Page 82 of Brooklynaire

I’m the one who has to look Heidi Jo in the eye every freaking day for the rest of theseason.

But not yet. I justcan’t.

I slip past her, leaving both Nate and Heidi Jo behind. Three seconds later I’ve grabbed my coat and exited the building into the cool Maynight.

18

Nate

So that could have gone better.

I stammer my way through the introduction for the press conference. But it’s okay to be a little inarticulate when your team has just coughed up a loss. Nobody cares what I say, anyway. They want to hear from Coach Worthington and theplayers.

And whatever they’re saying now, I don’t even listen.Blah blah blah we’ll win the next one,probably.

My mind is elsewhere. I’m still thinking about Rebecca’s quick departure, and the horrified look on her face when her chatty sidekick caught ustogether.

But I’m viewing it only as a temporary setback. Something we’ll laugh about later. I’ll do anything to break the tension between us. Tonight it finally felt like maybe Ican.

I’m awoken from my reverie by the sound of chairs scraping. The press conference is over. Rising from my seat, I plot a course for the door. As I move through the crowd, several reporters try to collar me for aquote.

“Mr. Kattenberger, how do you feel about yourteam’s…”

“Mr.Kattenberger…!”

Nope. Tonight I’m not having it. I give each one a friendly wave and keep moving. The edge of my phone is glowing green, which means that Ramesh is waiting for me outside. Perfect. Ten seconds later I’m sliding into the back of thecar.

As per our security protocol, the locks slide shut immediately and he glides away from the curb as soon as hecan.

“Rough game,” Ramesh says from the frontseat.

“Eh. We can rebuild it. Hey man—one stop beforehome?”

“Hit me,” hesays.

I give him Rebecca’s address on Water Street. It’s only two miles away, and he hits all the lights just right. So I’m pushing the buzzer at her front door only a few minuteslater.

That’s when it occurs to me to check the time. It’s 11:46p.m.

Fuck. I’m such anasshole.

“Hello?” Rebecca’s voice says a few secondslater.

“It’s me.” I sigh. “Look, I’m sorry it’s so late. I said I wouldn’t be that creepy guy. And now here I am standing on your doorstep at midnight. Nothing creepy at all about that, right? You were probably asleep and dreaming about sweaters or something and I wrecked it.Again.”

I can hear myself babbling. Nobody ever accused me of being good at this, though. But I try to get to thepoint.

“But, anyway, our conversation got interrupted at just the wrong time. Or at least I thought it was the wrong time. I just wanted to say that if you ever want to finish that conversation, I’m here for that. Not literally. I won’t show up at midnight every night until you decide to either talk to me or call HR. But if the mood ever strikes, just say theword.”

Now I’ve run out of air. And none of that sounded particularly sane. So it’s not much of a shock that Rebecca doesn’t sayanything.

Not oneword.

I put my forehead against the pane of glass in her door and wonder if I’ve just made everything worseagain.

Fuck.

Then a set of pretty blue eyes appears on the other side of the glass and I leap back,startled.