Playing Hurt

by Kelly Jamieson

  “Oh hey, we’re not done yet.” His forehead creased. “Unless you really need to go home.”

  “Oh. I just thought…no, it’s still early.” It was only around nine o’clock.

  Only. We’d been together four hours, for goddess’s sake.

  “I think you’re dressed okay for it,” he continued. “I thought we could walk along the Esplanade and then onto Michigan. If we can go all the way to Millennium Park they have the Christmas tree up.” He glanced down at my feet. “Are you okay to walk in those boots? Because I can call an Uber to take us there.”

  My heart fluttered in my chest. Once again I don’t think he could have planned anything I’d love more.

  I adored California—the ocean, palm trees, nearly endless sun. But I actually missed winters, and walking along the beautiful Esplanade sounded so delightful. “Yes, I’m fine. And I’d love that.”

  “Great.” He pulled a knit cap out of his jacket pocket and tugged it down over his head, then held out his arm for me, like he had when we’d first met. The man had manners.

  I slid my arm into his, and we started walking toward the river.

  “People here call me crazy, but I miss the snow and the cold,” I said.

  “Yeah, I’d call that crazy.” He said it teasingly.

  “I guess it’s easy when I don’t have to put up with winter for months. But this is so pretty. Look at the snow. And it’s not really that cold.”

  “It’s a nice night.”

  It was relatively mild, with no wind. Luckily my coat and gloves were warm, and although my hat was more a fashion thing, it helped too.

  Down on the Esplanade, it was chillier, but the evening felt calm and peaceful. The sounds of traffic were muted, and the clouds and snow kept it from being too dark.

  He gestured across the river. “That’s where I live. That big building there.”

  “Oh, nice! What a stellar location.”

  “Yeah, I like it.”

  “So hockey must be what you’ve always wanted to do. Or did you decide late in life you wanted to be a hockey player?”

  “Ha. I don’t think it was really my decision.”

  “What?”

  “My parents put me into hockey when I was six years old. It was just the way it was. One time I tried to quit.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged but I felt the tension in him. “It didn’t go well. So I kept playing.”

  “But…you must love it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I do. There was a time I wasn’t so sure. But I kept going, and I turned out to be pretty good at it, so here I am.” Then he sighed.

  I sucked briefly on my bottom lip. Was he discouraged because he hadn’t scored yet this season? I’d heard some of the talk about him and how he was playing on TV. I decided not to bring it up. “I’d say you’re pretty good at it, yeah.” I squeezed his arm. “You’re playing in the NHL.”

  “What about you? You always wanted to be a singer?”

  “Yes. I was singing pretty much from the time I could talk. I took voice lessons, piano lessons, did musical theater. It kind of feels like I’ve been working at it forever and I’m just starting to get somewhere.”

  “I’d say you’re doing better than that.” He slanted me a smile. “So you want to be a superstar?”

  I thought about that. Yes, I was ambitious, but fame wasn’t the goal. Even money wasn’t the goal. I was comfortably well-off from my TV show days, and my album had done well. “I just want to make music. And it’s nice when people like my music.”

  He tilted his head. “Yeah. I just want to play hockey. Except…never mind. People love your music.”

  Except…what? “Thanks.”

  “So you’re not into fame.”

  I smiled. “Not gonna lie, I like attention. Sometimes. And having lots of people love you feels pretty good. But it’s a weird thing.”

  “How so?”

  “Those people don’t really love me. They don’t really even know me. And I think it can mess with your mind. You can start believing the hype and thinking they really do love you, and you’re better than everyone else. Plus it’s fickle. As long as you’re doing well, everyone loves you, but do one thing to mess up and you’re out. Everyone is replaceable.”

  I thought he winced at that.

  “I’ve seen it happen,” he said in a low voice. “Guys who do think they’re all that and a candy bar. It goes to their heads, and they get all cocky and entitled.”

  “Right? I think it’s hard for that to not happen. And you never know who your real friends are. I once had a friend who told a trashy gossip blogger that I still sleep with the stuffed rabbit I’ve had since I was a baby.”

  He grinned. “Do you?”

  “No! I have the rabbit. I don’t sleep with her anymore.”

  “Her?”

  “Her name is Cinnabunny.”

  His grin widened. “This is so shocking.”

  “It was mortifying!” Okay, I knew it wasn’t that big a deal, but it had been embarrassing. And annoying. “And then there was the singer who was all ‘we’re going to be best friends!’ and wanted to do stuff together all the time. Turned out she just wanted the paparazzi to take lots of pictures of us together so she’d be seen. And she wanted me to introduce her to my agent.”

  “Ugh.”

  “It makes it hard to trust people, which makes it hard to have real relationships.”

  “Mmm.”

  “You find that too?”

  “Eh, not exactly. I don’t think I have the same kind of fame as you do.”

  “Says the guy who was just mobbed by hockey fans.”

  He nudged me gently with his shoulder. “They were there to see you too, babe. But you’re right, there are lots of women who say they love hockey but don’t really know anything about it. But I’m not really looking for a relationship anyway. I’m too selfish.”

  I blinked. “Oh. Why do you say that?”

  “I like being single. I like being able to go on road trips and not worry about all the responsibilities I’ve left behind, or missing someone. I like just being able to focus on hockey and not worry about anything or anyone else.”

  “Well.” I thought about that. “That does sound kind of selfish.”

  His head swiveled to look at me, as if he hadn’t expected me to agree with him.

  I met his eyes and smiled. “But at least you own it.”

  He laughed. For some reason, I didn’t really think he was a selfish person.

  The skyscrapers twinkled all around us, the snow magnifying their sparkle. Lights along the walkway glowed golden. We weren’t the only people walking there, others taking advantage of a beautiful snowy Saturday evening. Restaurants and bars were lit up and busy.

  We climbed the steps up to street level. Here, trees all had tiny white lights strung through their branches, twinkling in the snowy air.

  “Okay to keep walking?” Chase asked. “Or we could stop for a drink somewhere.”

  “Let’s keep going. We could have a drink after.”

  “Perfect. I know just where we can go.”

  I loved how he had planned everything, yet was still polite enough to ask my preferences. I hated it when guys I went out with left it up to me where we went or what we did. I know they were trying to be considerate, but it felt…spineless. Chase was in charge of this date, and I appreciated that. Luckily I liked everything he’d planned, which made me consider…was it coincidence that we enjoyed similar things? Or had he actually tried to plan things I’d like? Except how could he, when we really didn’t even know each other?

  We crossed DuSable Bridge, busy with traffic both vehicular and pedestrian. Below, the Chicago River shimmered with the reflections of the city lights. My eyes actually stung a bi
t at the beauty of it. I’d been living away from this city for eight years and I missed it.

  We strolled up Michigan to Millennial Park. The skating rink was lit up, and skaters glided over the ice. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to go skating,” I teased him.

  He grinned. “Some of the guys told me that was a bad date idea.” He paused. “Do you know how to skate?”

  “I do, but I’m not very good.”

  “Well, maybe some time we’ll go skating.”

  A weird heaviness settled in my chest thinking about that. As if we were ever going to see each other again. I lived in L.A., mostly, and he lived here. This was a onetime thing, a crazy Twitter bet.

  Also he’d warned me. He wasn’t into relationships. I got that message loud and clear. I’d disregarded that warning before—thinking guys said that because they hadn’t met the right woman. But it turns out when a man tells you he’s not into relationships—believe him.

  We stood in front of the huge illuminated Christmas tree, other trees in the park all lit up with golden lights as well. “It’s beautiful. Just beautiful. Thank you so much for bringing me here.”

  He turned to me. His face was ruddy from the chilly air. He was so attractive. I wanted to go up on my toes and kiss that indentation in his square chin. Run my fingers over his thick eyebrows and down his imperfect nose. Even with the navy knit cap tugged down over his ears, he was gorgeous.

  “You’re very welcome.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “It really is beautiful.”

  Our eyes met and held, that tug of attraction drawing me to him, heat building between us despite the chilly air, quivery sensations rippling through me.

  Chapter 8

  Chase

  Goddamn, she was gorgeous.

  It almost felt unreal, me standing with this woman I’d crushed on from afar, now here with me in real life, looking so amazingly lovely and not only that, we were having tons of fun.

  Like all those times we’d connected on Twitter, she’d made me feel good. Because lately I hadn’t been feeling so good about myself. I was down on myself for how I’d been playing, and I knew everyone else was too—my parents, the coaches, my teammates. The fans.

  But she thought I was a good hockey player. She looked at me with interest and admiration. She even teased me. There was something heady about how she made me feel. It was kind of crazy.

  We eyed each other, music from the skating rink and people laughing and calling out to each other filling the air along with the drifting snowflakes. Snow had settled on the top of her black fedora and her cheeks were pink. I really, really wanted to kiss her, and my gaze dropped to her mouth, soft and rosy. Her lips parted. The big scarf wrapped around her rose and fell with her quick breaths.

  I didn’t know if there was someone with a camera pointed at us, so just in case, I merely bent my head and brushed my mouth over hers. Then I drew back and said, “You look cold. Let’s go get that drink.”

  Her eyelids were lowered. She did a slow blink, then nodded. “Okay.”

  I led the way out of the park, and we walked two short blocks to the blues bar I’d made note of for this part of our date. It was packed with people but I’d called ahead and, with some bills discreetly handed over to the hostess, we were soon sitting at a small table for two in a dark corner of the bar. A quartet on the low stage played a version of “Sweet Home Chicago.”

  Already seated, Jordyn took off her hat and slipped out of her jacket, draping it over the back of her chair. Her eyes sparkled as she watched the musicians, her body moving subtly to the slow rhythm.

  A waitress came to take our order, and this time Jordyn requested a dirty martini. I stuck with beer.

  “This okay?” I asked her. “The guys thought skating was a bad date for a hockey player, but I didn’t know if a blues club was any better for a musician.”

  “I love it.” She beamed a smile at me, and since we were sitting side by side at the small table so we both faced the stage, she leaned into me with her shoulder. “I was a weird kid because I loved blues music. I was always so mad that I couldn’t come to places like this. So…This. Is. Awesome.”

  My chest heated with pleasure.

  “Chicago is a blues town,” she continued. “Chicago blues was a huge influence on modern rock music. And on me. It’s so inspiring.”

  Her appreciation for everything was refreshing. She wasn’t a spoiled diva. Hell, I’d gone out with non-famous women who were more spoiled divas than she was, women who’d turn up their noses at bowling or air hockey or a simple walk along the river. Women who wanted expensive dinners and gifts. Women who didn’t drink beer or eat poutine or stare in wonder at a huge lit-up Christmas tree.

  We didn’t talk much; the music was loud so we just listened, Jordyn moving in her chair beside me, head bobbing to the beat, and she applauded enthusiastically after each song. I had no idea if this group was any good, but she seemed to be enjoying it, and that was all that mattered.

  When the group finished the set and took a break, we faced each other. Jordyn picked up her martini to sip it. “What an amazing guitar player. Wow.”

  “They’re good?”

  “I like them.”

  I turned my beer in my hand. “So where will you be for Christmas?”

  “Los Angeles. I’ve been working on songs for my next album, and we start recording it right away in the new year.”

  “Will your parents at least be there?”

  “Yes, that’s the plan. How about you?”

  “We only have a few days off, but I’m making a quick trip home. I fly to Toronto, and then my sister and I are flying together to Sudbury.”

  “Nice.”

  “Do you have good Christmas memories?” I was thinking of the fact that she and her Mom lived basically apart from her dad for years.

  “Sure.” She wrinkled her nose. “I guess. Like I said, I was an only child, so I got spoiled in terms of gifts, but I always kind of wished we had more family. Neither of my parents had big families, so sometimes we’d spend Christmas with an aunt and uncle and my grandparents, but there weren’t other kids in the family. I watched movies and TV shows about big family Christmases and I felt a little ripped off.”

  “Wow, that’s the opposite of me. I mean, there’s only my sister and me, but we have twenty cousins, and family holidays were nuts.”

  “Is it still like that? When you go home?”

  “Yeah.” I grinned. “Everyone likes hearing my NHL stories.”

  “I bet.”

  I glanced around the bar. Nobody was paying any attention to us, partly because we were tucked into a shadowy corner. I didn’t mind dealing with fans usually, and I’d been a good sport about what happened at the arcade, but I didn’t want anyone else interfering with the little time we had left on this date.

  “I just wish I was playing better.”

  Hell, why had I said that? I didn’t want to be a big downer.

  She regarded me over the rim of her martini glass, her eyes warm and interested. “You’re not happy with how you’re playing?”

  “Fuck no.” I turned my beer glass in my hand. “I haven’t scored a single goal this season. That’s pathetic.”

  “It will come. You’re a great player. And you have lots of assists.”

  I blinked in surprise that she knew that. “A few. I’m working on it.” I told her some of the stuff Danny was helping me with, and she listened intently.

  “I guess it’s easy to say relax about it, but not so easy to do.”

  “Yeah.”

  We stayed for two more sets, and then it was after midnight and we exchanged a regretful look, knowing we should go.

  “My flight leaves at nine in the morning,” Jordyn said with a lopsided smile. “I’ll call my car service.”

  She made the call,
and we finished our drinks then left the club, bundling up again. The snow had eased up, the streets wet.

  “Oh my God.” She was peering at her phone.

  “What?”

  “There are pictures of us all over the Internet.”

  I huffed a short laugh. “Of course there are.” I peeked over her shoulder at her phone.

  Yep, pictures of us at Wonder Arcade with fans, and pictures of us alone, sitting at our table smiling into each other’s eyes, and then a somewhat blurry image of us out on the dark street, standing close together, my head bent down to her in what appeared to be a near kiss. I knew it wasn’t, we were just talking about going for a walk, but it looked…intimate.

  It was probably going to spread even more. People had been talking about our Twitter bet and our date; they were gonna love this.

  I peered at Jordyn’s face. “Are you upset?”

  “Nah. It was bound to happen. Actually it’s kind of fun.”

  The car was going to be here any minute. “Jordyn. I had a great time.” I moved closer and brushed some of her blond hair away from her face. “I’d like to do this again.”

  She gazed back at me with big eyes. “You mean go on another date?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled.

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “I don’t see how that can happen. We live in different cities; we have busy lives. You have a crazy schedule, and I’m about to start recording an album.” She tipped her head to one side just as the car pulled up to the curb. I held up a hand to the driver. “This was super fun, and I think our fans will get a kick out of it. But that’s all it is. Right?”

  My heart turned to stone and stopped beating. It was just a PR thing to her. Meanwhile I’d been basically falling hard for her, enthralled at learning more about her and what kind of person she was beneath the glamorous pop star image. But maybe she wasn’t that much more than an image, if that was all tonight had been for her.

  I kept my face expressionless, nodding slowly. “Right. I’m sure people will love it.” I stepped back and turned to the car. The driver stood next to the vehicle with the door open.

  “Thank you for a great evening.”