The Right Fit

by Daphne Dubois

  Antony did not work for Ace Towing.

  He was young and had plenty of disposable income.

  He traveled to the States often.

  And that injury to his face? Maybe a split lip from a fall, but not a black eye. Plus his knuckles had been injured as well.

  And that’s when she knew for certain, he’d been in a fight.

  He’s not a mechanic or part owner of anything.

  He’s not who he says he is.

  Maxine’s pulse sputtered and skipped as she made her way down the stairs to the lower section.

  Their seats were almost ice level, Maxine felt dwarfed inside the large stadium.

  “…crazy sexy,” Stuart bought a program and was perusing the player’s profiles. “Why didn’t I study kinesiology instead of business? I could be one of the trainers in charge of rubbing down all those muscles. What? I’m gay, they’re hot. I can’t help it.”

  Westley took off his jacket, trying to lay it over the back. “I wish you weren’t so crude all the time. You need a public and private switch.”

  Stuart looked at Westley’s gingham oxford shirt and light gray sweater. “Who’s the gay one, again? We’re at a hockey game for Christ’s sake.”

  “Fine, I’ll spill beer and nachos on myself,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  Maxine filtered out their conversation, her eyes darting around through half-closed lids. Antony said he got the tickets from someone who knew some guy who knew someone…

  …from the mafia? Rose’s voice echoed back to her.

  A cold beer was placed in her hands. “When is your big wonderful lover showing up?” Stuart teased. “But more importantly, will he get us more tickets?”

  “I…I don’t know,” Maxine held the drink, but made no move to take a taste. She had visions of Antony hitting someone. Maybe pulverizing the other guy! Those same hands had been all over her! God, she couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been.

  “Are you all right?” Stuart asked. “Your face just did a weird thing.”

  “Antony is part of the mafia,” she said, her voice squeaking. “Rose said they’re infiltrating the city. That must be it! He’s one of their hitmen!”

  Stuart started to laugh.

  The lights went low as a techno beat thumped the chairs. Everyone started to cheer. Maxine noticed the chair beside hers was full—there was no extra ticket for Antony. An announcer’s voice came over the speaker. The Boston roster was introduced one by one and the air was filled with a chorus of boos. Then it was home team’s turn. Maxine thought of Marc and a cold sliver shot through her veins. Did he even exist?

  What else was Antony lying about? And why?

  “…number twenty-seven, Antony Laurent!”

  Maxine’s head snapped to attention. The jumbo screen above the ice showed Antony skating on the ice; it was the face she’d kissed only that morning.

  “That’s him!” she said.

  “What?” Stuart yelled over the noise.

  “That’s my Antony!” She took the program from him and began whipping through the pages. When she found his profile, her heart exploded.

  “Your Antony, is Antony Laurent?”

  “Mon Dieu,” she whispered. Then her eyes rolled back and everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “What’s the main difference between the team from the start of the year to now?” the microphone was thrust at Antony.

  “Confidence.” He blinked at the strong light off the TV camera.

  “What’s been the greatest struggle for the team to date?”

  Antony angled his head over the throng of reporters crammed in the small lounge outside the locker room. The VIP passes he’d given Maxine should have gotten her down here no problem.

  “Another win. One goal, one assist,” a familiar reporter who always gave Antony a positive write up had squirmed through the microphones. “Is this the new standard you expect from yourself? Are you worried about burning out?”

  He’d changed into his suit, but hadn’t bothered with the tie, he was too anxious to see Maxine. After he scored the goal, he tried to find her in the crowd, thinking that he’d have no problem seeking her out, but it was pointless in the mash of jubilant fans.

  “No,” he said, starting to move his feet, trying to create a path of escape. “Every game is winnable.”

  The door on the other side of the room opened and the mass of reporters headed into the room where Coach Foster was ready to answer the obligatory post game questions. Antony snuck out, his heart pounding as he rounded the corner where she’d be waiting.

  The long hallway was lined with fans clustered against the wall, all wearing passes. He rushed by them, eyes darting back and forth, trying to see past the security guards stationed along the sides.

  A man jogged up to him, out of breath. Antony thought he looked like one of the romantic leads from those K dramas Sasha was always talking about. “I’m Stuart Ling,” he said, grabbing Antony’s hand and giving it a quick shake.

  “Bonjour,” he said, eyeing the stranger.

  “I’m with Maxine.”

  Antony’s countenance changed immediately. “Oh! Où est-elle…where is she?”

  The young man grimaced a bit then started leading him down the hallway. “There was an accident. When she found out you weren’t part of the mafia, she fainted and sort of fell into the chairs in front of us.”

  “Mafia?” Antony picked up his pace, wishing this Stuart guy would walk faster. “Is she hurt?”

  “Just her pride. She also spilled the beer she was holding all over her pants. Just to warn you, it’s dried some, but she still looks like she wet herself.”

  Antony stopped. “What’s your name again?”

  “Stuart Ling.” He said it like a radio jingle.

  “Stuart,” Antony said, glaring down at the slight man. “Where is she?”

  He swallowed and motioned with his head to the left side. “Up here…um, she sent me to get you.”

  Antony marched around the curve of the hallway. “Maxine!” His heart was in his throat. She was leaning against the wall, her face was pale, and her hair was in a side braid. Her expression was a mix of relief and embarrassment. “My poor, Ms. Dior,” he said, brushing the hair off her forehead. The bump was a soft green color.

  A young guy in a sweater, cleared his throat. There was a familiarity around the eyes.

  “This is my brother, Westley,” Maxine said, her voice was hoarse.

  Antony prepared to shake Westley’s hand. “I heard lots about you. Nice to meet you.”

  Westley crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave Antony a guarded nod.

  Stuart said unnecessarily, “Told you I’d find him.”

  “Do you need ice?” Antony asked, turning back to Maxine. “Have you seen medic?”

  “I’m fine.” She reached up and pulled the hair back in place, covering the bruise. “I’m just in shock about all this.”

  He wanted to pull her into a hug, but the brother was practically standing in between them. “I wanted big surprise for you,” he said. The elation of the win and his performance tonight fizzled in the reality of the moment.

  “Mission accomplished.” She smiled, but her hesitant tone kept Antony straight-faced. He originally pictured her being ecstatic, running into his arms after the game. “I scored that goal for you,” he would have said, because in truth, he did. He even half expected the brother to be gracious and slapping him on the back. Who wouldn’t want their sister to be dating a professional hockey player?

  But Antony regarded both of them and realized he’d assumed wrong, so very wrong. There were three more tickets for tomorrow’s game in his pocket. He suspected offering them would make things worse.

  “That was an amazing game, by the way.” Stuart was beaming at Antony’s side. “You work out every day, right? Say, do all the players leave this way?” He strained his neck to peek around the corner.

  T
he dark circles under Maxine’s eyes pained Antony. “Hungry?” he asked, linking his fingers with hers.

  She started to say something then paused, her gaze focused on something over his shoulder. Two women in tight mini dresses with VIP badges made their way to the locker room.

  “We split a twenty-dollar hotdog at half time,” Stuart said.

  Antony turned back to Maxine, wishing she’d give him wink or a smile to let him know he didn’t completely screw up. “My treat. I made reservation at Chairman’s Suite.”

  Out of the three, Stuart was the only one who smiled at the invitation.

  Antony led them to the south side of the complex, hoping the opulent surroundings of the exclusive restaurant, still busy with patrons, would make up for the bump on her forehead. They were shown to a spacious booth overlooking the now darkened ice surface.

  Although irritated with the talkative roommate at first, Antony soon became reliant on Stuart to keep the conversation going. The awkwardness of the evening had manifested itself in silence. Westley, it seemed, was intent on playing the begrudging brother as if it was Antony’s fault she’d fainted.

  What he wouldn’t give to be in his kitchen cooking for her right now, instead of being waited on by the woman in the low-cut dress and high heels.

  “Must be hard to work dressed like that,” Maxine said, fixing her hair again, worried the bruise was showing.

  Antony was grateful for the distraction of the chilled seafood appetizer.

  “Why did you tell my sister you worked for a towing business?” Westley asked. “Ouch, my shin!” He glared at Maxine. “What? You thought he was part of the mafia! If you’re not going to ask, I will.”

  “Not now!” she hissed.

  Antony put down his fork. “I was trying to be…how do you say, hidden in the crowd?”

  “In disguise?” Stuart popped a jumbo shrimp into his mouth.

  “Anonymous,” Maxine clarified. She looked at Antony. “We bumped into each other at Uniun, and I assumed he worked as a mechanic. His job never came up again, it wasn’t important.” She smiled and a gush of relief washed over Antony. She was giving him an easy out, letting him get away with lying. Maybe she was starting to warm up to the idea of dating a hockey player.

  “That’s like buying a stick of gum, but instead the clerk sells you a winning lottery ticket,” Stuart said. “I have to start going to Uniun more often.” He gave Antony a serious look. “Do you guys trade disguises? I might start hitting on Ace Towing dudes now.”

  Antony noticed how red Westley had become in the face.

  Maxine chuckled and reached for a piece of lobster. The knot that had been tightening inside Antony’s chest had begun to loosen. His cell phone buzzed on the cushion between them.

  Ursexslave

  Maxine read the screen.

  “Marc,” he explained, anticipating her question. “Old joke, his idea. I never ignore text from sex slave.”

  “How long has he been calling himself that?”

  “Right after accident.”

  “Oh.”

  Antony finished his Coke, crunching a mouthful of ice. Stuart refilled the other’s wine glasses and the air around the table began to ease. The steaks arrived and Antony was glad to see Maxine and Westley joking with each other.

  Stuart’s gaze roamed around the room. He quizzed Antony on every one that walked in, asking if they were a member of the team’s official organization.

  By the time the dessert menu came, Antony had offered the three tickets for the next game and the gift was well received, especially by Stuart who was already tweeting about it. He leaned back, enjoying the feeling of Maxine by his side. He felt like the universe was giving him a high five. It seemed foolish that he’d wasted so much time worrying about how to make Maxine part of his life. An overwhelming sense of invincibility settled in his heart.

  “The chocolate brownie is made for sharing,” the waitress told them.

  Stuart cleared his throat and slid out from the booth. “Good night,” he said. “It’s been a tremendous honor meeting you, Antony Laurent.” Then he motioned for Westley to follow.

  Westley stood and shook hands with Antony. “Thank you for the meal and the tickets, and for not being part of the mafia.” It was a joke, but he had no humor in his voice.

  Once they left, Antony felt Maxine relax beside him. He put his arm around her shoulders and asked, “Is there part of you even little excited I’m in professional hockey league?”

  “It would have been better if you’d just told me from the start. However”—she smiled—“it was pretty sexy when you scored that goal and made thousands of people stand and scream at the same time. What does that feel like?”

  “Almost as good as hearing you say my name when you come.”

  “Antony,” she chastised under her breath.

  “Non”—he frowned—“higher and God mentioned, too.”

  The brownie arrived with two forks.

  Maxine took off a small piece with her fork and dipped it in the whipped cream.

  “I’m winning you over,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not a hockey puck,” she said.

  “My next trip is Philadelphia. You come too. Same hotel but different room. Oui? My treat.”

  She put another bite in her mouth and chewed. “This is all too fast,” she said.

  “So…oui?”

  “Maybe.” She smiled at the brownie, already half gone. “I have a job, and I help Carmine, and Crosby is doing this Marry Me thing, and she asked me to help with this celebrity bachelor auction, and—”

  He squeezed her knee. “I know. Think about it…please?”

  “Excuse me?” Someone giggled. “Can we get a picture with you?” Two women rocked in place on their spiky high heels.

  “Sure.” He pushed himself out of the booth. “I have long arms,” he said, taking the taller one’s phone. Once all of their faces were in the shot, he took the selfie.

  “Thank you!” the shorter one gushed. “You were amazing tonight.”

  “Merci.” He started to sit back down when one of them touched his elbow.

  “I hate to ask you this, but could we get a full length one?”

  Antony thought there was a slight lift to her voice, suggestive almost. He hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

  The shorter of the two women handed the phone toward Maxine. “Please?” she said. “We want our legs in the shot.”

  Maxine took the camera and pointed it toward Antony, it was in front of her face so he couldn’t see her expression. His smile felt forced.

  “Actually,” the woman interrupted. “Can you take it standing?”

  Antony opened his mouth to object, but Maxine slipped out of the booth. His eyes trailed down her outfit. The spilled beer from when she’d fainted had stained her sweat pants. Her hair was loose from the braid on one side, and the bruise on her forehead seemed to glow.

  The women tucked into either side of him. The one on the right put her hand on his ass and squeezed.

  “Gorgeous,” Maxine said, taking the shot. “Hold on. One more, just in case.”

  After they left, Antony sat down and pulled her next to him. She resisted. “I need to use the washroom,” she said.

  Under a cloud of unfocused guilt, Antony nursed his second Coke, swirling the glass, letting the ice melt. His phone buzzed with another text from Marc. He replied that he might be late tonight and not to wait up.

  Antony checked his watch. Maxine had been gone for five minutes. The whipped cream drooped over the last few bites of brownie.

  “Can we go?” Maxine was suddenly by the booth, holding her coat.

  He frowned at her blotchy neck. “Oui. Do you want brownie?”

  “No, thank you,” she said, already walking to the doorway.

  He caught up to her and squeezed her hand. “You okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, looking straight ahead.

  A layer of silence followed
them all the way to his car, then all the way to her apartment. He kept the radio off this time; he liked listening to the post game show alone anyway.

  Antony cursed at the high snowbanks in front of her apartment building. “Wish you had underground parking,” he said, circling for a place.

  “That would be stupid. I don’t have a car.”

  Antony turned to her; it was the first thing she’d said since they left the restaurant. He stopped in the middle of the street. “Maxine?” he prompted.

  She reached for the door handle. “I have to say goodnight,” she said. “I’m tired.”

  “Let me come up, put you to bed.” He touched the side of her hair.

  “No. I need to process all this. You were this secret, and now I have to share you with everyone.”

  “No sharing, just you.”

  “I need to absorb it all, okay? It’s a big thing.”

  He leaned forward and touched his lips to her forehead. “Poor petit, lump.”

  Maxine leaned back. “Good night,” she said, opening the door.

  Antony jumped out and ran around the back of the car to the passenger side, rushing to help her over the snow bank. “See you tomorrow? Lunch before I go to arena?” There was an unexpected lightness in being truthful that he found exhilarating.

  “No. I’m working.” She slipped out of his arms and walked toward the main entrance. “Call me when you get back from Philadelphia,” she added. “I should be over the shock by then.”

  “That’s five days!” He laughed, then his face fell. “You serious? You don’t want to see me for five days?” He started to climb over the snow bank to reach her.

  She put up her hand, stopping him. “You’ve had time to get used to all this. What if you found out I was an alien or something?”

  “Oui, but…five days?”

  “Oui!” Her voice was harsh, irritated.

  He reached for her again and his phone went off in his pocket. He read the text from Marc and then looked up, but Maxine had already made it inside her building, the door closing behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Must be a lot of pressure on that young man.”