Free Agent

by Catherine Gayle

  No one stopped in, though, and an hour later, by the beginning of the first intermission, she’d finished her alterations—including adjusting the neckline, which I hadn’t been expecting.

  “Just enhancing your assets,” she said with a smirk.

  “Mm hmm.”

  The game was still a scoreless tie, and Blake had only ended up in the penalty box once, for a minor tripping call when he’d gotten caught out of position and was too gassed to catch up to his guy. All in all, it seemed like he was having a reasonably good game for his first one back after such a long absence.

  I put the dress on for a final fitting. “This is a lot sexier than I’m comfortable wearing at my niece’s quinceañera,” I complained, examining my reflection in the mirror.

  “Which is exactly why you need to wear it. You’ve got to show them who you are now.”

  I’d be doing enough of that just by showing up with Blake Kozlow on my arm. “My family won’t know what to do with the idea that I have a date. Dressing like this is going to be well beyond anything they can handle.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re dating Koz.”

  I chuckled to myself and climbed onto the bed next to her, dipping my own spoon into her carton of Halo Top. “Can you try to be nice to him for me? Or at least nicer?”

  “Only until he fucks up and hurts you. As soon as that happens, though—” She drew a finger across her neck and made a slashing sound.

  “What if he doesn’t hurt me?” Because so far, the only one who’d been hurting both of us was me, although I wasn’t sure Dani would ever believe it. She was too loyal to me by half, and too dead-set against him.

  “As long as he doesn’t hurt you, I’ll be civil to him. Or at least I won’t bite his head off. Too much. But that’s about as good as he’ll ever get from me.”

  “That’s about as good as anyone gets from you,” I pointed out.

  She stuck out her tongue at me.

  I winked.

  The game returned, and they zoomed in on Blake sitting in the penalty box, looking as surly and disgruntled as ever.

  “Oh, no,” I murmured.

  “Get used to seeing him there if you’re serious about being with him. The guy spends more time in the box than out of it.”

  “That’s right, folks,” the TV commentator said. “Blake Kozlow is once again in the sin bin, but believe it or not, this time it actually isn’t his fault.”

  Dani snorted in disbelief.

  “The Storm took a bench minor just as time expired at the end of the first,” he continued, “so Kozlow is doing the time.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t being penalized due to something he’d done himself.

  The Storm’s penalty killers put up a heck of a fight, and they came away unscathed.

  But the best thing was what happened as soon as time on Blake’s penalty expired. The seconds ticked down. He stood ready at the door. As soon as the time keeper opened it, he shot out onto the ice, and the puck soared straight to his stick.

  He picked it up mid-stride and flew into the offensive zone with a few of his teammates on his tail and the other team’s defenders frantic to catch up.

  But no one would.

  He faked a shot, got the goaltender to bite, and then sent the puck heading for the opposite corner of the net. It went in, the goal light lit, and the arena went wild.

  “I might forgive him if he keeps that up,” Dani mumbled.

  “Mm hmm.”

  “They need to get out of their slump. Bad.”

  “You know, he’s a good guy underneath it all. Once you get to know him.”

  “But that would require me getting to know him.” She dug into her now-empty carton of Halo Top, then scowled at me. “You’re going to make me get to know him, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t make you do anything.”

  “Yeah, but you’re dating him.”

  “I am,” I agreed.

  “Damn you. I don’t want to like Blake Kozlow.”

  “I adore you, too,” I said. And to prove it, I dug a piece of dark chocolate out of the super-secret stash in my purse and tossed it her way. I kept some in there just for occasions like this.

  “Just give me lots of warning before you marry him. I need time to prepare myself.”

  “Prepare yourself?” I spluttered, but what I was really thinking was marry him? Who said anything about me marrying him?

  “So I don’t show up in all black and declare an official state of mourning.”

  “Mourning for what?”

  “Your sanity. Duh.”

  I laughed so hard my stomach hurt, and still I couldn’t stop.

  “YOU LOOK SO fucking hot in that, I’ll be thinking about how to get you out of it the whole time we’re here,” Blake murmured in my ear, just before he eyed me hungrily. “How long do we have to stay?”

  We were in the Uber car on our way between the hotel and the civic center my brother had rented for the big day. And this was precisely why I shouldn’t have let Dani talk me into wearing this dress to Paola’s quinceañera. Mama would have a cow, seeing me like this. I’d never hear the end of it.

  “Probably only a couple of hours,” I said, tamping down the heat that was building within me again. If I could wangle it, we might escape even sooner—although my reasons for wanting to escape were far different than Blake’s. “It would’ve been longer, but Mama couldn’t arrange for the mass to be on the same day, so they had Paola’s mass yesterday.”

  “Mass is part of it? Like a Catholic mass?”

  “Traditionally. And my family is nothing if not traditional.”

  “Huh. So do you go to church and stuff?”

  “Not as often as I should. Don’t really have time for it these days.”

  “We could make time,” Blake said. “I haven’t been to mass since I lived with Grandma.”

  “I never would’ve pegged your grandmother for a regular church-goer.”

  He grinned and winked at me. “She likes to be unpredictable.”

  We’d flown down to San Bernardino this morning and checked into a hotel—a nicer one than I’d have chosen on my own, but Blake had insisted.

  But after we’d checked in, Blake had continually pawed at me while we’d been getting ready to go. It was a miracle I’d managed to get my dress on and that my makeup and hair looked halfway decent, because he’d acted like a man on a mission to muss me up and leave me hot, sweaty, and aching for more.

  This was going to be a quick trip. We were spending one night in the hotel tonight after the party, and our flight back to Portland left before lunch tomorrow. Frankly, I was glad we had the excuse of work (for me) and team obligations (for Blake) to keep the visit short and sweet.

  So to speak.

  I wasn’t convinced it would be overly sweet. Paola would be, of course, and it was her big day. She was the reason I was here. And my grandmother might not understand my dietary needs, but she loved me no matter what.

  Everyone else, though? Debatable. I was hoping we could get away without a massive confrontation, since today was supposed to be about Paola and not me, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. I knew my family too well to risk death by familial asphyxiation.

  “Do you wish you lived closer to them?” Blake asked, slipping his hand into mine in a practiced, comfortable manner. I could get used to that—him touching me like there was nothing else that would make sense for him to do.

  I didn’t have a coat or jacket that would really go well with this dress, and it was a lot warmer here than it was back home—but it was a bit chilly for me, still. I kept hoping that one of these days, my internal thermostat would settle somewhere in the middle of where it had been before the weight loss and where it was now, but no luck as of yet.

  “Not even remotely,” I replied. “I like having enough distance between us that they can’t randomly show up at my front door.”

  “But they’re your family.”

  “I
think I told you before—they’re not like your grandma.”

  “No one is.”

  “True. But they’re really not like her. I needed some space after I got out of college. Some room to breathe.” I inadvertently shivered from the chill. This dress might make me look hot, but it was too flimsy to help keep me comfortable.

  “Hmm,” was his reply. But he firmed up his grip on my hand, lending me some of his warmth.

  I greedily inched closer to his side to soak up more of it. One of the many things I’d started to appreciate about having Blake in my life was that he was like my own personal heated blanket that required no electricity to operate. Especially when he held me snug to his side in bed at night. His body was always putting off the most delicious heat, which made me want to curl into him as often as possible.

  Lucky for me, Blake seemed only too eager to allow it. The more he could touch me, the happier he was.

  Before I was ready, we were walking inside the civic center my brother and sister-in-law had rented for the party, and we were slipping through a gaggle of overly excited teenaged girls in frilly dresses and pimpled boys who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

  I tightened my grip on Blake’s hand for reassurance before skirting around the clot of teenagers. I dropped my gift for my niece on the appropriate table and headed straight to the kitchens, where I knew Abuelita and my parents would be, and possibly my brother and sister-in-law, too.

  Sure enough, Mama looked up with a huge, welcoming smile the second we walked through the open entryway. She had an apron covering her dress to keep it clean. Her happy expression faded away as fast as it had come.

  “Beatriz!” she chided. “What are you wearing? Go change before Maria sees you.”

  Maria was my sister-in-law.

  I said a silent prayer for patience. “If you want me to come back in my pj’s, I can change. Otherwise, this is what you get.” I arched a brow in challenge, but she just stood there, spluttering indignantly.

  Then I headed to the stove so I could kiss Abuelita’s cheek, with Blake trailing behind me. He hadn’t let go of my hand, and I got the sense it was more to keep me calm than it was for his own sake. I had to lean down to kiss her, and I wasn’t an overly tall woman—my grandmother was tiny and growing smaller with age. The footstool she always kept in her kitchen had been brought here for her use so she could reach the counters and stove.

  She reached up and patted my cheek absentmindedly with one hand and then went back to putting the finishing touches on the trés léchês.

  Papa came barreling in through the other door, but he stopped cold when he saw Blake standing next to me. Or, more likely, he stopped cold when he saw Blake’s hand on mine, our fingers threaded together.

  “Who is this?” he boomed into the cavernous, echoing space. His voice was as big as he was—there wasn’t any doubt as to where my issues with my weight had come from. Everyone on his side of the family weighed upwards of three hundred pounds, and he might very well be the largest of them all.

  Well, everyone but me, at least. Not anymore.

  I steeled my spine to answer, but Blake spoke up before I could.

  He reached out his right hand to shake my father’s. “I’m Bea’s boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend,” Mama spluttered. “But…but…you’re not—” She couldn’t seem to bring herself to say what she was thinking.

  Hispanic? Old enough? Someone they knew?

  I honestly wasn’t sure which statement she was aiming for, but it didn’t matter.

  “No, he’s not,” I said emphatically. Then I turned to Blake as calmly as I could, silently begging him with my eyes for patience, before facing my parents again. Granted, he seemed to be taking everything in stride; I was the one who was a jumbled mess of nerves.

  “Papa, Mama,” I said. “This is Blake Kozlow. Blake, my parents, Jose and Isabella Castillo, and my grandmother, Guadalupe Vasquez.” Abuelita waved a hand over her shoulder without bothering to turn from her cooking. She’d never been one to say much, especially not when my father was in one of his moods, which was often.

  “Pleased to meet you all,” Blake said, still holding out his hand.

  But my father didn’t reciprocate, Papa’s face turning a dangerous shade of red that almost matched my dress. Mama immediately launched into a tirade about how inconsiderate I was, bringing a gringo to my niece’s big day just to upset everyone—all in Spanish, of course, so Blake couldn’t understand a lick of it.

  I couldn’t decide whether I was glad about that or not. He probably deserved to know what she thought of him.

  Of us.

  But it might be better for me to fill him in later, when we were alone.

  Paola chose that moment to race into the kitchens and wrap me up in a hug. “I worried you weren’t going to be here when you didn’t make it to mass yesterday!”

  “I wouldn’t want to let you down,” I said, patting her on the back. Too bad she and Abuelita were the only reasons I had to come. I hooked my arm with hers and led her away from everyone else, catching Blake’s eye and nudging my head in that direction so he’d know he should come with us. Leaving him in my parents’ clutches seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

  When he reached us, Paola’s eyes went wide. She cupped a hand over my ear and whispered, “He’s hot.”

  I burst out laughing. “I know.”

  “And he’s famous.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “Are you two…you know?” She shrugged.

  “Dating?” Blake supplied.

  Paola nodded.

  He winked at her. “Yeah. You could say that.”

  “You’re seriously dating Blake Kozlow?” she spluttered. “And you didn’t tell me until now?”

  “Sorry?” I supplied.

  She batted at my arm playfully. “You should be. You’re holding out on me, Aunt Beatriz.”

  “Well, now you know.”

  Her eyes turned wicked, and she glanced over at Blake. “So are you friends with Austin Cooper, then?”

  “Coop?” he said, scratching his head in confusion.

  I recalled one of my students asking Riley Jezek about Austin Cooper last year, when Riley and his wife had been coming to read to them. “He’s too old for you, so don’t even bother,” I quickly interjected.

  “But he’s—”

  “Not looking to end up in jail for corrupting a minor,” I cut in. “You’re fifteen, but that doesn’t make you an adult. And I don’t know how old he is, but he’s too old for you. Got it?”

  “You don’t have to be mean about it,” my niece said sulkily, but then she grinned so I’d know she was just giving me a hard time.

  I glanced up at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost time. Are you ready?” I asked her, tucking a curl of her hair back into place and inspecting her corsage.

  Just like that, all her nerves and excitement were back. She nodded eagerly.

  “We’ll leave you to it, then.” I hooked my arm through Blake’s. “See you in there?”

  “You’d better,” Paola replied.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Blake and I headed out into the ballroom, which had been decked out better than my senior prom. Flowers and candles lined every table, and the ceiling was covered with a balloon canopy, which made the lighting atmospheric.

  I waved and smiled at a few familiar faces, and Blake found seats for the pair of us.

  “I have no idea what’s going on,” Blake murmured in my ear.

  “It’s okay. Just sit back and enjoy it. Or try to, at least.” To be honest, I didn’t understand many of the traditions associated with the quinceañera, and I’d been through one, myself. “Here she comes,” I whispered as my niece was being escorted into the ballroom by four young men—her chambelanes.

  Once they were all present, the music started, and she danced with the boys.

  Everyone applauded them profusely, and my niece curtseyed wh
en they were done.

  Then my brother got up to present her with la última muñeca—her last doll.

  “This symbolizes her journey from childhood to womanhood,” I whispered in Blake’s ear.

  “At fifteen?”

  “Yeah. Tradition.” I shrugged.

  Then one of the boys who’d been among her chambelanes brought her a bouquet of flowers, and she blushed profusely. I made a mental note to ask her if she had a crush on him, or maybe they were already dating and no one had told me she had a boyfriend. It was possible. After all, I was dating someone and hadn’t bothered to tell any of them until I’d arrived with Blake at my side—well, I’d kind of told Mama, but not really. She knew I was dating someone, but she didn’t know any details.

  Finally, it was time for the piñatas. Fifteen of them. “She’s got to break a piñata for every year of her life,” I explained to Blake as she took the baton and started swinging.

  It took her a while. A long while. My niece was a delicate little thing and didn’t have much upper-body strength.

  “I wish I could go help her,” Blake whispered in my ear.

  “She’d probably love that. But no, you can’t. She’s got to do it on her own.”

  Suddenly, I realized that Blake and I weren’t the only ones in the ballroom whispering amongst ourselves. All around us, tables of guests were bending their heads together and having heated conversations while my niece swung her baton—and several of them were pointing in our direction.

  This…couldn’t be good.

  At all.

  My spine stiffened as my brain whirled at a rapid pace, trying to determine what they were whispering about.

  Was it my dress? Or the fact that I was here with a man that they felt wasn’t good enough for me at the same time as they felt I wasn’t good enough for him?

  I itched to escape, to run out of that room, dragging Blake with me, and never look back. But I wouldn’t do that to Paola. My niece hadn’t done anything to deserve it. So, despite my unease, I forced myself to stay put as the whispers grew louder, the fingers pointing in our direction more numerous.

  Paola swung again and connected, effectively bursting her fourth piñata. Hundreds of pieces of candy spilled to the floor, and she moved on to the next one in line.