Page 107 of Brooklynaire

“You go ahead,” I grumble. I can’t afford a massage. I think I’ll just sit in the suite on the sofa andsulk.

Unless there’s really a Jacuzzi bathtub, like Nate said. Then I’ll sulk there, because otherwise it’s a waste. But I’ll do my bathing alone, damn it. And when Nate shows up tomorrow I’m going to bunk with Heidi Jo. That will wipe the smile off herface.

My intern goes off to explore the hotel, with instructions to check on the players’ lunchroom in advance of their arrival. I leave this in her hands, because she’s surprisingly competent under that bubblyexterior.

I get in the elevator and discover that I have to insert my key card even to choose the penthouse floor. So I do it, and the car glides smoothly to the top of thebuilding.

The suite is gorgeous. There’s a dining table and a living room area. The bed is enormous and piled with pillows. I picture Nate and me rolling around in it, and just for a second it’s hard to hang onto my snit. Because I wantthat.

But only with a man who willlisten.

My phone vibrates with a notification. So I pull it out and look at the lock screen. It isn’t a text, but rather one of those push notifications for a credit card charge. I almost shove the phone back in my bag, except I haven’t used my credit card today. So I peek at the amount of the charge, and it almost stops my heart. $3,400. That can’t be right. I tap on thenotification.

Itisright. But it’s not a charge, it’s a credit. From Dr. Armitage’soffice.

For one shining minute I feel elated. But the joy lasts just sixty seconds, because when I whip out my laptop to check my insurance claim, it still readsdenied.

That’s when my head really explodes. Because there’s no way my windfall is a clerical error. And there’s only one person who could be responsible forit.

I tap Nate’s cell phone number. He answers almost immediately. “Hey! How’s Dallas? Did you make it up to the suite yet?” He’s all cheer andsunshine.

I’mnot.

“Where to begin? Okay, fine. The suite. I said no, and yet here I am anyway. That’s strike one, especially because Heidi Jo spotted the room change first. So thanks for that. Let’s just hope she’s not a gossip. But are you fucking kidding me with the thirty-four hundred smackers on my creditcard?”

It takes him a minute to reply. “You can go back to therapy now, Bec. This is me trying not to get upset that you aren’t following doctor’sorders.”

“You’reupset.”

He chuckles. “I plead the fifth on that. Can’t imagine why you wouldn’t take care of yourbrain,for fuck’ssake.”

“I do takecare!”

“Not according to the good doctor, who only called me because he was worried aboutyou.”

“Now you listen here. There are therapeutic exercises that don’t cost almost three hundo a session! I’ve got Pilates at twenty-five bucks a class, and the take-home exercises they gave me. I’m not an idiot, but thanks for making it clear that you think Iam.”

“I didn’t say that. Don’texaggerate.”

“Don’t treat me like a child!” I’m really on a roll now. “If you had a concern, you could’ve told me. If you wanted to help me afford the platinum-priced therapy, you could haveasked. You say you care about me, but then you pull this bullshit. You care, as long as everything goes yourway.”

“Rebecca…”

“Save it, okay? I have a job to do here. We’ve been over this. Your suite will be empty when you arrive in Dallas. Stay in your own lane until after theplayoffs.”

Then, for the first time in seven years, I hang up on NateKattenberger.

* * *

The next nightI’m stretched across the king-sized bed in Georgia’s hotel room. I’m upset for a plethora ofreasons.

Georgia isn’t faring much better. She’s flipping angrily through a wedding magazine that I’ve forced into her hands. Her wedding is next month. Everything is planned already, except we still don’t have any tablefavors.

“How about chocolates shaped like a taxi cab?” I ask. “I think we should run with the Brooklyntheme.”

“But the wedding is in Long Island,” she says. Her voice is husky from too much cheering during tonight’sgame.

“Brooklyn brought you together!” I protest. “Fine, hockey can be the theme. Or hockey and tennis! Both your sports. We could alternate. I thought those personalized chocolate bars werecute.”