His response is immediate.
I place my phone inside my clutch, tuck it underneath my arm, and pace back and forth. I stop my pacing when I spot a tall, handsome mixed-race man black man wearing white pants,a white shirt, and a light blue jacket that complements his light brown skin to perfection. He flashes me a dazzling smile.
I wave.
With a confident stride, Erik heads my way. “Harley, you look stunning.”
I blush. “Thank you. I love the vintage flare.” As a petite, never in a million years would I have picked a strapless midi dress with a fitted bodice and full A-line skirt, embellished with sparkling crystals and intricate broderie anglaise.
Erik’s brown eyes drop to my feet before meeting my gaze. “Nice shoes. I can see why that vibrant color combined with a yellow dress would leave a lasting impression on a man.”
The reminder of the outfit I was wearing when I met Kaz in the Hamptons deepens my blush. “I still can’t figure out how Kaz knew I no longer owned these shoes.”
“In his quest to make sure his new roommate had everything she needed, my buddy might or might not have taken a peek inside your wardrobe and discovered the shoes were missing from your collection.”
I’m at a loss for words.
“But you didn’t hear it from me.” He zips his lips.
Dead. I’m dead.
I clear my throat. “Thanks so much for hanging out with me until Kaz shows up.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he says. “I must apologize for not picking you up, but when Kaz texted me to let me know he had to deal with a crisis, I already had another conference call booked.”
“Don’t worry about it. You and Kaz are busy businessman doing important things. I’m unemployed.”
“Not for long.” Erik winks.
I smile. “Other than kicking butt at a second career as CEOs, you and Kaz were rockstars on the ice.”
Erik taps his left leg. “My glory days as a hockey player arebehind me. It was a tremendous blow both physically and emotionally. Hockey was my life.”
I didn’t mean for my comment to bring back bad memories.
I shift my stance. “Granted, I’ve never watched a hockey game in my life?—”
“You might as well plunge the blade of a pair of skates in my heart.” Erik clenches his chest and staggers back a few steps.
I shrug. “I prefer my hockey between the pages of a romance book.”
His lips form a thin line. “Not the same thing.”
I tilt my head side to side. “It’s better because hockey fictional heroes are men written by women, and by definition, they’rewaybetter than real hockey players.”
He rolls his eyes.
I giggle. “What I was trying to say is since your dad was an NFL superstar, you didn’t want to follow in his footsteps?”
“I blame my mom for my love of hockey,” he says. “My grandfather and uncles are diehard fans. I’m talking about the bunch of loudmouths who show up at every game with face painted with their team’s colors, making a ruckus every time there’s a score against the other team.”
“Did they do that when you were playing?”
“Yup. Not embarrassing at all.” He narrows his eyes. “You should’ve seen them during the playoffs.” He lets out a dramatic sigh. “When I was selected to be part of Team USA at the Olympics, they fucking lost their everloving minds. Every single member of my family traveled to watch the game in person—including my grandparents who had never left the country.”
I laugh.
“I’m poking fun at my family, but their unwavering support meant everything during my career,” he says. “The other reasonwhy I chose hockey is because I loved the game and becoming pro wouldn’t subject me to always being compared to my old man.”
