Page 16

Chapter Sixteen

Christina

Sitting at my kitchen table, Amy tries one last time, “Why would you want to have to spend all that extra time and effort meeting such strict regulations?”

And I say for the fourth time, “Because it beats spending all that time and effort asking others for money when a) I have it, and b) I hate peopling! Please, let’s move on.”

She’s been trying to convince me to make my as-yet-nonexistent dance program a public charitable organization, which requires at least a third of its funding to come from public sources. But I can’t see the point when I have plenty to fund it and several other charities. I want to spend my time helping underprivileged children learn to dance, not asking my family’s rich friends for money, or worse, crowd-sourcing through social media or one of those funding platforms.

“Okay, okay. I suppose we can figure out how to change that if it becomes big enough or you get spread too thin.”

“How would that happen?”

“Oh, maybe if you end up spending even more time with a hot hockey player who dances like a dream?”

“Don’t make me sorry I told you that,” I say with a grimace, dropping my hands from my laptop across my kitchen table from her.

“I’ll change my response. Maybe if you fall in love one day.”

I roll my eyes. I’ve already told her it’s casual. But my sister is the ultimate romantic. I’m sure she’s picturing him sweeping me off my feet. Which is a lovely theory, except that he may want children of his own. And I refuse to be the person stealing someone’s dreams of his future from him like a selfish bitch.

“Let’s start with potential email lists to buy.”

We dive back into the operational logistics of getting this thing off the ground. I can handle the budget, the government filings, and the dance part. But for the management and worse, recruiting, I need her help. At least through my dance contacts, I have the curriculum, and Maria’s and one other studio ready to donate blocks of time.

After another hour, she flicks her laptop closed and stands. “I have to run, but we’ve made good progress. Another few meetings and you should be in a good place to start getting teachers and students. I’ll send you back my thoughts on the role descriptions.”

“We still have to figure out how many students to start with.” I scribble a note.

“Yeah, but that’ll depend on how many instructors you can find, won’t it?”

I stand and come around the table to hug her. “Have I said thank you yet?”

“Every time.” She smiles against my shoulder.

“Thank you. You are so good at all of this.”

“That’s what sisters are for, silly.” She squeezes me. “And now I’m off to help our brother.”

“At least you get paid for that.”

As she leaves, my phone dings with a text. It’s Cam, as their season opener is on the road. He sends his usual greeting.

Cam

Whatcha doing?

Working on an idea I had.

A dance idea?

Yes, actually. But not for you.

sad emoji with a tear

It’s not all about you.

emoji with tears streaming down face

Sorry to burst your bubble.

I’m giggling out loud in my kitchen now. The man is cute even in text, damn him.

Whatcha doing?

Laying down for an hour before I go get ready for the game tonight. Will you be watching?

Yes, up in the house with Greg as he has the satellite package that shows more games without commercials. Good luck.

thumbs up K text me after. Gonna try to close my eyes for a few.

I put my phone down and go back to finish my notes from my meeting with Amy. A few minutes later, my phone dings again.

BTW, I still want to know what the dance idea was. ;)

Damn him. How do I keep this casual when he craves family enough to stalk his step and half-sibling and wants to hear about my hopes and dreams?

* * * *

Cam was tired and disgruntled after their loss tonight, enough that I was able to divert the conversation when he asked me about the dance idea by promising to tell him in person after he’s had some rest.

After the call, I lie awake curious if he has a post-loss routine or something to help him sleep. He’d told me at our first dinner that he only drinks one beer a night during hockey season.

I almost text him, picturing him in bed reliving the game. But if he did get to sleep, I’d hate to wake him.

Instead, I stare at the ceiling and relive it for him. Then I berate myself that this is supposed to be casual and have no business caring about his after-game routines. Finally, my brain stops circling enough to sleep and dream about strong thighs and bitable pecs.

The next day is a travel day for the team so we have only a brief text exchange, especially as he’s getting pumped for his first regular season home game.

All three of us Donovans have been working toward tonight, the first game in our stadium, for a long time, and I’m nervous for both Greg and the team. I’ll be in the owner’s box with my siblings. Which I should not be sad about, dammit. It’s the appropriate distance.

Travis is there, chatting up a couple investors Greg invited. What did I ever see in his fancy old-boy’s-network suits? He’s so cold, so contained. I doubt he could be passionate about anything other than money. Sure, I work with money and get excited about investments and news and market trends. But that’s my job. I don’t associate my worth with it.

I smile. He annoys me a lot less now that I’m mellow from great sex with Cam. I’m so glad Travis and I never ended up in bed together, especially given his comments about Amy. He can fuck himself with his money for all I care. She and I have better things to do.

Travis is conceited enough that he’ll undoubtedly think I’m smiling at him. I quickly grab a sparkling water and go down to the stadium seating to sit with Amy.

“You okay?”

“Sure.” I smile.

“Huh. You really are. Your shoulders aren’t up by your ears like they usually are around WhatsHisFace.”

“I’m here for hockey.”

The visitors are announced and skate out. Our fans are already invested in the Tornadoes and boo the other team, a division rival.

Before the announcer introduces the team, he thanks the crowd for their involvement in picking the team song. Saylet told me the social media poll had had great response rates, and then the team voted yesterday on the plane. This will be a nice change. They’d been playing the three in the poll on rotation for the six pre-season games.

Almost every seat is filled. And every last one has been bought, so I suspect a few of the corporate clients are just late. As they play each of the final contenders, the crowd cheers. Then on the Jumbotron fireworks show and a drumroll sounds as the announcer drawls, “And your Texas Tornadoes’ team anthem is…” and trumpets start, leading into Winner .

Amy and I exchange grins. We love that a current song with an R&B vibe beat out the other classic rock options.

The sound technician turns the music up when the lyrics reference the stands, and the crowd roars. But when the word “ball” is rapped, she turns the volume all the way down and the announcer calls, “what are we passing?” and the crowd screams, “PUCK!”

I laugh. Ah, the power of social media.

The team is announced over the rest of the song, and the crowd is thunderous, cheering and stomping their feet. The better-known players we’d managed to snag as free agents gain extra noise from the crowd. The starters had been juggled a little based on pre-season performance, and will continue to be, but Cam’s role as starting goalie remained fixed.

Between the enthusiastic adoption of the theme song and the crowd’s energy, I have a new appreciation for how excited Greg has been about this whole venture for the past few years.

However, as play starts, I’m frustrated. What does Cam’s game face look like? Is it anything like his “O” face? I want to see his fierce concentration on the action. I can’t imagine having ten huge bodies in front of me and flashing blades and sticks, while trying to keep track of a three-inch rubber disk.

An opposing player takes a shot on goal. Jack might be in Cam’s line of sight, I can’t tell from here, but the puck gets by Jack and Cam is toward the back of the crease. If he’s slow to catch that, it’ll be over the line and in the net. He pushes off with one skate to drop to a sliding butterfly and brings his glove down.

The goal light stays dark. The crowd is on its feet roaring again and all of us in the box are frozen. Somewhere behind me I hear Travis droning on, but the rest of us are focused on what we’re here for. The seconds until Cam opens his glove to display the puck are interminable.

Dammit . If I was down in the players’ seats—or Greg’s other set—I could have seen it happen.

I attended a few games of the Austin-based AHL team, the Texas Ice Spurs, as we sussed out their stadium. During high school, our family would attend UT games, as Greg was on the team for two seasons before admitting he’d never get regular ice time. I’ve never before cared where I sat, enjoyed the action from the various perspectives, even when Greg was on the ice.

So much for keeping things with Cam casual. I ignore that thought to pursue a solution for the more pressing problem of seeing the action. If I use Greg’s ice level tickets, he’ll not only ask why, but also might not always have them available as he uses them for whales he is wooing.

But Cam gets a pair. And I bet Maria, Lauren, and Nicole would be interested in joining me sometimes. Maybe Amy would come down with me, although she loves the food in the box.

Would it be weird to use his? Greg and others would notice, but perhaps I can play it off as one of the benefits of being his dance partner.

Ha, now I’m using the phrase friends with benefits. There, that should remind me that this needs to stay casual.