“I am visiting an old friend, but I caught the game. You played well, considering those bones of yours are aging rapidly.”
Still the same old Nazarov. “How’s Seattle? You back to fitness?”
“Getting there. And Chicago? You must be glad to be closer to your family.”
“Yeah, it’s great. I miss Sean—he’s still in Boston—but I like being near Mom and Theo’s brood. And Lauren, of course. You probably heard that she’s my agent now.”
“Yes, I knew that.” A flicker of something passed over his face before his expression reverted to his usual stoic self. Lauren had gone through the women’s program at Michigan at the same time as us, and my recollection was that she and Nazarov had once been friendly.
“You should visit Chicago,” I said, testing the waters. “We could all get dinner.”
“Perhaps.” He looked over to my crew. “They are getting younger.”
“Yep. Every rookie these days looks like a pimply-faced adolescent.”
“We got old when no one was looking.”
Over his shoulder, I spied the cowgirl whispering in the ear of a pal, then batting her eyelashes my way with a come-hither grin. She was exactly my type—cute, curvy, and cheerful. Hatch was right. A night with her would probably rejuvenate me more than the ice bath I sank into after tonight’s game.
Nazarov was studying me. “Something is different with you.”
“Yeah, Alexei. Wrinkles.” But no gray pubes yet. Fucking NoBo.
“That’s not it.”
Something was building inside me, a geyser bursting to gush.
“I’m going to be a father.”
His eyes lit up. “Jason, that is fantastic.”
“So I’m keeping it on the downlow. The mom is barely a month in and we’re not telling anyone for a while.” Now that the pressure valve had released a touch, I could go back to normal.
“I knew you were seeing someone in Boston.”
“No, that didn’t work out. This is someone else in Chicago.”
His expression darkened. “Lauren?”
“No, not Lauren.” Though that was interesting. “You don’t know her.”
His shoulders relaxed, the storm cloud passed, and his lips curved at my cloak-and-dagger efforts.
“It’s kind of complicated,” I went on. “We’re not a couple.”
“Ah. The condom broke.”
“No, the condom did not break!” I said that a little loud, so I lowered my voice and tried again. “It’s planned. We’re in this together.”
“That is good. Though it sounds like you wish for more.”
Nazarov was always good at reading people. It made him a great center and a wily competitor. He waited for me to spit it out.
What could I say? That the most independent baby mama ever born got what she wanted and was moving on with her life? She was probably looking for a real dad for her kid, some smarty-pants professor type like that London dude who got awards for articles about clams.
“She’s one of those DIY gals. Doesn’t want me to pay for anything or take my input or … other stuff.”
He remained annoyingly silent.
