I laugh. “I’m sure he’ll get another chance.”
“So you and Shayne? It’s happening?” Jessie questions.
“Not really,” I admit, and I know I look disappointed. “I mean, we were getting somewhere, but then she found out I play hockey, and now she’s treating me like a serial killer.”
“She plays tonsil hockey with serial killers?” Callie questions and winks at me. “She’s even crazier than me. That’s something.”
“She won’t date me,” I clarify.
“But she’ll fuck you?”
“Yeah, she’s been swayed in that direction a few times…” I admit sheepishly. “But that’s not what I want. I mean, not only what I want.”
“Oh my God, what is wrong with men these days.” Callie sighs and rolls her eyes. I realize Devin Garrison is much more of a man than me if he was able to tame this wild woman.
“I didn’t know her dad was Glenn Beckford,” Jessie laments as we all start down the stairs. “She never mentioned it. Not even after I told her I was engaged to a player. Of course, she’s been avoiding me since the first day we met. I don’t know what I did.”
“You’re engaged to a hockey player,” Callie says simply and shrugs, like it’s obvious. “This girl hates hockey players. That must have come from something her dad did, since he’s the hockey player in her life. And you two are part of that profession.”
“But why?” I can’t help but ask. “What’s the big fucking deal?”
“I can’t tell you,” Callie replies. “Our dad was a professional hockey player and we hate him, but not the sport.”
I blink. I didn’t know that. How did I not know that? Of course I was obsessed with hockey my whole life, watched every game I could growing up; my mind goes straight to Drew Caplan, who played for Sacramento. “Drew Caplan?”
They both nod, and their faces are wearing similar pained looks; it makes them look even more alike. The look passes from Callie’s face first. “We don’t talk about it. There’s nothing to say. He bailed before our mom died and didn’t come back after the fact. Anyway, hockey life isn’t for everyone. Just ask Devin’s ex-wife.”
“Maybe Shayne had a crappy childhood growing up with her dad on the road all the time,” Jessie suggests. “But either way, she shouldn’t hold it against you. Or me.”
“You’re right. And I’m not going to let her.” I nod and stop. We’re on the landing with half a flight to go before we hit the ground level where the locker rooms and family lounge are located. I’m sure that’s where they’re headed. “I’m going back up there.”
“Of course you are.” Callie laughs. “Hockey players never take no for an answer.”
I grin at her. “If Devin can wear you down, anything’s possible.”
Jessie bursts out laughing at that, and Callie swats her. I turn and take the stairs two at a time. Thank God for hockey conditioning. I’m not even out of breath when I swing open the door. I start striding down the hall toward the VIP box. The hall is empty except for one or two arena ushers wandering back and forth. That’s why I notice them right away.
Glenn Beckford, in a dark corner of the curving hallway. Under a framed photo of him lifting the Stanley Cup, he’s kissing a woman who’s not his wife.
Chapter 25
Shayne
It’s Sunday, late afternoon, the sun is high in the cloudless sky but it’s freezing. I’m outside Hattie’s Hat in Ballard, Audrey’s favorite brunch place because it serves a billion different kinds of Bloody Marys, waiting for my always fashionably late best friend to grace me with her presence. Finally, after almost fifteen minutes, I see Audrey’s car come down the block. She honks as she drives past and pulls to a stop at an empty meter half a block up.
“Hurry up, princess. I’m starving!” I call as she’s paying the meter. I try not to sound too harsh, because it is her birthday, after all. She comes charging up the street looking fabulous, as always, and I’m glad I put a little extra time into my own appearance. Audrey is a good-looking girl with a flair for hair, makeup and fashion that make her downright stunning, in my opinion. Today she’s wearing a long white clingy sundress with a pair of cork wedge sandals and black onyx jewelry. Her long, perfectly curled hair is spilling out over her shoulders. Her eye makeup is dark and smoldering and stunning. It’s her day so I guess it is her right to have every eye in the place turn and look at her, which they do, when we finally get inside and the hostess seats us.
“How’d you get here?”
“Cab.”
“Still no damn car?”
I shrug. “Working on it.”
“Christ, I take less time deciding on a boyfriend,” Audrey gripes.
Hattie’s has got a seventies diner feel to it with wood-paneled walls and booths down one side and tables down the other. The hostess seats us at the last booth, because Audrey told her there were going to be four of us.
