Page 12

twelve

Wyatt

Elsy is wearing a fucking sundress. It’s like she knows they’re my kryptonite. She’s standing on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building, wearing a royal-blue sundress with a white halter strap around her neck, drawing my attention to her chest. The dress flows over her generous curves, making my cock twitch in my jeans.

Fuck. Why is she so fucking hot?

As I pull up to the curb, she breaks into a smile. I open my door, ready to get out and open hers, but she’s already wrenching the door handle and sliding in beside me. I catch another hint of lace on her thighs and swallow, forcing my eyes onto the road ahead.

“Hey. How was your trip?” she asks.

“Good. We won.” I managed an assist on Puppy’s first NHL goal. That’s something I’ll carry with me. The kid has skills. It’s clear he’ll go far. One day, my name will be in the history books for that assist.

“I saw.” She looks at me from the corner of her eye before she slips on her sunglasses. “Where are we going?”

“Lunch, first. Viggy recommended this place downtown,” I tell her as I pull into traffic. “Then we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Sounds good.”

We’re quiet on the ride to the restaurant, but it’s not awkward. I’m not sure what I expected after her unprompted phone call. I’m glad she called me, though. She reached out. She initiated. Maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as I thought.

Or as much as she thought.

When we get to the restaurant, I’m quick to throw the car in park and get to her door before she can. My mother always taught me to open the door for a woman. It irritates me she doesn’t let me do that for her.

Elsy gives me a strange look as I hold open her car door. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” I play dumb.

“You don’t have to open my door. I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

“I know you are. I just want to.”

She hums, clearly unimpressed.

“Let me do this,” I tell her, keeping my voice soft and gentle. She’s like a kitten; one sharp word, and she’ll spook, and I’ll lose the headway we’ve made lately. “It’s important to me.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment. “What’s next, you’re going to pull out my chair and tell me I’m pretty?”

“You’re very pretty.” I set my hand on the small of her back as I guide her to the restaurant.

A beautiful shade of pink colors her cheeks. “You don’t have to lie to me. Don’t be a dick, Wyatt.”

I stop in the middle of the entryway. Spinning her to face me, I set my hands on her shoulders, left bare by her dress straps.

“Elsy,” I say seriously. “You are very pretty.”

She swallows, and her eyes turn glassy, like she’s about to cry.

I squeeze her shoulders. “You are beautiful. And it kills me that you can’t let yourself believe that.”

Her lower lip trembles. “Wyatt…”

“Friends don’t let friends look down on themselves.”

“Is that what we are?” she whispers. “Friends?”

“Well, I’d rather that than enemies.”

She cocks her head, looking up at me for a long moment. Finally, she says, “I guess we can be friends.”

“Good. Great.”

So why am I disappointed?

Pushing down the confusing feelings welling within me, I slide my arm over Elsy’s shoulders and lead her to the host’s stand.

“Reservation for Whitney, please.”

The hostess, who looks like she’s barely eighteen, nods. “Right this way.”

Elsy’s hand darts out and grasps my arm. “This place is nice.”

“Is it?”

Her grip tightens. “It’s fancy. Why did you bring me here? Shit. Am I dressed okay?”

“You look great,” I promise her. “Relax. The food’s supposed to be good. If it sucks, we can leave and go to O’Malley’s or whatever.”

“Yeah. Okay. That works.”

The hostess leads us over to a table by the window overlooking the river. The menu prices are a little much for lunch, but Viggy promised me the food was good, so I’ll roll with it.

Elsy doesn’t look thrilled, though.

“Wyatt, these prices…” She swallows. “I can’t afford this.”

She doesn’t like to admit weakness, in any respect. And now for her to be so frank…

“I’ve got it. It’s my treat.”

She frowns.

“If you don’t want to eat here, we don’t have to. If you want to stay, though, it’s on me.”

Hesitation crosses her face. “I don’t know…”

“I can afford to buy you lunch ten times over, and I won’t even blink. I would never force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But don’t let money keep you from enjoying something that could be great.”

“Yeah, you can say that. You have piles of money.” Her bitter laugh makes my chest ache. I hate that she’s so resentful of something neither of us can control.

“I didn’t always,” I remind her. “I’m lucky to be able to play the sport that I love, but I’m well aware it can all go away in the blink of an eye. One bad play, one big hit, and I could be out of the game forever. I put my body on the line every day.”

Elsy stares at me. If she’s surprised by any of this, I can’t tell. Her best friend playing in the league doesn’t mean she knows all the ins and outs of the actual reality of the lifestyle.

“My knees are shot, my shoulder is fucked, and let’s not even talk about how many times I’ve broken my nose.”

Four times, including once because of her. Half of my teeth are implants, too. But that’s not sexy, so I’m not going to bring it up.

“The reality of playing hockey is very different from the glamorous lifestyle you see online. It’s hard work.”

“I know it’s hard work,” she murmurs. “I’m not disputing that.”

“Okay. So what’s the issue?”

Her lips form a thin line. “It just sucks that I can barely pay my bills and have to take a second job to play music, and you get millions of dollars thrown your way for chasing a puck around.”

“It does suck,” I agree, and I think that surprises her, because her face gets this adorably pinched look. “It’s absolutely not fair. If I knew how to fix it, I would.”

I donated to the symphony the night of the gala. Some guys bid for items in the silent auction. Henry quietly made a donation, too. I only know because I saw him stuff a check into the bin. He might act like a sleazy playboy, but I think there might be more substance to him buried inside—deep, deep inside.

Elsy is quiet, gazing at me. It’s like she can see right inside me, into my soul. It should be uncomfortable. With anyone else, I’d be cracking a joke to break the tension. Except there’s no tension.

With her? I’m content to sit here and look at her, and her look at me. I feel calm and at peace in a way I don’t experience with other people. Even my parents stress me out. Only Bex can set me at ease this way.

Does that mean I want Elsy to be my sister?

The immediate revulsion ricocheting through me is answer enough. Elsy is not my sister and I definitely don’t feel that way about her.

She’s hot. I’ve wanted to sleep with her again ever since that first time. Is that all this is?

The waiter interrupts my tumultuous thoughts. He runs through the specials, then takes our drink orders. Elsy orders a Coke, so I do, too. I don’t need to drink alcohol every time I’m around her. In fact, it’s probably better if I don’t. I need to keep my wits about me when it comes to her.

She’s dangerous to be around. I just don’t know if that’s a good thing yet.

“How are rehearsals going?” There, that should be a natural topic.

“Good. I’m keeping up with the repertoire,” Elsy says, settling into her seat. “Anastasia and I have gotten together a few times.”

“And she’s your competition?” I don’t really understand how the first chair/second chair thing works, only that she used to be first back in Boston and now she isn’t.

“Technically, yes,” she says. “Right now, I’m still getting settled. Eventually, I’ll try to move up. If it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t…” She blows out a breath. “I’m trying to take it one day at a time and not plan everything out ten years into the future.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m kind of a planning nut.” She gives me a self-deprecating smile. “My anxiety is soothed by knowing what’s going to happen and when, and if something deviates from the plan, it tends to worsen the symptoms.”

“That makes sense. My anxiety is more, what if I let the team down, what if I get injured, what if this is my last game and I don’t know it,” I tell her. “Then I start spiraling into how I’m a disappointment and not worthy of everything I’ve achieved, and, well, I call it the dark place and I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

Elsy frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, Wyatt.”

My laugh is bitter. “I’m a college dropout.”

“So?”

“So my dad is a doctor, my mom is a lawyer, and my sister has her PhD before she’s thirty.” Frustration lodges itself deep in my chest, behind my ribcage, and I rub the ache, trying to clear it away. It doesn’t work. “I’m not diminishing the work it took to get to the NHL. I recognize that I’m lucky. But I can also recognize that in my family and within their friend groups, I’m nothing but a hotheaded college dropout with no career prospects once hockey dries up.”

My breathing is coming a little faster now. I’m not angry, not at her. At my family, yes. At my circumstances. At the world.

But I could never be angry with Elsy. I don’t think I have it in me.

She reaches across the table, grabbing hold of my hand. My skin lights up at her touch. Flipping my hand over, she sets her palm on mine, squeezing my fingers.

“Wyatt, you are an incredible hockey player,” she says, her eyes locked on mine. “But that’s not all you are. I’ll have to prove it to you.”

“How are you going to do that?” My voice comes out in a croak.

“I’m not sure yet,” she admits. “If you need me to, I will.”

I think I need her to. But I don’t know how to ask for that.

Fuck. Guess I better book in for another session with my therapist. Probably wouldn’t hurt to connect with my sports psychologist, too.

Clearing my throat, I try to recalibrate. I should say something here. I need to change the subject. What do I say?

I’m saved by the waiter arriving with our food. Elsy pulls away. Am I imagining the reluctance on her face?

The food is as good as I was led to believe, and from the way Elsy digs into her entrée, she seems to agree. The blissed-out expression on her face when she drags her salmon through the chimichurri sauce makes my pants inexplicably tight.

She talks about her students and the upcoming performances with the symphony. I mention my upcoming games. It’s all very surface level, a welcome relief after the earlier heaviness.

And as we walk out of the restaurant and I set my hand on the small of her back, she smiles up at me, and maybe, just maybe, I wonder if this could be the start of something new for us.