“What?” Sinead gave a barking laugh. “You perform in front of thousands of people almost every night of your life!”
“And you stand up in court and use words I don’t even know the meaning of. That doesn’t mean I want to stand up in a room full of strangers—”
Anthony had finished his turn onstage and arrived at the table in time to hear the end of their exchange. “Enough, you guys! You sound like squabbling children.”
Adam felt like a jackass.
“You should both go up there. Together.”
“Why?” Sinead sounded horrified.
“Because it’s fun,” Anthony reiterated. “And believe me, you two are a couple who look like you need to have fun.” He turned to Vivi, who appeared to be glaring at him because he was so pushy. “I believe we were just insulted,” Sinead said to Adam, who looked as surprised as she was.
“Seems that way.”
Sinead touched her cheeks worriedly. “Do I look un-fun to you?”
Adam laughed. “You don’t look un-fun—it’s—”
“I’ll go up if you go up,” Sinead blurted.
Adam took his time answering, trying to assess if this were some kind of trap. “All right,” he said carefully.
“Together,” Sinead amended. “We have to go up together.” The desperation in her voice touched him, because he could identify with it.
“Okay.”
Sinead looked surprised. “Really?”
Adam scowled. “I said okay, didn’t I?”
“I figured we’d feel less stupid if we went up together,” Sinead reasoned.
You got that right, thought Adam. At least he’d be making a moron of himself with her, not in front of her.
“I’ll go sign us up, then.”
When a woman singing “I Will Survive” finished massacring the song, Sinead knew it was time for her and Adam to hit the stage. He took her hand, and for that, she was grateful. It was steadying, which was just what she needed right about now as her stomach took on a will of its own.
She was doing a good job blocking out the audience when Adam whispered, “You know that song we agreed to sing?”
“Yes?” She’d kill him if he changed his mind. She’d been singing it in her head for the past half hour.
“Let’s ham it up. We’re going to be making jerks of ourselves, anyway. Why not try to have a little fun?”
She searched Adam’s face. Was he putting her on? No, he wasn’t.
“All right,” Sinead shakily agreed. She wondered if anyone singing karaoke had ever had a heart attack and died onstage before. Wow, she thought to herself. You just might make history tonight.
“That was a blast!”
Sinead stood in front of her apartment building with Adam, still exuberant after her stage debut. What an uptight jerk she’d been, afraid to sing karaoke! It was incredible fun, especially when you got to play Olivia Newton-John to Adam’s John Travolta and belt out “You’re the One That I Want.” She was nervous the first few seconds, but then it disappeared and it was just she and Adam and adrenaline and laughter.
“It was,” Adam agreed.
“If I tell you something, do you promise you won’t laugh?”
“I won’t laugh.”
“I’ve always wanted to do karaoke.”
Adam’s eyes widened. “Me, too! But I’ve always been afraid of making an ass of myself.”
“Me, too.”
They laughed at the coincidence, but when they finished, a polite awkwardness seemed to take over. Sinead couldn’t bear the tension of standing there with him, both of them watching and waiting to see what, if anything, would happen. She needed an out, so she began rubbing her forehead. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got a bit of a headache.”
“Oh.” Adam looked mildly disappointed. “You gonna be okay?”
“Of course.” Sinead squeezed his arm. “Well, I guess you really do have friends who don’t play hockey.”
Adam laughed lightly. “I really do.”
“So, um, see you soon.”
Before Adam even had a chance to reply, she was hurrying inside.
She knew she was being a coward. No, she was being a lying coward—and rude to boot. But ending the conversation abruptly put her back in control of a situation whose parameters were beginning to crack. And to Sinead, nothing was more important than control.
12
Sinead hated when her body betrayed her: she was so tense she had to take half a migraine pill before hopping into the cab to meet Adam. She supposed she deserved it, after pretending to have one last week when she didn’t. What comes around goes around, as her Mother always used to say.
She’d been shocked when he’d called and said he had some info for her that might be useful. She was even more shocked when Adam suggested they meet for a drink rather than at her office. Her first impulse was to run to Oliver’s office to tell him, like a pathetic wallflower who’d finally been asked to the dance by the homecoming king. She restrained herself, not wanting to admit to Oliver he’d been right all along. She’d die before she told him about the karaoke bar.
Sinead’s heart sank as she walked through the door of Maxie’s Supper Club (the place Adam had suggested), because it was packed. Crowds made her feel stifled. She worried about getting a headache. She worried about . . . everything. Jesus God, what kept you up last night? her father once teased her. The plight of bumblebees in Australia? But she couldn’t help it. It was who she was. She’d tried meditation but had to quit because she worried about doing it right. The only thing that relaxed her, really relaxed her, was spending time at her house in Bearsville. It was the one place she didn’t bring work with her, the only place where she truly slept well. That was why she insisted on keeping it, rather than the apartment she and Chip had shared. Oliver was right: she’d probably have fewer headaches if she cut herself some slack. She had to get up to Bearsville soon; it had been too long.
She hoped Adam was already here. The thought of having to stand in a crowd three deep was not her idea of fun. Her gaze scoured the room; he was sitting at the far end of the bar, talking to someone in a Blades jersey. He looked uncomfortable. Sinead edged toward him, relieved when the fan slid off the stool next to Adam and she was able to sit.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey.”
“Fan talking your ear off?”
“Yeah. I try to be accommodating, but sometimes it gets a little weird, having strangers recite your own career stats back at you. I gave him an autograph. That seemed to satisfy him.”
Sinead wondered what it must be like to be in the public eye, never knowing where or when someone is going to come up to you. She supposed you just had to accept it as part of your job.
She glanced around the bar. “Pretty popular place,” she observed, stating the obvious. God, she was a moron. “My sister used to come here a lot before she got married.” Like he’d care?
“Yeah, I heard through the grapevine it was a good place to go.” Adam looked dismayed. “I had no idea it would be packed like this, though. I’m not a fan of crowds.”
Sinead was relieved. “Me, neither. Want to go somewhere else?”
“Sure. Any ideas?”
Sinead racked her brain, trying to think of places she’d heard Oliver mention. Of course, she was drawing a total blank. She shrugged her shoulders lamely. “No.”
“Hold on.” Adam pulled out his cell. Sinead heard him say he was “having a drink with his attorney” and did the person on the other end know a “good place where they could talk.” It bothered her, his calling her “his attorney,” even though she had no right to feel that way. Then again, they were meeting in a professional capacity.
Adam tucked the phone back in his jeans. “C’mon,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the door. “Anthony recommended a small place not far from here called Basilica. Intimate, not very noisy. He said we could walk it.”
“You trust Anthony?”
; “Everyone deserves a second chance, and we did end up liking karaoke.” He smiled at her.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Sinead started toward the door, annoyed when some skinny, drunken fool in a three-piece suit leered at her. She rolled her eyes. You wish, she thought. Men.
She relaxed a little as she hit the sidewalk. Air, glorious air. She took a deep breath. Adam followed a few seconds later. He, too, looked more relaxed. Relaxed and relieved.
“Sorry about that,” he said again.
“Hey, at least it’s not a karaoke bar,” Sinead teased. “Who recommended this place, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Actually, it was your brother Quinn.”
Sinead’s brows furrowed in confusion. “When did you see Quinn?”
“I hang out at the Hart sometimes, remember?”
“Oh. Right.”
“Did you tell Quinn you were going to be meeting me?” Please let the answer be no, Sinead thought. If he did tell, then the next time she saw her brother at family dinner, he was going to tease her mercilessly.
“Yeah. Told him we had some more stuff to go over.”
“I can’t believe he recommended Maxie’s.”
“Maybe he thought it wouldn’t be crowded on a week-night. Who knows?”
They fell into easy step together. “Congrats on winning in L.A.,” said Sinead.
Adam glanced at her sideways. “Keeping tabs, huh?”
“I need to keep on top of whether you’re spending too much time in the penalty box,” Sinead answered. Which was true. Not only did she keep tabs on how Adam played, but she also had her paralegal, Damian, keep tabs on what was being written about the Blades in newspapers and online. But that was only part of the story. Sinead actually found herself growing interested in how the team was doing, especially since Ray had told her how much pressure Adam was under to “deliver.”
“I was surprised you called,” Sinead continued casually, trying to ignore how handsome he looked. He was wearing jeans and a simple blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The shirt made the color of his eyes pop. His hair was damp. For some reason, Sinead had always found men fresh from showering sexy. A brief image went zinging through her mind of him naked, water cascading over his athletic body, but a determined mental push made it sizzle away.
Adam looked puzzled. “Why were you surprised? You’ve been on me forever to get in touch with you if I could think of anything else that could help the case. So that’s what I did.”
That’s when she finally noticed the raggedy green canvas bag slung over his left shoulder. She gestured at it. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve got.”
Silence. He’s not saying anything about my running inside like a chicken at the end of karaoke night. Back to professional chitchat. Well, that’s the way it should be, right?
Adam glanced at her with concern. “We were only in Maxie’s a minute, but you really looked like you were being tortured.”
“I get migraines,” Sinead confessed. “That’s what happened the other night. Sometimes they can be brought on by too much noise and stale air.”
Adam looked at her sympathetically. “One of my teammates in Tampa got migraines. There were a couple of times he had to leave in the middle of a game. He even missed a playoff game because of one.”
“I can’t imagine how hard it would be to play a game with a migraine.” She shuddered at the thought. “There are times the pain is so bad I can’t even move my head.” Why are you telling him this? He’s going to think you’re sickly.
“Ever try acupuncture?”
“I didn’t figure you for an alternative-therapy type,” Sinead said, surprised.
Adam looked bemused. “What type did you figure me for?”
“The type who’s never had any physical ailment or weakness in his life.”
“I’ve never known anyone who’s been that lucky. Professional athletes are actually willing to try any kind of treatment to get over injuries. I’ve hurt my back a few times, and acupuncture really helped. Maybe you should check it out.”
“I’ll stick to my pharmaceuticals, thank you.” Moron, now he probably thinks you’re a drug addict.
They arrived at Basilica. The place was small, with stuccoed walls and seven tables of varying size, if that. There looked to be a cast of regulars at the bar; it reminded Sinead of her parents’ pub. Thankfully, it wasn’t too crowded.
They were seated at a table for two in the back. A very small table. Sinead could feel her knees touching Adam’s. The lighting was low, too. The atmosphere was, well, romantic. She wondered if Adam thought, too. Not that it mattered.
“Can I get you folks anything to drink?” asked a blond, blue-eyed waiter with a heavy Eastern European accent.
“Would you like to get a bottle of wine?” Adam asked.
“I can’t drink wine because of my headaches,” Sinead said with an apologetic wince. God, he must think I’m a pill. A stick in the mud. Can’t do this, can’t do that.
“Sorry. My buddy in Tampa couldn’t, either. Forgot about that. So what would you like?”
“Martini,” she told the waiter. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was. It was disturbing.
“Martini for the lady,” said Adam, “and a Peroni for me.”
“Very good, sir. Would you like to see a menu?”
Sinead hesitated. Truth be told, she was starving, which was part of the reason she had a mild headache before going to meet Adam. But if he wasn’t going to eat anything, then she’d just suck it up. “I wouldn’t mind something,” Adam said to her.
“Me, neither.”
“The special pasta tonight is Ravioli Bolognese,” said the waiter. “And we also have some very nice Veal Francese.”
“I’ll have the ravioli,” said Sinead. As soon as she said it, she realized they were not just meeting for drinks; they were having a meal together. That required a lot of legal chitchat. Shit.
“I’ll have the ravioli, too,” said Adam.
“Very good,” said the waiter, disappearing.
Sinead splayed her hands on the table. “What have you got for me?”
“I don’t know if it will help, but ...” Adam dug into the frayed satchel he’d slung over the arm of the chair, pulling out three photo albums.
“What’s this?” Sinead asked, intrigued. She hadn’t seen albums like this in ages. Everyone stored his or her pictures digitally now.
Adam looked uncomfortable. “Fan letters, some dating back as far as when I was in juniors. I saved the best ones.”
Sinead carefully opened the first album. Unfortunately, she could barely read a thing in this damn low light. Her nose was practically touching the page as she intently perused the pages. She knew immediately that she’d hit absolute pay dirt. “Dear Adam, you’ve always been my hero . . .” “Dear Adam, thank you so much for visiting my son Dean in the hospital. It meant so much to him. Unfortunately, he died last week . . .” “Dear Adam, Thank you for your donation toward the new wing of our hospital. Thanks to you, research on spinal cord injury . . .” Pages and pages of thanks, hero worship, even a letter from Ray’s parents. “You’re like a son to us, and always will be. Please stop beating yourself up over what happened . . .”
Sinead looked up at him, moved. “These are amazing.”
Adam looked uncomfortable.
“Why did you save them?”
“To remind myself I’m more than just an asshole who crippled his best friend,” Adam replied bitterly.
“Adam . . .” Sinead snaked her hand across the table to squeeze his. He actually looked vulnerable. She was fully prepared for him to pull away, but he didn’t. They sat there in silence, their eyes not quite meeting. “These are going to be incredibly helpful if we have to go to court,” she said softly.
Adam looked pained. “I thought so.”
“I really appreciate you sharing them with me,” she murmured, heartfelt. “I know it must
have been hard for you.”
Adam forced a smile, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’ll have them scanned and get them back to you as soon as I can,” Sinead promised, removing her hand.
“Right. Appreciate it.”
Dinner was awkward at first. Once Adam put away the letters and they stopped talking about his case, the only place to go next was their personal lives. Adam seemed genuinely interested when she told him how she came to practice law. Still, she worried she might be boring him, as it wasn’t the most riveting tale in the world: She’d wanted a profession that would be high-powered, challenging, and paid well. End of story. She didn’t have a calling the way he or Quinn did. She was envious.
Adam asked about her family, pointing out that she knew all about his, so it was only fair she fill him in on the O’Brien clan. But Sinead couldn’t escape the feeling that his interest went beyond simply wanting an equitable exchange of information. There was something about the way he was looking at her that betrayed him. As he slowly let his guard slip, she realized it was desire. She was confused. He’s the one who kissed you, not the other way around, a little voice in her head reminded her. But another little voice reminded her that he was also the one who thought it best they pretend the kiss had never happened. He was sending mixed signals, and neither she nor her little voices knew what to make of it.
Eventually, they found themselves back out on the street. The mixed signals issue was really eating at her. Sinead decided to be blunt.
“Were we just on a date?” she asked. If the answer is no, she thought, I’m going to dig a hole in the ground right here and jump into it.
Adam scratched his cheek. “Do you think we were?”
Sinead blew out an exasperated breath. “You define it. You’re the one who said the kiss in my office never happened. You tell me.”
Adam paused thoughtfully. “I think it started out as business and then turned into a date.”
“Was karaoke a date?”
“It could have been if you didn’t run into your building like you were being pursued by Satan,” Adam said wryly.
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