Page 27 of Something to Prove

He nodded and held his fist up for me to bump. “Next time. I got the place to myself all weekend.”

He was gone before I could reply.

I stared after him for a moment, confused all over again. Since when did I turn down no-strings sex with a “safe” queer man? Since never. I liked Carson. We weren’t friends, necessarily, but we understood each other. There was no worrying he’d misconstrue anything we did as meaningful or with romantic intent.

Nope, it was only sex. In my current Walker haze, a little stress relief was exactly what I needed. I’d text Carson later. Or I’d hook up with one of the puck bunnies who hung out at Bear Depot with us.

With any luck, my “Walker” phase would pass as soon as the interview was over.

CHAPTER 10

TY

“Haveyou ever forgotten your wallet at a restaurant while on a date?”

I snickered, winking at the camera before shifting my gaze to Walker. “Yeah, but I’m not telling that story.”

Walker shimmied in his chair. “Oh, please do. Your fans want to know.”

The fans were his, not mine, but I wasn’t about to point that out ’cause damn, this was kinda fun.

As promised, Walker had started the interview by asking all the usual questions. When did you know you wanted to play hockey? What did it feel like to get drafted to the pros? How do you think it will be different from playing in college?

I gave the standard-issue answers. I’d practically grown up at the local rink, and hockey had always been part of my life. Sure, I’d dreamed of going pro like any other kid. I’d wanted to follow my idol’s footstep (and yes, I’d tactfully left out his dad’s name). And no, I still couldn’t believe I was going to get a shot.

Walker’sWhat’s New, Smithton?interview style mimicked any basic talk show format. We sat across from each other, engaged in a friendly get-to-know-you conversation while his cameraman filmed the action from the opposite end of thesoundproof room. It was a professional setup, but it was designed to feel homey with comfy leather chairs and walls decorated with black-and-white photographs of Smithton and Bears pennants.

He’d instructed me to dress casually, but not sloppy. “No need for a suit, but don’t wear a T-shirt with holes.” My black tee and jeans combo contrasted with Walker’s oxford shirt and khakis, but he’d seemed to approve. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed that his gaze had stalled on my tattooed arms throughout our live interview.

I knew that didn’t mean anything, but I still liked it. And yes, this shift in my opinion of Walker weirded me out. Active animosity had been replaced by grudging respect, curiosity, and a mild form of infatuation—so mild, it barely registered. Remember that, please.

Look, I doubted he’d spring any surprise mention of bumping into me and a dude in the alley on camera now, and I certainly wasn’t going to spill his secret either, so my goal was to get through today and put some space between us.

But I hadn’t counted on enjoying myself.

“You really want to hear this story?”

Walker’s eyes sparked. “Yes, please!”

I slumped in my chair in faux mortification before sitting up straight.

“Okay, it was high school, and I’d asked a girl I liked out for a movie and dinner thing. I paid for the movie with cash I’d found in my pocket and even sprang for popcorn. The movie was scary…like nightmare-inducing ghoulishly creepy. We had a deep conversation about it on the way to the restaurant, which was cool ’cause I forgot to be nervous. And I was hungry and I think I’d wanted to show off a bit and act like money was no object. I ordered a ton of appetizers—calamari, shrimp cocktails, artichoke dip, chicken wings—and filet mignon, double-bakedpotatoes slathered in cheese, and a chocolate lava cake to top things off. Then the bill came. I think that was the first time I realized that it was possible for two people to spend almost two hundred dollars on food. Holy smokes, Batman, I was sweating. Dinner would wipe out a third of my checking account. Not great, but the deed was done. I dug into my pocket for my wallet and…” I held my hands up and pulled a face. “Nothing there.”

Walker gasped. “No!”

“Yes. I had to come clean, which totally killed the mood. She gave the waiter her card, but it was declined.”

Another gasp. “What did you do?”

I shrugged. “Called my mom and dad. They were at a birthday party and didn’t answer their cells right away. She called her folks as backup and they all arrived at roughly the same time. My parents took over. ‘Kids these days. No worries, we’ve got this.’ But my dad took one look at the bill and his eyes bugged out of his skull. It was…so embarrassing.”

My host giggled gleefully. “That’s a teenage nightmare.”

“It got worse,” I deadpanned.

“How?”

“Food poisoning.”