“Jesus, it was just for fun.” He scrunches his face up. “Or is it because it was girls? Or one girl?” He hoists an eyebrow.
I gulp some lemonade. “You’re right. I’m too competitive.”
He laughs. “You’re a Wynn.”
Taylor
Yes, I’m going on another damn date.
I believe in love—big, beautiful, crazy love that fills your heart and your soul, that radiates to everyone around you and makes the world go ’round. I want that. I’m not giving up on it.
Hockey players, on the other hand, I am giving up on. I roll my eyes as I check out my reflection in the mirror in my bathroom.
It’s Sunday and we’re meeting at a sports bar, so I’m wearing jeans, a tank top with a big slouchy sweater over it, and ankle boots. I fluff my hair and turn to go.
Anthony’s a guy I met on the dating app. He’s cute and seems nice. He probably thinks the same about me. We’ll see what we think when we meet in person. As long as the police don’t show up to arrest him, I’m determined to do a second date (assuming he wants to) so I can’t say I’m being too picky.
I grab my purse and my keys and jog downstairs.
Mom and Dad are in the family room with the TV on. They stop talking when I enter the room, which gives me a weird vibe. “I’m going out,” I announce. “I don’t think I’ll be late.”
“You’re not home for dinner?” Mom asks.
“No. Sorry. I should have told you sooner.” Too busy playing beach volleyball and drooling over JP Wynn’s chest.
“Oh, that’s okay. Who are you going out with?”
“A new guy. His name’s Anthony.”
Dad’s face tightens. He hates that I date guys I meet online. But how else am I going to meet them? I work with mostly women, and now that I’m out of college it’s not that easy. I could go hang out in bars, but would that be any better?
“I’m meeting him,” I say to reassure him. “Don’t worry.”
He grimaces.
“Have fun,” Mom says.
I jump in my car, an ancient Volvo my parents bought me when I turned eighteen. Okay, it’s not ancient, it’s only six years old. It’s not what I would choose, but since I can’t exactly afford a new car, I can’t be picky. It runs and it gets me from point A to point B, so that’s all that matters.
Mom and Dad were probably talking about how to get rid of me. My older sister, Amy, lives with her family in San Diego. My parents had her when they were young and then six years later I came along…oops. They probably want to have another shot at a fun and child-free life.
After a short drive, I enter Jake’s Tavern. It’s a long, narrow space with wood floors, pressed tin ceilings, a dark wood bar along one side, and small tables on the other. I pause and search the patrons, looking for who I think is Anthony.
A man at a table against the wall lifts a hand. Yes, that’s him—wavy, sandy-colored hair, a nice smile, decent shoulders. I smile and start toward him and he slides off his high chair to greet me.
“Taylor?”
“That’s me.”
He shakes my hand, holding it an extra moment and making eye contact, the corners of his eyes crinkling up attractively. “Nice to meet you in person.”
“You too.”
He helps me with my light jacket, which is very polite, hangs it on a nearby hook, and we take our seats.
“Have you been here before?” he asks.
“I have. They have great wings.” Although chicken wings probably aren’t a good thing to order on a first date—not exactly elegant.
A waitress approaches to take drink orders. I approve of Anthony’s choice of a craft Belgian wheat beer, and I request a house cocktail—lemonade with Maker’s Mark bourbon. Two of my favorite things together.
We make conversation and look over the food menus. Anthony is a production assistant for a smallish film company. He has lots of entertaining stories, which he shares as we eat grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches, making me laugh. He’s easy to talk to, interested in hearing about my job, and…there’s no sparkly stuff happening. At all.
That doesn’t matter. Probably I’m crazy to expect that after one date.
By the time we’re done eating and have finished off a second drink each, the police haven’t showed up to arrest him and he hasn’t tried to recruit me to sell Amway or asked if I’m ovulating (these things all really happened to me on first dates!), so really, we’re off to a fine start!
On the sidewalk outside the Tavern, he offers to walk me to my car, another nice gesture. I’m only half a block away on the busy street, though, so we say good night.
“I’d like to see you again,” he says.
I don’t even hesitate. “Me too.”
“Great. Let’s chat next week.”
He kisses my cheek, which is sweet.
So what if I don’t want to climb him like a koala on a tree? I’m sure when I get to know him better, the attraction will develop. It doesn’t always happen instantaneously. My friend Ashleigh ended up marrying a guy she was “just friends” with for years, so clearly it can happen. Anthony and I just need to be friends first.
* * *
—
I get to my office early Monday morning. I like to start my week by reviewing my calendar to see what appointments I have scheduled and what other things I have to get done, and prioritizing work.
I love my job. It’s stressful and overwhelming at times, with all the paperwork and clients that are waiting to be seen, but it’s also rewarding. It’s all worth it when I have one of those moments when a child’s face lights up in a breakthrough that I know is going to change his or her life. But dealing with kids with problems all the time can take its toll; dealing with parents too. Part of what I do is train parents to work with their children at home and it’s frustrating when some parents begrudge their kids the time they need, or get annoyed because they feel like they’re doing the work instead of me. I spend an hour with the kids once a week one-on-one, but they’re the ones who spend every day with their kids.
My coworker, Catherine, arrives soon after me and we chat over coffee for a few minutes about our weekend. Our first appointment this morning is with a child who’s new to the clinic, here for an assessment because of her language delay. We talk to three-year-old Laura’s mom about her concerns, making notes, then do a play-based assessment. I get down on the floor to talk to Laura as we play with blocks and trucks, while Catherine observes and makes notes.
“That’s it!” I tell Laura. “Now can you put the cow in the truck?”
She’s making animal and truck noises as we play, and lots of gestures, but very few words.
I do a standardized assessment as well. Laura is dropping initial consonants, like L, R, and Y, and she’s reluctant to imitate my sounds and words. This is quite typical. My clinical impression is that Laura has apraxia, which is actually a movement disorder. Her brain knows what she wants to say, but the muscles of her articulation structures—her lips, tongue, and soft palate—can’t do it. It’s very hard for her to put sounds and syllables together.
We explain this to Laura’s mom, who’s understandably distressed but also relieved to know the cause of her daughter’s speech delay. My experience with children with apraxia is that they need to learn that when they make the effort to produce an understandable word, they’ll be rewarded by being understood. I find that Laura can say B sounds, so I get out a ball and a stuffed bear that we play with. The idea is to associate a desired toy or activity with the word, which reinforces her effort.
We outline a treatment plan that will also include stimulating Laura’s hard and soft palate, lips, and tongue using a toothbrush and tongue depressor to create oral awareness of the structures. I’ll teach Laura’s mom how to do this
at home too.
“You’re so good with the kids,” Catherine says afterward.
“Thank you!”
“Building rapport is sometimes the hardest thing,” she adds. “Getting kids comfortable enough to participate—but you just bring that out in them.”
I don’t really think I do anything special; I just have fun with them. But it’s nice to hear words of praise.
I’m typing up a report at my desk when my boss, Toni, stops by. “It’s lunchtime, Taylor.”
I smile. “I know.”
“Shoo.” She waves her hands. “Take a break! You know it’s important.”
I’m grateful for a boss who understands that. Burnout and compassion fatigue are real issues in this business. Toni tries to make sure we take breaks, and she makes our weekly team meetings fun as well as businesslike. She’s been in the field for ten years and started this business five years ago, and I admire the depth of her knowledge as well as her management skills. I want to be her when I grow up.
I save my report and head out. Our office is in Torrance, and I drive to a nearby shopping mall to grab some food. I sit outside near the water fountains to eat, enjoying the autumn sun, and check my phone for Snapchat messages from Lacey or Ashleigh or Everly. We have a group set up on the app and send each other messages all the time.
Oh, hey, there’s a text from Anthony.
He wants to go out on Thursday night. He has tickets to the Condors’ preseason game that night.
Did I mention to him that I’m a hockey fan when we were out last night? Huh. Used to be a hockey fan, I should say.
What the hell, I still like hockey. So I text him back agreeing to go to the game with him.
Then I let my friends know about the date. This should end any thoughts Lacey might have about me and JP. She seemed to think there was still something between us. Well, she was right, there is—animosity.
Ha ha.
I sigh, thinking about the volleyball game yesterday. When JP took his shirt off, my bones turned to goo. His loose jeans slid so low on his hips I could see the waistband of his underwear, not to mention those incredible obliques, a couple of prominent veins, and a sexy trail of dark hair…
I wave a hand in front of my hot face.
I haven’t seen Anthony’s torso yet. It could be just as nice. I’ll probably be melting and fanning myself over him, too. Probably.
I do enjoy remembering how my game had been so on point. I took a great deal of pleasure spiking the ball and making JP dive for it, futilely I might add. A smile tugs at my lips while satisfaction expands in my chest.
Take that, you cocky, smirky professional athlete.
But he was so cute when I introduced him to Carter, giving him a baby-sized fist bump.
Maybe he’ll come to aqua yoga. It would be fun making him look foolish again.
Gah! Why am I thinking about JP? I should be daydreaming about seeing Anthony Thursday night.
I toss my trash into a receptacle and head back to my car, and as I drive back to work, I mentally review my wardrobe to plan what I’ll wear on my upcoming second date.
* * *
—
“The Golden Eagles?” I tip my head back and stare at Anthony. “I didn’t know that’s who we’re playing tonight.”
“Yeah.” His eyebrows pull together. “The Condors and the Eagles hate each other, so it should be good. Although it’s just the preseason and not everyone is playing.”
Okay, maybe that means JP isn’t playing tonight. I’m not sure if I feel disappointed or relieved.
“Right.” I force a smile. “Should be great.”
He buys us beers and popcorn to share, and we find our seats, decent ones in the two-hundred level near center ice. We’re there in time to see the end of the warm-up, and of course I check the handout we’re given to see who’s playing tonight. Yep, there’s JP’s name. Number thirteen.
Seriously? Number thirteen? That’s like daring the devil.
I shake my head, smiling, and search him out on the ice. He’s not wearing his helmet, so it’s easy to recognize him.
My heart hops in my chest. I wipe a hand over my forehead. He looks extremely hot down there, all bulky in his equipment and even taller on skates. I let out a short sigh.
“You okay?” Anthony give me a sideways glance, concern etched on his forehead.
“Yes! Fine. Did I tell you that one of my best friends is married to the Condors’ GM?”
“No. Really?”
“Do I sound like a douche? I don’t mean to sound like a douche. We’re neighbors. And Wyatt Bell…” I point to the end of the ice where the Condors are skating. “He’s a neighbor too.”
“That’s so cool.”
“I met Wyatt at the wedding, too. And of course JP Wynn, who plays for the Eagles. He’s Théo’s brother.”
There. I said his name. Nice and casual.
“Wow. The Wynn family are like royalty.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The music is loud and catchy, and I watch the players shoot the puck at the net in fast, hard shots. JP pauses near the center line to talk to one of the Condors players. Neither of them crosses the line, but they prop their arms on their sticks for a moment while they chat. I check the Condors player’s number and yeah, it’s Harrison Wynn. It takes me a minute to figure out the relationship because that family’s a little odd, but Harrison is my friend Everly’s brother, which means he’s Théo and JP’s uncle. I seem to recall that he usually plays for the Condors’ farm team in Pasadena, but I guess during training camp they all get a chance to play so the coaches can have a look at them.
What does it feel like for JP, playing against the team his grandfather owns, which his brother manages, and against another family member? It must be weird. On the other hand, he’s a professional, so he probably just focuses on what he needs to.
JP laughs and the two men part, skating off in opposite directions.
The horn sounds to end the warm-up and JP does a weird thing—sprints from one side of the ice to the other, then back, as fast as he can, hopping off the ice as he arrives at the gate and disappearing down the tunnel.
“Glad you like hockey,” Anthony says. “Could’ve been a dud date if you didn’t.”
I smile. “I love hockey. This is great.” I munch on some popcorn. “Did you ever play?”
“Yeah, I did. Thanks to Bob Wynn and Wayne Gretzky, hockey started to get more popular here in the eighties and nineties. I was one of the kids who wanted to be like them. I was an okay player, but I sure wasn’t ever going to make it my career.”
“So you understand the game. You can explain things to me.” I give him a wrinkled-nose smile. “I like the game, but I have to admit I don’t know everything about it.”
“Sure.” He clearly likes this. Score a point for me for stroking his ego.
And he does answer my questions, when I don’t understand an icing call, or when the Eagles get a penalty shot because one of the Condors interfered with JP on a breakaway.
“Why isn’t it just a hooking penalty?” I ask.
“Because he had a breakaway and had a clear scoring chance.”
I nod, tensing as JP prepares to take the penalty shot, pausing bent over to catch his breath. Then he strides forward, picking up the puck at center ice. My eyes go wide, watching as he skates in on Bergström, our goalie. He curves to his right, then crosses in front of the net with the puck. Bergström goes down in the splits, trying to block the net with his legs, but JP stops abruptly, spins around, and shoots the puck into the top of the net.
“Holy shit!” I jump up, clapping, smiling broadly. “He scored!”
Anthony tugs at the sleeve of my Condors sweatshirt. “Hey, uh…that was the other te
am.”
I subside into my seat, my face going hot. People are looking at me like I’m an idiot. “Right,” I mumble, picking up my beer from the drink holder and gulping some down. “It’s just…I know him…”
Anthony chuckles, shaking his head. “Okay. But damn, they’re up one–nothing, now.”
The first period comes to an end.
“Still two more to go!” I say cheerfully, to make up for cheering for the wrong team. “Lots of time! And anyway, it’s just an exhibition game.”
“Let’s go up and get another drink.”
The Condors end up losing, three–two. JP has no idea that I’m there, but it’s like he’s showing off for me, scoring another goal and assisting on the third. I’m reluctantly impressed.
And he doesn’t even get in a fight.
Chapter 9
JP
“I’m not going to this yoga class by myself.” I frown at Everly. We’re sitting on a patio having a Friday happy-hour drink.
“What do you mean? I’m going.”
“I mean, I don’t want to be the only guy there.”
She laughs. “Why not? Seems like good odds to get lucky.”
We’ve been talking about ways for me to manage my feelings so they don’t control me and come out at the wrong time. Everly’s not a psychologist, but she’s smart, and I’ve confided in her my goal of controlling my emotions on the ice better this year to improve my game. For some reason, I feel like she gets it, and she surprisingly has some insight into it. From a couple of comments she makes, I have the impression she’s had to learn some strategies herself. Not that she’s angry…I don’t think?
Apparently, Taylor convinced Everly to go to this yoga class on the water, and Everly’s trying to drag me along, telling me yoga will be good stress relief and help me feel calmer. I’m not convinced of that, but what the hell, I’ll give it a shot. Falling in the water is the worst that can happen, which isn’t the end of the world.
I’m more worried about seeing Taylor again, to be honest. Because even though I’m pissed at her for not telling me she had a boyfriend when we slept together, and probably using me to make him jealous, which resulted in my split lip, I’m still mega attracted to her. But I can’t go there.
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