She, Hannah, hadn’t tried to play him though. She also hadn’t backed down when he’d pushed, which he had to respect too. Though he cringed afresh that her first impression of him had been such a weak-ass one, falling over in Frank’s like that.
She wasdefinitelyeasy on the eye too, which of course he’d noticed that first time also. Cute as a button, but despite her tiny stature and baby blues, he got the sense that she didn’t take any shit.
Still, Ward was long enough in the game to know how the PR play went. She might just be better at her job than the others. He suspected that their initial encounter had confused her somewhat too. Understandable. Considering the shit show that was his current public persona, it was a world apart from the guy who’d paid for her coffee last week.
The stupid nice-guy stuff that always let him down.
It had been almost six months since Melanie left him. He’d met his photographer ex when she was taking team shots for an online sports magazine. Tall and blonde with hazel eyes, she’d immediately charmed him with her sense of humour and her blasé attitude about his jock status.
Things had started slowly, but once they’d started progressing, it had been pretty rapid and Ward had fallen hard. Before he knew it, he’d even found himself beginning to think about an actual future with her.
Like all good things though, it had come to an end. One night, when they were in his place watching TV, she’d turned to him and said, ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
He still remembered how his stomach had tightened and he’d felt nauseous. Whenever anyone said something along those lines, it never, in his experience, led to a good outcome. ‘What’s going on?’ he’d asked.
Melanie hadn’t met his gaze. That was never a good sign either. As he’d sat there, waiting for her to respond, he’d felt his heart racing. He’d known right then, that they were through.
‘I’ve been offered a job in Chicago,’ she’d said. ‘It’s a permanent position at a magazine and the pay is double what I’m making right now. There’s so much opportunity for advancement too.’
His mouth had suddenly gone dry and it had taken him a few moments to answer. ‘OK. And how do you feel about long-distance relationships?’ he’d managed to ask.
Her bittersweet smile had told him everything he’d needed to know.
‘I’ve been down that road before, Ward. Maybe it works out at first but before you know it, we’re drifting apart.’
‘We won’t know until we try, though,’ he’d suggested stupidly. ‘Just because something didn’t work out in the past doesn’t mean it’s going to always be that way. For one thing, you’re dealing with me now and I won’t let you down.’
Melanie had given him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, tears welling up in her eyes, and she’d leaned against him.
‘You’re a nice guy, Ward, but I just don’t see it happening. I’m going to be busy getting everything set up, and you’ve got the new season coming up too … Maybe when I’m properly settled in you can come and visit and we can talk about it?’
By now, Melanie should have been settled in. If she’d wanted to make things work, she’d have picked up the phone and they’d have discussed things. There had been no phone call. There had been no discussion.
A nice guy.
Ward wasn’t stupid. She’d moved on. She’d started her life over in Chicago and that life hadn’t included him.
To the public, he was as Cannoli Girl had just described him: an overgrown frat boy womaniser, living up to his on-the-ice moniker and tough-guy reputation.
In private he tried to be a decent guy, but that didn’t seem to get him anywhere.
And worse, now he was past his prime and benched with an injury that showed no sign of getting him back on the team anytime soon. His coach was losing faith, his agent was losing faith, and if things didn’t change soon, his career would be lost to him too.
Hannah said she wanted to improve his image. The problem was Ward knew deep down that improving his image meant being the other guy – theniceguy.
And that never worked out well.
Chapter 7
HANNAH
When Hannah returned, still rattled from her second unexpected encounter with Cannoli Guy, the building’s evening doorman, Bruno, was on shift. A friendly New Yorker in his sixties, he greeted her with a smile then reached down to pick up an oversized skincare hamper, setting it on the countertop.
‘Delivery for Courtney. Mistakenly dropped up to penthouse-one by the courier earlier when no one was here,’ he said, raising an eyebrow, ‘who sent it back down with some choice words and this note.’
Hannah’s stomach dropped as she read the words, which were pretty much a carbon copy of the note she’d received earlier. She’d intended to pick up what was evidently one of Courtney’s PR drops, but hadn’t had a chance to do so any sooner, so what was the guy’s problem?
‘Ugh,’ she groaned, frustrated. ‘Why is it that when some people get old, they get mean and sour and just seem to hate the world?’
