Page 19

19

TAYLOR

After a breakfast of omelets, yogurt, and fruit, it takes us about twenty minutes to get to Lakewood. JP tells me more about the program as he drives.

“The team gives the kids a set of equipment for four weeks to try it out,” he says. “There are volunteers who come and help teach for the most part, but the kids think it’s cool when some of the players show up.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Dutch is supposed to be here today too.”

“Oh, cool. This sounds like the kind of thing Everly raises money for.”

“Yeah, sort of, except for the wrong team.”

I laugh. “I don’t think she sees it that way.”

JP parks in the lot outside the recreation complex and hauls an equipment bag and a stick out of his trunk. I follow him inside. I’m wearing one of his sweaters over my leggings because he told me it would be cold in here. He also loaned me a pair of gloves, which are too big, but oh well. I buy a large coffee from the canteen and JP shows me into the arena. Yep, it’s freezing in here.

There’s a lot of action inside here, people milling around on the rubber floor mats off the ice, parents I guess, and a lot of kids. A lot.

I make my way around the boards and take a spot near the glass to watch. The kids are all wearing the same jerseys, either the black or gold of the Golden Eagles colors. As they come onto the ice, I can see some of them are already pretty good little skaters.

Parents start surrounding me, gathered at the glass to watch their little players. There are a few tables and chairs, and some take seats, but most are standing, holding phones and cameras. I can’t help but overhear their comments.

“This program is so great!” a mom with blond hair says. “It’s really taken off the last few years. Our older son started hockey in it three years ago, and since then it’s exploded.”

“It is awesome,” another young mom agrees. “The Eagles have done a lot to increase youth hockey programs in Southern California.”

“Definitely. Oh my God, look! It’s JP Wynn!”

I look. Yes, it’s JP, on the ice, wearing a jersey and a ball cap, holding a stick and skating smoothly as he says something to a youngster beside him.

“He gives a lot of money to this program,” Blond Mom says. “He sponsors all the equipment for the kids.”

My eyes pop open wide. JP never said anything about the money he gives the program. He made it sound like he just shows up once in a while.

“I’m sure he has a lot of money,” a dad puts in.

Mmm. That is probably true. I shift from one foot to the other and pretend I’m not listening.

“Well, sure he does, but not only does he give money, look, he’s actually here giving his time. And the kids love him.”

They do indeed seem to love him, trailing behind him like he’s the Pied Piper on skates.

I watch, admiration growing in me as he helps the kids. Apparently they’re learning how to fall, as they all skate forward and then sprawl and slide across the ice. JP demonstrates. Who knew falling down was a valuable skill?

“Is your son going to join up the next phase?” Blond Mom asks the other woman.

“Yes, he is.”

“Mine too. They get to keep the equipment if they do that. Such a great incentive.”

“For sure. It’d be tough to afford all that hockey gear, especially when you don’t even know if your kid will like playing.”

I watch the kids. Maybe there are future superstars out there . . . thanks to JP.

My heart expands against my ribs and I take a quick sip of my coffee.

I see a couple of the kids have long ponytails. Hey, they’re girls! For some reason I assumed this was all boys, but nope. That’s pretty cool too.

It’s so motivational. Inspiring. I love helping kids and this makes me want to do even more. And it makes me like JP Wynn . . . even more.

After JP’s done, we head back to his place.

“You can take me home if you want,” I tell him. “I don’t want to interfere with your game-day routine.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty superstitious.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

I laugh. “You must have some things you like to have the same all the time.”

“I do like to have a nap. There are studies being done that show it’s not really needed, but I love my game-day naps.”

“Ah. Okay. Well, I don’t want to interfere with that.”

“Pretty sure I’ll sleep better if you’re with me.”

I slant him a look. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’d love to have a nap with you.”

“I’m not really into sleeping in the middle of the day. Then again . . . I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I know.”

His wicked grin makes me smile. “Okay, I’ll nap with you, but if there’s something I’m getting in the way of, just tell me.”

Napping with him sounds . . . lovely. Decadent.

“You never told me that you paid for all the equipment for those kids.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Slipped your mind, huh?”

His lips twitch, eyes focused ahead as he drives. “Something like that.”

“I think that’s awesome.”

“It’s nice to give back. Most players do something, but I grew up with that. It was an important thing in our family. Along with lying, stealing, and cheating.”

I snort-laugh. “Oh, come on. Your family’s not that bad.”

“Ha.”

Byron’s excited to see us back. We both take him out for a short walk to do his business, then back in the condo, JP heads to the kitchen. “Lunchtime,” he announces.

I follow, not sure what this involves.

“Salad.” He pulls out a big plastic container of greens. “Chicken. Sweet potatoes. Can you grab an avocado?”

Earlier, I noticed the avocados in the fruit bowl. I love avocado. I grab one and reach for a cutting board and a knife.

“You can cut it into chunks,” he says, dumping greens into a big bowl. “This is so good—kale, spinach, romaine.” He adds chicken and chunks of sweet potato, sprinkles on some pumpkin seeds, and then pulls another container out of the fridge. “Dressing. Vinaigrette.”

“Did you make that yourself?”

“Sure. It’s easy.”

I scoop the avocado flesh out of the skin, then cut it up. JP adds that too, dresses the salad, and serves it up on two big plates.

“This is so good.”

He nods. “One of the recipes I got from Bernard in Montréal.”

He says the name the French way. I repeat it. “Bear-nar.”

He grins. “Yeah.”

“Speak French to me.”

“Tu es belle. Tellement sexy. Je veux te baiserde toutes les manières.”

I sigh. “Lovely.”

He smirks.

“Wait. What did you say?”

“Je vais telécher la chatte . Et téter les nichons.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I think you’re talking dirty to me.”

“Yes, I most definitely am.”

“Well, it sounded very sexy.”

“Good.” He wraps his arms around me and squeezes. “I told you you’re beautiful and sexy and I want to fuck you every way I can. Lick your pussy. Suck your tits.”

“Oh.” My belly does a flip and flutter. “Um.”

“But not now. Right now we’re just going to nap . Faire un somme . ”

“Faire un somme.” I attempt to repeat it.

“Oui. C’est ca.” He kisses my forehead.

We clean up the kitchen together, then he leads me into his bedroom. With the blinds drawn, it’s nearly like night in here. He sets his phone on the nightstand, then strips naked. I stand in awe, watching him reveal that beautiful body to me, one piece of clothing at a time. He climbs into bed and pats the mattress. “Come on, Sunshine.”

“Why do I have this feeling if I take my clothes off we won’t be sleeping?”

He smiles, his eyes closed. “Don’t worry, I’m very committed to my nap.”

“Okay.” I undress too and slide in with him. His arm comes around me and pulls me into him, spooning. He feels so good . . . His body is about two hundred degrees, firm, strong, hair-roughened. Our legs twine together, and damn if I don’t find myself sliding deliciously into slumber.

After our nap, I cautiously let JP go about his routine. He eats a slice of whole-grain bread with peanut butter, then dresses in a suit and tie that makes him so handsome I could weep. It brings back memories of the wedding: him in his tux, me in my bridesmaid dress, dancing, then on his bed in his hotel room . . .

He smooths a hand over his blue paisley silk tie and smiles.

“You look gorgeous,” I say in a husky voice.

“Will you stay here?” he asks, moving closer. “I’m sure Byron would like it.”

“I have to work in the morning.”

“Do you want me to take you home before the game? Or in the morning?”

“In the morning.” I should probably go home and do some laundry or something, but I’m weak. Plus, staying with Byron is nice.

“Good. Help yourself to food, or order in if you want.” He kisses me, a long, gentle, hot press of our mouths. “A new pre-game ritual,” he murmurs. “See you after the game.”

“Okay. Good luck. Oh . . . is it bad luck to say that? I’m supposed to say ‘break a leg,’ right? No, that’s show business. Uh . . . play well? Oh, wait, I know . . . go get ’em, Killer!”

He grins. “Thanks.”

It’s only three o’clock; the game doesn’t start till six. I have time to do some of the work I brought home—reports I need to finish writing for next week. I find my laptop and look around. The dining table is too high for me, and I can’t work for long with the computer actually on my lap. JP has a room he uses as an office. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I go in there.

As is his whole place, it’s beautifully furnished, with elegant dark wood office furniture. I park my butt in the big leather chair. Way too big for me, but it’ll do. I find the lever on the side and raise it as high as I can, then scoot up to the desk.

I get to work, but then I need to make some notes. I have a notebook out in the other room, but JP probably has pens and paper in here. I slide open a drawer in the desk and pause, staring.

Not what I expected to see in his office desk—it’s knitting needles, a skein of wool in multiple shades of blue, and some knitting. I poke at it, then pick up the needles carefully. I can’t tell what it is, but I don’t want to wreck it. I once tried to learn how to knit and didn’t get far with it, but I know that dropping stitches is not a good thing.

Everly and Lacey both knit. Why would JP have knitting here in his condo? In his office?

I’m super curious, but not likely to get an answer to that right now, so I slide the drawer shut and try another one. This time I find pens and a notepad. Perfect. I shake my head and get back to work.

When I next check the clock, it’s nearly game time.

I’ve already confronted the fact that I’m a fickle Condors fan because I’ve watched a few Golden Eagles games lately. But I rationalize it that I’m not an Eagles fan; I’m a JP Wynn fan. Ha. That makes it okay.

I feed Byron, then peruse the contents of the fridge. Oh hey, there’s the leftover pizza I brought home last night. That’ll be perfect.

With my reheated pizza and a glass of red wine, I sit cross-legged on the big sectional, Byron curled up beside me, and click the remote to find the game. They’re just finishing the anthems for the game against Vancouver. I bounce a little in anticipation.

JP takes the opening face-off tonight and the camera zooms in on his face as he bends over center ice. He looks fierce and focused.

The ref drops the puck and the game is on, fast and ferocious, both teams battling hard.

About halfway through the first period, my phone pings. I plugged it in to charge earlier, and I lean way over to grab it from the end table. Mom.

Hi honey. Haven’t heard from you. I hope you’re okay. I know this was surprising news and I want to talk more about it. I’ll always be your mom and I’ll always love you—nothing changes that. Text me or call me when you’re ready.

Tears spring to my eyes.

I do love my mom, and her message is . . . perfect. Not angry, not pushy, not passive-aggressive guilt-inducing. She’s been the best mom in the world. Whatever has happened between her and Dad, and her and Shirley, doesn’t change that . . . she’s right.

I message her back.

I’m not quite ready to talk . . . but I will be.

I’ve lost my focus on the game and to my disappointment, Vancouver has scored. Damn.

Oh right, I don’t really care who wins this game.

My phone pings again. Expecting it to be Mom, I blink seeing it’s Lacey.

Hey, where you been, girlfriend?

She’s texted me a few times over the long weekend, and I haven’t replied.

I’m a bad friend, sorry. I’ve been busy.

Whatcha up to?

Hmmm. What do I tell her?

I don’t reply right away, watching as JP and Number 76—who is that?—get a two-on-one against Vancouver and JP shoots at the net . . . and misses. The crowd roars its disappointment and I express a loud “Bah!”

I’ve been at JP’s most of the weekend.

Oh. Is he on a road trip?

I hesitate before typing the two letters and hitting send.

No.

What is going on?????

Then another text from her arrives.

Is Byron okay?

I smile.

Yes he’s fine.

OMG!

Then my phone rings. I roll my eyes. Should have known.

“Hi,” I answer.

I’m greeted with a small screech.

“Calm down, Lace.”

“What is going on?”

“I don’t even know. It’s a long story.” I sigh. “I have a lot to tell you.”

“Start talking.”

I tell her about my mom. And Shirley. And coming here to let Byron comfort me and then most of what happened after that. “I was so upset,” I explain. “And JP was so nice to me . . . and I told him I’m not seeing Anthony anymore, and, well . . .”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah. It’s been . . . brewing between us ever since the wedding.”

“You know . . . he’s kind of a player, right?”

“I know.”

“He’s not a settle-down kind of guy.”

“I know that too. And I don’t want that.” I lean my head back into the couch cushions. “My parents’ separating has made me think about a lot of things. If they couldn’t make it, why would I think I can? What’s the point? So if I feel something hot and exciting for JP, why not go with it? It’s not going to be forever. Nothing is.”

Silence presses on my ears. “I’m going to have to disagree with you on that,” she finally says.

“I mean except for you and Théo, of course.” They’re deliriously happy now, sure, but there are no guarantees, even for a couple who seem so perfect. I don’t tell her that, though.

“Of course.” She pauses. “I don’t like hearing you say that.”

“Say what? That I’m giving up on love?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is tinged with sadness. “That’s not you, Tay.”

“Sure it is. So don’t worry about me and JP.”

I can tell I’m not convincing her.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Can I tell Théo?”

“Sure. It’s not a secret.”

“Maybe the four of us can go out sometime.”

“That would be fun.” I think. Or would it be too . . . serious? Too couple-like? Well, I’ll let JP deal with that.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Lacey says. “That must have been quite a shock. You never knew that about her?”

“Nope. Not at all. Why would I? She was happily married. At least, I thought she was?—”

“Wait, she was happily married. Don’t let this taint your whole past. She wasn’t lying to you.”

I let out a whoosh of breath. “That’s what JP said too.”

“Huh.”

“Huh what?”

She chuckles. “Sounds like JP is a smart guy.”

“He’s been really . . . supportive.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Now I laugh. “No. I mean that.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“It’s hard not to question everything I knew, though.”

“I’m sure. Why don’t we have dinner one night next week? You can tell me more and talk it all out.”

“That would be great.”

“You want to invite Everly? Or just the two of us? Would it be weird, with JP being her nephew?”

I think about that. I like Everly. She’s very sensible and smart. “No, let’s invite her too.”

“Okay, I’ll do a group text and we’ll set something up.” After a beat she says, “Be careful, Tay.”

I know what she means. “I’m fine.”