by Keeland, Vi
It had been a very long time since a man gave me the warm fuzzies in the pit of my belly—not since the day I’d met Gabriel. So maybe finding Yoda in my pocket was a sign? The light changed, and I walked a few more blocks, lost in thought.
Did it really matter that he’d pretended to be Adam? I mean, if he was telling the truth, he only did it so I’d talk to him. Let’s face it, if he had walked over and introduced himself as Max, I wouldn’t have invited him to sit down. I would have been polite and told him I was waiting for my date, no matter how gorgeous the man was. So, I couldn’t really say I blamed him…I guess.
I stopped for another red light at the crosswalk on 29th Street, this time at the corner of 7th as I made my way down to 2nd Avenue where I lived. While I waited, I looked to my right, and the neon lights of a sign hit me. Madison Square Garden. Now that was definitely a sign—quite literally. Between Yoda and walking right past the place Fake Adam had said he’d be…perhaps it was more than that.
I checked the time on my phone. Twenty after eight. He’d said he would be there at seven thirty, but I was sure the game took a few hours. Should I?
I nibbled on my lip as the light in front of me turned green. People on both sides of me started to walk…but I just stood there, staring down at Yoda.
Screw it.
Why not?
What do I have to lose?
The worst that could happen was that our initial connection fizzled or it turned out lying was one of Fake Adam’s hobbies. Or…the spark we’d had might lead to just the distraction I was looking for. I wouldn’t know unless I tried.
For the most part, I was pretty conservative with my choices in men. And look where that had gotten me. I was a twenty-eight-year-old workaholic, going on blind dates with my mom’s friend’s relatives. So screw it—I was going.
Once I made the decision, I couldn’t wait to get there. I practically jogged to Madison Square Garden, even in my heels from work. Inside, I showed my ticket to an usher standing at the entrance to the section listed, and he showed me to my seat.
As I walked down the stadium stairs, I looked around and noticed I was pretty overdressed. Most of the people had on jerseys and jeans. There were even a few shirtless guys with their bodies painted, and here I was wearing a cream silk blouse, red pencil skirt, and my favorite Valentino pumps. At least Max had been pretty dressed up.
I hadn’t noticed the row number on the ticket before handing it over to the usher, but the seats must’ve been decent because we just kept walking down toward the ice. When we hit the very first row, the usher extended his hand. “Here you go. Seat two is the second one in.”
“Wow, first row, directly in the middle on the fifty-yard line.”
The guy smiled. “In hockey we call it center ice.”
“Oh…okay.” But the seat next to the one he’d shown me to was empty, and Max was nowhere in sight. “Did you happen to see the person sitting in the seat at the end?” I asked.
The usher shrugged. “I’m not positive, but I don’t think they’ve arrived yet. Enjoy the game, miss.”
After he walked away, I stood looking down at the two empty seats. This was one outcome I hadn’t thought about: I might get stood up. Actually, would it even be considered standing someone up if the other person didn’t know you were coming? I wasn’t sure. But I was here, so I might as well take a seat and see if Max showed. He’d said he had to work, so perhaps he was running late. Or maybe he was already here, just in the men’s room or in line for a beer.
A woman sat on the other side of me. She smiled as I settled in. “Hi. Are you here to watch Yearwood? He’s on fire tonight, already slashed two in the net. Too bad they’re probably not going to be able to hold onto him for next season.”
I shook my head. “Oh. No, I’m actually meeting someone. I’ve never been to a live hockey game before.” Just as I said it, two guys slammed into the glass wall directly in front of me. I jumped, and the woman next to me laughed as they skated away.
“That happens a lot. You’ll get used to it.” She reached out her hand. “I’m Jenna, by the way. I’m married to Tomasso.” She pointed to the rink. “Number twelve.”
“Oh, wow. I guess I’m sitting next to the right person for my first game.” I put my hand to my chest. “I’m Georgia.”
“Anything you want explained, Georgia, you just let me know.”
For the next twenty minutes, I tried to watch the game. But I kept looking around to see if Max was coming down the stairs. Unfortunately, he never did. By nine o’clock, it was pretty clear I’d wasted my time. Since I had early meetings tomorrow morning, I decided to call it a night. The game clock showed less than a minute until the end of the second period, so I figured I’d wait until then so I wouldn’t be blocking people’s views as I climbed the stairs back up to the exit. These hockey fans seemed pretty into the game.
When the clock hit nine seconds, one of the guys scored a goal, and the place went crazy again. Everyone jumped up, so I did the same, only I used it as an opportunity to slip on my jacket. I leaned to the woman next to me and yelled. “I don’t think my date’s coming, so I’m going to head out. Have a good night.”
But as I turned to leave, something caught my attention on the Jumbotron. The player who’d scored held his stick up in the air celebrating, and a bunch of the guys on his team were whacking him on the head. His helmet covered most of his face, but those eyes… I know those eyes. The player took out his mouth guard, waved it in the air, and smiled right at the camera.
Dimples.
Big ones.
My eyes went wide.
No…it couldn’t be.
I continued to stare at the screen with my mouth hanging open until the guy’s face was no longer on it.
The woman next to me finished cheering. “See? I told you he was on fire. If this is your first game, you’ve picked a good one to watch. You don’t see a lot of hat tricks in a single period. Yearwood is having his best season ever. Too bad the rest of his team isn’t.”
“Yearwood? That’s the name of the guy who just scored?”
Jenna laughed at my question. “Yup. Team captain and arguably the best player in the NHL these days. They call him Pretty Boy for obvious reasons.”
“What’s his first name?”
“Max. I figured you knew him, since those are his seats you’re sitting in.”
• • •
“Hey, Pretty Boy. Are you looking for someone?”
Max walked out of the locker room. He’d looked right and then left, but hadn’t noticed me sitting on the bench across from the entrance.
He smiled when his eyes landed on me, and his entire face lit up as he walked over. He’d known I was at the game. Right before the second period intermission, he’d skated over to where I was seated and banged on the glass. But he hadn’t known the woman sitting next to me had given me her all-access pass so I could come downstairs to the locker room and see him after the game.
“You waited…”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out Yoda, holding it up in my palm. “I had to give this back. You said you were superstitious.”
He took it from my hand and slipped it back into my jacket pocket. Then he laced his fingers with mine. “I am. I just had the best game of my career. So guess where Yoda needs to be for every game from now on?”
“Where?”
“In my girl’s coat pocket while she sits in my seat.”
“Oh, I’m your girl now, am I?”
He swung our joined hands. “Maybe not yet. But the night is young.”
“Ummm… It’s almost eleven, and I have to work in the morning.”
Max stared into my eyes. My insides did a somersault. He raised our joined hands to his lips and kissed the top of mine.
“I’m glad you came,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“Really?” I tilted my head. “Because for some reason, I get the feeling you usually get what you want.”
“Is that
a bad thing? Maybe it’s because I’m not a man easily deterred. I don’t mind working for something.”
“Tell me, did you have to work hard for the woman you slept with a few weeks ago?”
Max chuckled and shook his head. “You’re a handful, aren’t you?”
“What if I said I wouldn’t sleep with you just because you say sweet things?”
He raised a brow. “Not ever?”
I laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“That’s fine. I’m not in a rush. Will you at least have a drink with me?”
I smiled. “One. Because I do have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Deal. I’ll take whatever I can get.” He put an arm around my shoulder and started us walking. “Though I should warn you. It doesn’t matter what exit I walk out of, there are usually a few people hanging around for autographs. It feels wrong to just walk by, so it might take a while to get clear of here.”
I liked that he was the type of person to stop for his fans. “Okay.”
The minute we exited, people started screaming his name, and there were more than just a few of them. Security flanked us on both sides while he scribbled his name over and over. A few asked for selfies, and he leaned over and hammed it up for the camera. Those dimples definitely saw a lot of mileage. Some people professed their undying love, while others asked questions about the game tonight. Max took it all in stride, answering in good spirits. It took almost a half hour for the line to dwindle down. When we got to the last few people, a kid who was probably about eighteen lifted his chin to me as Max scribbled his name.
“Is she your girlfriend? She’s hot.”
Max stopped mid scrawl and leveled the kid with a warning glare. “Hey, watch it. Have some respect for women. Especially this one. She might be the future Mrs. Yearwood.” His eyes flashed to meet mine. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
CHAPTER 2
* * *
Georgia
“So what does my good luck charm do for a living? Wait, let me guess…”
As he spoke, Max reached across the table and wiped the corner of my lip with his thumb. He showed it to me—sugar from the rim of my lemon drop martini—before sucking it off with a devilish smile that caused a tingle between my legs.
I sipped more of my drink to cool off before answering. “This should be interesting. I’m curious to see what it is you think I do.”
His eyes dropped down to my outfit. It was now almost one o’clock in the morning. We’d walked across the street from the Garden to the nearest bar and taken the most private booth in the back corner, but I was still dressed in my work clothes, having gone straight from the office to meet my blind date, and then the game.
“Classy, yet sexy,” he said. Max leaned to the side and looked down at my feet. “Those hot-as-shit heels don’t look like they’d be too comfortable to stand in all day, so I’m going to guess you work in an office of some kind. You were able to get out pretty early to meet your date, so you’re probably the boss and make your own hours. You also dumped your blind date to come meet a guy for a hockey game—a sport you said you know nothing about—without knowing I was a player. So you’re either in a profession that takes risks, or one that requires you to be an optimist.”
I made a face that said I was impressed. “Go on…”
He rubbed the scruff on his chin, which had definitely gotten darker in the few hours we’d been apart. “I’m gonna say lawyer or advertising exec.”
I shook my head. “And here I thought you were doing so well.”
“Was I close?”
“Sort of. I do sit for the majority of the day lately. I also make my own hours, and I suppose starting my own company was risky. I own Eternity Roses.”
“Eternity Roses? Why does that sound so familiar?”
“Oddly enough, even though I’ve never been to a hockey game, I have advertised at Madison Square Garden. My company sells roses that last a year or more. Maybe you’ve seen one of our billboards.”
“The ones that have a guy sleeping with his head in the doghouse?”
I smiled. “That’s the one. My friend Maggie does all the marketing. She got the idea because her soon-to-be ex-husband was always in the doghouse and coming home with flowers.”
“I’ve sent your flowers to my sister-in-law. Last time I was at her house, my brother and I were goofing around and we broke a chair. She wouldn’t let me pay for it, so I sent one of those big, round, hatbox-looking arrangements. Your website is funny, too, right? I remember it had a page with suggested notes for when you were in the doghouse. I used one for the card I sent with the flowers.”
I nodded. “I used to pick all of those myself when I first started. It was one of the things I enjoyed doing most. But we update so often now, I don’t have the time anymore.”
“That’s pretty cool. But I gotta say…those things were expensive as shit. I think the big one I sent was something like six-hundred bucks.”
“Does your sister-in-law love them?”
“She does.”
“Well, regular roses only last about a week. If you buy four-dozen roses, the amount that comes in that large hatbox you sent, you’d have to spend a minimum of two-hundred-and-fifty dollars. In a year, that’s thirteen-thousand dollars for weekly roses. So six hundred is actually a bargain.”
Max grinned. “Why do I have a feeling you’ve said that a few hundred times before?”
I laughed. “I definitely have.”
“How did you get into that line of work?”
“I always knew I wanted to own my own business. I just didn’t know what kind. During college and grad school, I worked at a florist. One of my favorite customers was Mr. Benson, an eighty-year-old man. He came in every single Monday to buy his wife flowers during the first year I worked there. He’d been giving her fresh roses every week for their entire fifty-year marriage. Most of that time, he’d grown the flowers himself in a small greenhouse in their yard. But after his wife had a stroke, they’d moved to a retirement home because she needed more help than he could handle alone. After that, he started buying her weekly flowers at the store. One day he came in and mentioned he was going to have to cut back and only bring her flowers once a month because the co-payments on his wife’s new medicines were so expensive. He said it would be the first time in more than half a century that she didn’t have fresh roses on her bedside. So I started researching how I could extend the life of cut flowers, hoping I could find a way for Mr. Benson’s wife’s roses to last longer between his trips to the florist. I wound up learning a lot about the preservation process, and things just sort of took off from there. Eventually I opened an online store and started selling arrangements out of my house. It was a slow start until a celebrity with twelve-million followers on Instagram placed an order and posted about how much she loved them. Things snowballed from there. Within a month, I’d moved production from my living room and kitchen to a small shop, and now, a few years later, we have three production facilities and eight boutique showrooms. We’ve also just started to franchise the brand in Europe.”
“Damn.” Max lifted his brows. “You did that all by yourself?”
I nodded proudly. “I did. Well, with my best friend, Maggie. She helped me get it off the ground. Now she owns a piece of the company, too. I couldn’t have done it without her.”
He looked over his shoulder and glanced around the room. “Beauty and brains? There’s got to be a line of guys around here somewhere that want to kick my ass for getting to sit with you right now.”
He’d meant it as a compliment and to be funny, yet my smile wilted for the first time. The reality of why I was out on a date tonight hit me smack in the face. I’d gotten caught up in the excitement of the evening and hadn’t stopped to think that I’d have to tell Max about Gabriel. Frannie had filled my blind date in on my situation, so I hadn’t needed to consider how or when I would bring it up there. But I suppose the how or when with Max had just presented itself
to me on a silver platter, so there was no time like the present.
I smiled pensively. “Well…to be completely honest, I am sort of seeing someone.”
Max dropped his head and lifted one hand to cover his heart. “And here I thought the arrow through my heart was Cupid’s. You’ve wounded me, Georgia.”
I laughed at his dramatics. “Sorry. It feels odd to bring it up, but I thought I should be upfront about my situation.”
He sighed. “Lay it on me. What’s the deal with this other dude whose heart I’m going to break?”
“Well, I…uh…” Damn, this wasn’t easy to explain. “I guess you could say I’m in an open relationship.”
Max’s brows rose. “You guess?”
“Sorry…no.” I nodded. “I am. I’m in an open relationship.”
“Why does it sound like there’s more to it than just you’re dating someone without a commitment?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “We were actually engaged.”
“But you’re not now?”
I shook my head. “It’s kind of a complicated story, but I feel like I should share it.”
“Okay…”
“Gabriel and I met when I was working on my MBA. He was an undergrad English professor at NYU, and I went to Stern Business School there. At the time, he had just begun working on a novel. Gabriel taught to pay the bills, but he wanted to be a writer. Eventually he sold his book to a publisher, along with a deal for a second one he’d write someday, and we got engaged. Everything was going well until about a year ago when his book was published. It didn’t do well. In fact, it pretty much flopped—low sales and terrible reviews. Gabriel got pretty down about it. Not long after, he found out that the parents he’d thought were his biological parents were actually his adoptive parents. Then his best friend since childhood died in a car accident.” I sighed. “Anyway…long story short, Gabriel felt really lost and decided to take a visiting-professor position in England for sixteen months. He never even discussed it with me before accepting the job. He said he needed to find himself. With everything he’d been through, I understood. But then a few days before he left, I got another surprise: He told me he wanted to have an open relationship while he was gone.”