“After you fell asleep. Speaking of which, I bet you’re starving. I need to get going soon. Why don’t you get ready, and then we can grab breakfast on the way out? My treat. And we can pick up some new clothes on the way back, if you want. And stuff for Kepler. Will he be okay here for a few hours?”
I nod slowly. “I’ll put him in his crate while we’re gone. He’ll be fine.”
“Oh, and your other clothes are in the dryer. I washed everything in your suitcase. I’ll grab them while you get ready, okay?”
I nod and shuffle into the bathroom in a fugue state. The hot water feels incredible. The bottles of shampoo, like everything else, are new. Tristan bought an organic shampoo and conditioner set, and even though I’m sensitive to a lot of artificial smells, I don’t mind this one. The mixture of mint and orange peel smells like safety. I release my fear and confusion as my muscles relax, and let the water wash it all away.
* * *
Huddled up in the assistants’ box, I clutch my tablet as I stare out over the ice. This space has a great view of the rink, if you like that sort of thing. I can mostly hear shouting and the thunk of pucks hitting… whatever pucks are supposed to hit. Hockey is not my sport.Sportsare not my sport. My mother thinks hockey is vulgar. I have no idea what my father thinks about anything besides the fact that I’m apparently doing my whole life wrong.
At least from up here, I can study Tristan without making him uncomfortable. He was so intense yesterday, and I could barely meet his eyes. This morning, I was too caught up in crying.
He’s tall, but not as broad as some of the other guys. He’s all lean muscle, with strong legs and… well, he’s got an attractive body, anyway. I didn’t notice until he was so kind this morning, because people can have nice bodies without being attractive. Luca does. But he’s awful, so how could I be attracted to him? How could anyone?
Tristan, though, could easily be considered attractive. He has a little bit of scruff along his cheeks and jaw, and his dark blond hair is long enough to fall in waves around his face. His hands are gentle, I know that from earlier. The corded muscle inhis arms is strong, but he doesn’t feel the need to remind me of that at every turn.
Yes, I can see why someone might theoretically find Tristan appealing. My stomach flips, and I tell myself it’s only hunger.
“Ogling your boss?” The woman beside metsks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. I shriek and nearly claw my way out of my skin. “Yup. That tracks. Hazard of the job.”
“When did you…?”
“When you were checking out Tristan Dubois. He’s single, by the way, though I don’t recommend sleeping with clients. Youarethe new girl, right?”
Single. The word lands somewhere I pretend not to feel.
“Under duress.” I give this newcomer a once-over. Her style is very different from Julie’s, but she still has that pristine, polished glow. Her floral blouse billows around her arms, while her dark-wash skinny jeans plunge into high boots. Her makeup is bright and flashy, color-coordinated with her top.
“I’m Marley.” She flips her black hair over one shoulder, then extends a hand to me. Her nails are freshly manicured, with strawberry decals embedded in the polish. “Marley Park. I run Knight’s life so he doesn’t get arrested or accidentally buy a llama.”
I take her hand warily. “Is he… in danger of buying a llama?”
“Not yet, but if one popped up on Marketplace, he’d be tempted.” She beams.
“Right. No llamas.” I shake my head and remind myself that Idohave manners. “I’m Minerva Marino.”
“Minerva?” she repeats. “Not Min, Minnie, Minnow?”
“Oh, uh. I guess I haven’t decided yet.”
Marley settles in. “Then we’ll try them all and see what sticks. That okay?”
I nod, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Marley’s pretty and shiny and, as far as I can tell, normal. Which means thatshe’s secretly plotting mean things to say, because women are always in competition with each other, even when they pretend to be friends. So says my mother, and Frankie’s friendships have borne that out. I haven’t had many friends, presumably because other women can perceive that I’m not a threat.
Marley doesn’t say anything about my appearance, though. I rarely bother with makeup, but at least my hair is clean, thanks to the shower. I don’t feel like a feral raccoon today. More like a stray cat in a room full of posh Persians.
She points out to the ice. “That’s Knight—number eleven. Cocky bastard with the hair.”
They all have hair, but when I spot the jersey number, I see what she means. I thought only anime characters had hair like that. I search for something complimentary to say about him, and settle on, “He’s fast.”
Marley sighs. “And he knows it. Watch for twenty-three—that’s your guy. Dubois. Quiet, but lethal. Like a man of few words in a romance novel.”
That surprises me. I’m pretty sure my mother has a secret stash of steamy paperbacks, but she’d never be gauche enough to mention them in public. “You read romance novels?”
She laughs again. “Babe, Idevourthem. I own every Johanna Lindsey book in print, and I’m working on my Beverley Jenkins collection. Did you know she’s written more than sixty books?”
“I… did not.” I have no idea what she’s talking about. This happens a lot, but usually with things people are supposed to know. This sounds more like a special interest.
