Page 56 of Brooklynaire

The look on her face cut me, because holding her in my arms had been a transformative experience. One I’mstillprocessing.

But I don’t know where shestands.

“We’ll speak soon, okay?” I said during that last moment we hadtogether.

She’d avoided my eyes. “I’m going to be mostly offline this week. Doctor’sorders.”

Definitely sounded like abrushoff.

Nonetheless, I’ve sent her a couple of texts and left a voicemail, asking if she was okay. But either she’s ghosting me, or she’s really offline. And I can’t keep reaching out to her, because if I do, that makes me a creepy guy who can’t leave heralone.

And that’s the worst thing about this mess. If I’d seriouslytriedto break the rules in the seediest possible way, it would look a hell of a lot like what went down on Tuesday night. I used a key card she’d given to Lauren to let myself into her hotel room while she slept. I woke her up, and then we had very energeticsex.

Twice.

I can see the headlines now.Nate Kattenberger, CEO of a Fortune 500 Company Is the Biggest IdiotAlive.

Meanwhile, I can’t get that night out of my head. I know Becca enjoyed herself, to put it mildly. The way she undressed me plays on repeat in a brain that Iusedto think had above-average powers of concentration. But apparently not, because the taste of her kisses is all I think aboutnow.

“Oh myGod,” Lauren gasps. “This game is taking a year off mylife.”

I check the scoreboard. Still zero-zero. At least I picked the right game to bedistracted.

Beside me, Lauren’s fingers are worrying the strap of her handbag, and her eyes are glued to the goalie she claims not tolove.

As it happens, I’m not the only one who had an interesting night in Bal Harbour. She doesn’t know it, but as I snuck back into my hotel room the other morning, I caught Mike Beacon sneaking out of hers. The goalie and I didn’t say a word to each other as we passed in the hallway, both of us wearing rumpled tuxedos. We just gave each other a quick smile and movedon.

I would never say a word to embarrass Lauren. Though I deserve a medal for not mentioning her sudden return to hockey fandom thismonth.

“Nate.” Stew snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Are you seriously not paying attention rightnow?”

“I am,” Ilie.

“Only you could think about work at a time like this,” he says, stuffing another handful of popcorn into hismouth.

Stew knows me pretty well. And I do have a rep for thinking about work all the time. Though at this rate I’ll never have another original thought. I’m not even sure I care. My obsession with Rebecca got a nice little workout, and I want to hang onto that memory as long as Ican.

The game grinds on, the tension escalating on the ice. I manage to pay attention. Lesser men would let their frustrations show on the ice, but my players keep theircool.

Tampa’s don’t, though. Their most decorated forward trips my D-man and then gets chippy with the ref. I smile when he gets tossed out of the game a minutelater.

“Power play!” Lauren squeaks, and I smile about that,too.

“Nice to see you paying attention,” shesays.

“Nice to see you’re a hockey fan again,” Ireturn.

And that’s when it happens. My boys put the puck in the goal.Finally!We’re on our feet, yelling. The second period ends with a 1-0score.

Lauren sits back in her chair and exhales. “This is torture,” shemutters.

I say nothing, burnishing my trophy for discretion. But now I have fifteen minutes to wait for the third period. And that’s an eternity for me. So my thoughts go right back to Rebecca. Is she lying in my den again, listening to thegame?

God, I hope so. I hope I haven’t fucked everything up by, well,fucking.

I slip my phone out of my pocket like an impatient teenager and check thescreen.

Nothing fromBecca.