rude to show up empty-handed. My grandmother would clutch her pearls and go into a tailspin if she ever suspected I’d considered not bringing something.”
“Your grandmother sounds like she’s a bit high society compared to my family. Like I said, they’re just regular people.”
I try not to stiffen at the way he makes it sound like being regular is better than whatever he thinks my grandmother is. And I don’t love it. I don’t care how much money you make. I care about what kind of person you are and how you treat others.
But then he redeems himself by squeezing my knee and adding, “They’ll like you just as much as I do. I promise.”
The house he pulls in front of reminds me of where I grew up and it helps me relax a little.
He parks the car—a modest car that probably doesn’t get a lot of use with him living in the city—and we head up to the front porch of a neat home tucked in the middle of a long line of almost-identical buildings. Only the ramp leading to the porch sets it apart from the rest of the houses.
Kitty Valentine Dates an Hockey Player Page 10