“So…” Marc’s expression softened. He leaned on the armrest of the wheelchair; his muscular biceps bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt, a stark comparison to his bony legs. “If you keep winning, playoffs are next. Every game counts now. The media wonders what Antony Laurent’s secret is?”
“I work out. I practice.” Then he smiled. “I do what my brother says.”
“Non. Something…new.” Marc’s eyes darkened. “We shared bedroom for twenty years, brother. I know you. Why did you go to park today?”
Antony felt a coolness wash over him.
“You left program open on computer.” Marc smiled, but his gaze stayed hard. “I trace cell phone. So… Que faisiez-vous?”
“Game preparation.” Antony ran a hand through his damp hair.
Marc wheeled closer, the kick plate dug into Antony’s shin, but he didn’t move. Marc motioned between their chests with his hand. “Man to man. Hockey player to hockey player.” Then he hit Antony with the expression he saved for his biggest guilt trips. “Frère à frère,” he said.
The heaviness of loyalty was impossible for Antony to challenge. With the least detail possible he confessed how this new woman he’d met might be the reason for his success on the ice.
“Luca thinks she’s my good luck charm,” Antony said, matter of fact. Marc had infiltrated all other aspects of his life. All he wanted was this one small reprieve. “But probably all in my head,” he said tapping his temple. “Superstitious.”
Marc’s lips were pressed together in a hard line. “She sounds nice,” he said.
After taking the empty bottles to the kitchen, Antony picked up his duffle bag from the hallway, the towel embroidered with the networks logo spilled from the opening. Antony had wanted one of those towels since he and Marc were in Pee Wee hockey watching professional hockey players on television. He ran his hand over the logo. They only gave them out to players they interviewed. He looked up. Marc was watching him.
“How tall was the guy who interviewed you?” he asked, nodding to the duffle bag.
Antony shrugged. “Six feet maybe?”
“He had to reach up, eh. Do you think the camera can pull back far enough to get my wheelchair, or will they give me an extra-long microphone to hold?” His tone was achingly light, but his eyes bore a hole though Antony.
“Ne sois pas stupide. I’m turning in.” Antony sighed. He made it down the hallway just outside his own bedroom door.
“Every game huge now,” Marc called out. “Away games in Tampa starting on Wednesday, oui?”
Antony didn’t bother turning around. “Oui.”
“Taking good fuck charm on the road?” There were a few seconds of silence then Marc said, “Probably just head game, eh, Antony.” There was the squeak of the wheelchair being turned around. With a click, the sounds of the recorded hockey game came on the surround speakers again.
Antony closed his bedroom door behind him. His king size bed took up most of the space. There were patio doors that led to a small balcony. A snowdrift, now graying from the city’s air, curved up the side of the long window.
The exhilaration of the game diffused quickly, leaving the usual guilt, but tonight there was a new element, a heavy blackness that tugged on his heart.
Good fuck charm.
Maxine. Maxine. Maxine.
He wanted to share this good news with her, but he was already in too deep with the ACE towing business angle. She thought he was working a late shift to cover for a sick employee. Earlier, after he’d dropped her off at her apartment, they’d exchanged numbers.
He’d put his contact down as ‘Ace.’ She laughed at that, and he felt like a genius.
He glanced at his phone again, but there were no messages from her.
There was a reckless part of him that wanted to drive over to her place right now, surprise her, take her out for real, tell her the truth—but what if she got mad he lied and never wanted to see him again? He told her he didn’t do one night stands either, but that of course, was another lie. All she had to do was Google his name, he kept his love life discrete, but sometimes the women felt the need to post pictures they’d taken with him at the bar or outside the locker room.
No, he couldn’t tell Maxine, it was too much to risk. He needed her. There was no choice; the charade had to continue.
Ignoring the knot that tightened in his heart, Antony slipped out of his suit, taking care to hang it up. He put on boxers and a t-shirt and stood in front of the patio doors. The view of the Air Canada Centre was always best at night—all lit up like some spectacular circus show. There was nothing like the buzz of having the street filled with thousands of fans all in blue and white during the playoffs.
Will we make it to the playoffs? Will I still be part of the team?
Coach Foster had singled him out again in the locker room. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” he advised in his gruff voice.
Luca had given him a similar lecture, but this time he’d asked for specifics. Antony wondered if he was beginning to feel his position on the team was threatened. But Luca was a draft pick from two years ago, and he proved himself every season. Luca just signed another three-year contract. He had no worries.
But Antony did.
His gaze left the Air Canada Centre and focused on the glass. His reflection blinked back at him. A drop to the minors meant a drop in salary—a huge drop.
Where can Antony Laurent go from here?
Marc’s medical bills, the private physio, the caregiver expenses, the taxi service—everything for Marc cost money. Their parents had invested every cent into hockey for Marc, he was their sure bet for the pros.
Antony closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on the cool glass. It should be me in that wheelchair. Marc was the better hockey player by far, he would never have had to worry about being dropped to the minors. He would have been able to give Antony a secure future…if the roles were reversed.
But Antony knew he could never take back his decision the night of the accident.
Chapter Thirteen
“The left side,” Crosby said, holding the handheld mirror. “Definitely. What do you think, Rose?”
“Same thing I said a half hour ago; whatever you think.” Rose sat on the couch, reading Maxine’s latest Cosmopolitan magazine.
“I hate when you’re like this.” Crosby put down the mirror and turned in her chair. “Why did you even bother coming?”
“Because I’m your driver.” She reached out and twirled a green grape off the cluster laying on the wet paper towel on the trunk coffee table. Then Rose noticed the paperback with the curled edges. “Waiting for Fate?” she read with a snort. “Since when do you read romance novels?”
“Maxie?” Crosby tilted up her chin. “You’re the tie-breaking vote.”
“I’m honored.” Maxine had spent her whole morning trying new eye shadows on her little sister. “Yes, the left,” she said. “That’s the one.” And to further drive her point, she started putting away her makeup samples and handed Crosby a box of tissues and bottle of face cleaner.
“Hmm.” Crosby consulted the mirror again. “It’s more frosted than the right eye color combination, but maybe it will make me stand out from all the girls trying to contour their faces like Kim Kardashian. Miles said if I stand out I have a better chance of making it to the next round.” Then she added with a grin, “He also likes my tattoos, he called them ‘worldly original’. The fact I designed them impressed him even more. I wonder if I should get my nose pierced. Just a small diamond stud—”
Rose crunched her grapes from behind the paperback. “You’re putting the women’s movement back by forty years.”
Crosby smoothed cleanser over her face. “I’m a woman, and I’m doing exactly what I want to do. How is that affecting the rest of the female population?”
The book got tossed on the table. Rose pushed up her glasses. “You’re contributing to the perpetual fairy tale that men are a prize to be won and o
nce you’ve got one, you’ll get your happy ever after.”
“Pfft. I’m in it to gain notoriety so Maxie and I can start up our business.” She wiped off her eye shadow and balled up the tissue. She gave Maxine a beaming smile. “I came up with twenty new nail polish names last night! How about you? Anything sexy or funny?”
Zipping up the eyeshadows in her compartmentalized bag, Maxine dropped her gaze. “Sexy or funny?” There was a flash of Antony’s smile, then the look on his face when he leaned in and kissed the sauce off her lips. The familiar pulse began to radiate from her heart to the tips of her ears. She concentrated on cleaning off her table. “How about, hot n’ spicy?”
Crosby let out her signature squeal. “That’s perfect. No, wait! Let’s have a whole hot n’ spicy line. Like, Jalapeno Kisses or maybe Let’s Taco Bout Us.”
Maxine shared a look with Rose, the one they exchanged while Crosby’s vivid imagination constructed grandiose plans, plans that never solidified. Maxine was only humoring her sister with the nail polish idea. It was something she’d used to keep her mind occupied when she and Johnny first split.
At that time, most of Maxine’s contributions were a bit more subdued than Crosby was intending. Names like; Broken Heart, Bleed Me Dry, Salty Tears—It was a graveyard of hopeless images.
“Hot n’ spicy,” Crosby replied. “I like it. Good job, Maxie!”
“Yeah.” Rose’s gaze slipped past Maxine’s shoulder and settled on the impressive bouquet on the kitchen counter. “It’s like you’re inspired.”
“I had a burrito yesterday,” she said, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. Maxine moved into her little kitchen, the scent from the flowers had filled her whole apartment. Every time she walked by, she let her fingers smooth over the surface of the delicate petals. Then she’d close her eyes and could almost feel Antony’s fingers; unclasping her bra, memorizing her back, teasing her breasts, and then finally slipping down between her legs. He’d barely touched her when they were forced to stop.
Still, he made her feel desirable. He made her want to be desired. The good-bye kiss in his car had lasted five full minutes. It was becoming impossible to leave him.
“…a client from the spa?” Rose stood up and studied Maxine as she washed her hands at the sink.
Maxine sniffed. “Yes. A few other girls got them too. She’s leaving on a trip for several months.”
Crosby whistled. “The lady must be rich. Where is she going?”
“Some place warm probably,” Maxine said. Snow flurries blew outside the window. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and glanced at her phone, lying on the counter by a half-empty pot of macaroni and cheese.
“Speaking of warm, Mom wants you to call her at Aunt Margo’s condo. She’s staying with her for the next few weeks. Her place had to be fumigated for bed bugs or something.” Crosby picked up the wooden spoon sticking out of the pot and began to eat the dregs of their lunch.
Rose put a hand to her stomach. “I brought yogurt. Why do you insist on eating that crap?”
“Because it’s the only thing Maxie keeps in her kitchen.”
Maxine took her phone and checked for messages for the millionth time. All last night she’d kept the phone by her bed, just in case Antony texted. She was adamant about letting him call her first. It was based solely on principal. Plus, he was her rebound fling, she was making sure to keep her emotions in check, keeping her heart guarded.
But doubt had crept in this morning when he still hadn’t contacted her. Maybe she was supposed to call him? Is that how rebounds work? It’s not like they had a date. They met. They ate. They almost had sex…in a public park.
What is happening to me? It was Maxine’s turn to put a hand on her stomach.
“See?” Rose said, motioning to Maxine. “That stuff kills the healthy bacteria in your bowel. You guys should have eaten the quinoa salad I brought.”
Crosby loaded up the wooden spoon and shoved the whole mass into her mouth. “Mom said she and Aunt Margo found a nice golf pro at the club for you to marry.”
“Me or Maxie?”
“Does it matter?” Crosby said while chewing. “Do you think it will be like that for us? I hope so. We’ll be these flirty widows hanging out in retirement condos in Florida looking for mates for our kids.” She laughed and nudged Maxine. Then her expression jolted with embarrassment. “Sorry, Maxie. I didn’t mean…”
Maxine had to think for a moment before she realized Crosby meant Johnny.
“You’re so much better off without him,” Rose said, putting her hand on Maxine’s shoulder. A stoic mannerism that was as much a part of Rose as her black rimmed glasses. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” Maxine said absentmindedly, putting the phone back on the counter.
“You deserve a guy who treats you like a queen,” Crosby added.
Rose squeezed Maxine’s shoulder. That was over the top emotion for Rose. “Absolutely,” she said, backing up her twin.
It was on the tip of Maxine’s tongue to tell them about Antony. Then she imagined their reactions. There was no subtle way to tell them she was having amazing make-out encounters with a hot French/Greek mechanic…was there?
She was the older sister, the one who figured out everyone else’s problems. Her life always went as planned; esthetician school, find a nice guy, get engaged, get married, and then have babies for her siblings to spoil.
At least she’d made it to the third phase—even had invitations printed out. But she never expected they’d still be in a box in her closet. Maxine never planned on that.
Of course, she never planned on Antony, either. Or to be suddenly craving sex. But it wasn’t just the physical attraction she felt when she was with him. He thought she was sexy as hell. Still, he had never seen her naked, something Maxine had made sure of.
Johnny had always insisted on doing it with the lights off. She’d thought he was just shy—until she walked in on him completely naked with another woman, on her bed, and in full daylight.
Maxine took a quick breath in through her nose. The nauseous twist that used to make her double over hadn’t gone away, even after all these months. She counted to ten, forcing the image out of her mind.
“…bachelor auction?” Crosby’s voice broke through. “You promised to help out next month.”
“Ouch!” Maxine rubbed her upper arm. She shot Crosby an accusing stare. “That was a hard pinch.”
“I was trying to kick your ass off memory lane in Johnnyville.”
“I was thinking about Carmine,” she lied. “I’m going to the shop this afternoon. I’m worried if I’m late he’ll try and move some boxes and have a heart attack or something.”
In her panic last night, she’d called Carmine, hoping he could put a spin on the situation for her. “Who cares if it’s love or lust?” he’d said. “As long as this Frenchman is kind and goes down on you on a regular basis. That’s all that matters.”
“But what if all this backfires?” Maxine had asked. She was lying flat on her bed, staring at the ceiling as if the answer would be written in the spider web cracks in the paint. “What are the rules? Do we keep meeting up to make-out?”
He laughed himself breathless. He coughed a bit, then cleared his throat. “Meeting up to make-out is what dating in the beginning is all about.”
Staying quiet, Maxine wasn’t so sure. There were never any of those frantic early days with Johnny, or even later, when they had to have each other no matter where they were.
Now, watching Rose grab her jacket off the chair, she was no closer to knowing what she wanted to happen. Rose said, “I’ll drop you off at Carmine’s.”
The three of them piled into Rose’s car. Maxine couldn’t help but notice both nobs on the radio had broken off. “When did that happen?” she asked.
Rose gave her a funny look. “Last year.”
“Why don’t you get it fixed?”
“I don’t care if I have a radio.” She started the car and h
eaded east toward Kincourt Street.
Crosby was bundled up in the backseat. “I hate the cold,” she shivered. “Can I skip the widow bit and move to Florida now?”
To Maxine’s relief Rose and Crosby began discussing their baby brother, taking the attention off her. “He hates his boss,” Crosby said. “He does nothing but take selfies with all the celebrities who come into the store. Westley said he doesn’t even know how to ring in a sale.”
Rose turned on her blinker and changed lanes. “A good manager manages the staff,” she said. “Not the customers.”
“All the staff hate him, too. Westley is convinced he’s stealing merchandise.”
“Seriously? That can’t be ignored. Westley has to report him!” Rose replied.
A buzz from Maxine’s purse made her jump. With a shaking hand, she slipped it out and read the caller ID.
Ace.
Chapter Fourteen
Despite being in the car, Antony pulled the field coat around him as he pressed the cell phone to his ear. The number kept ringing, then finally it went to voice mail.
“Hi there, this is Maxine,” her tone was bright but even. “Leave me a message and I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up and stared out the windshield. The clock on the dashboard blinked back at him, it was mid-day. He yawned and closed his eyes.
With Maxine spilling into his every thought, he hardly slept last night. Unable to shake it off, he’d gotten up early, gone to the gym and spent the rest of the morning arguing with Marc about which caregiver to hire. It was moot, actually. Marc could stay on his own. There were enough assistive devices in the apartment, and Marc did have amazing upper body strength to transport himself in and out of the shower and into bed. He only needed to have someone check on him once a day, make sure he took his meds, did his exercises, ate a meal…not drink and watch hockey all day.
The Right Fit Page 8