“Take it up with HR then. I’m sure you know their number, since you reported Nadine after you got bored with sleeping with her,” I hiss back. “And FYI, everyone does have secrets, but the one about your tiny dick is out, thanks to the women you mistreat who don’t have to pretend you have anything worthwhile down there anymore.”
I turn to Tom. He looks astonished but also a little impressed. “Let’s grab a table.”
He nods and follows me toward the restaurant attached to the bar. I hear Vinnie tell Eddie, “She burned you so bad I feel like I should pour my drink on you to put out the flames.”
I smile at that. Fuck Eddie. Let him go to HR. He told inappropriate personal information about a player to the press, and he tried to belittle me. Even if I get my wrist slapped, it will be worth it. I’m not even that furious with Eddie. I’m actually hurt by the information about Eli. Who the hell is Julie?
“Before you say it, don’t worry. I won’t ask Casco about the teacher’s wife or even the girl named Julie.” Tom smiles at me reassuringly. “I know how hockey players are, and besides, I don’t write for TMZ.”
I give him what I hope looks like a grateful smile. “I appreciate that, Tom.”
The hostess has our reserved table ready, so she grabs the menus and asks us to follow her. Tom motions for me to precede him and puts a light hand on the middle of my back when I do. It’s a simple gentlemanly gesture, but I don’t like it, so I pick up my pace quickly so his hand loses contact.
We sit next to each other, facing the entrance. I open my menu to pretend I’m busy reading, but Tom ignores his and leans forward on the table. “So, you seeing anyone, Dixie?”
“No. Not really,” I reply, not pulling my focus from the menu. “I don’t have time.”
“There’s always time,” Tom counters. “How about I show you by taking you for a drink after the next home game?”
“Hey.” Eli’s delicious rumble of a voice pulls both our eyes up. He’s striding toward us, looking like an office-casual Disney prince with his shock of dark hair dropping over his forehead and his dark jeans and fitted gray cashmere sweater with just hints of his white-and-blue-checkered button-down popping out at the cuffs and collar. I notice people noticing him because of the fluid way he carries such a tall, broad body. It’s mesmerizing, and I always have a hard time not staring, but tonight, looking at him kind of hurts, so I easily glance away.
Tom stands and they shake hands.
“Dixie.”
I look up at him when Eli says my name. “The fan will be here any second. Have a seat and finish up your interview with Tom. I’ll go meet him at the hostess station.”
I push back my chair, grab my purse and walk away. I pull my phone out of my purse and glance at the time. The guy was supposed to be here by now. God, I just want this to start so it can end and I can head back to my room with a bottle of wine and Skype my sisters.
I feel a hand curl around my wrist. I can’t see him, but I know it’s him. I know his touch. My body, on instinct, wants to melt into it, but my brain is screaming no. I turn to face him and subtly take a step back, removing my wrist and myself from his grasp. He looks hurt and then frustrated. I look at the entrance. I turn back to him. “Did you have an affair with a teacher’s wife?”
His eyes flare and his shoulders tense. “Who told you about that?”
“So you’re the type of guy that sleeps with married women?”
His mouth presses together in a hard line, and I can hear the air rush from his lungs. He takes a step closer and lowers that already low voice. “They were already separated because he had slept with his teaching assistant. She picked me because I was in his class. I was a horny, dumb college kid who allowed myself to be her instrument of revenge.”
I don’t respond. I don’t even know why I’m acting like that story is why I’m mad. It’s shocking and not what I would have done in college, but it’s the past. I can’t fault him for that. I can fault him if he’s got a girlfriend named Julie at this very moment.
He reaches for my wrist again and pulls me off to the side, near the hallway that leads to the kitchen. He leans down so we’re almost face-to-face. “Are you really going to fault me for my past? Are you that type of girl?”
“No. I’m not,” I reply and pause, finding the strength to say the rest in a voice that doesn’t wobble. “I’m the type of girl that never thought to ask if you were seeing someone when I slept with you.”
“What?” he asks, and I can see him struggling to absorb my words.
“Who is Julie?”
Over Eli’s shoulder a tall forty-something man walks up to the hostess table in a San Francisco Thunder jersey. The preteen boy beside him is in a Thunder jersey too. I sidestep Eli. “Mr. Jones?”
He turns and smiles. “Yes! I’m so sorry we’re late. We live way across town, and traffic was crazy.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him and smile at Charlie, who is staring past me with the brightest smile on his face and wide, starstruck eyes.
He tugs the sleeve of his dad’s jersey. “He’s here, Dad!”
I turn and see Eli step forward, wearing a bright toothpaste-commercial smile. “Hi there! Charlie, is it?”
Charlie nods. “You’re my favorite player. And my dad’s too!”
