Gabrielle laughs. “Well that sounded serious, whatever it was, so I hope it works out.”
“Me too.” I rub the back of my neck. “I guess we should talk about the fact we haven’t really done anything lately.”
“Done anything?”
“Hung out.”
“Oh you mean we stopped fucking,” Gabrielle says bluntly, and I start rocking on my feet awkwardly.
"I mean, yeah. But we used to talk too," I fumble. Truth is we didn't do much talking. I don't know why I feel weird about that now. "Anyway, I've just been super busy, and I?—"
She lifts a hand to stop me, her expression amused. “Nash, I’m not some puck bunny with engagement rings in my eyes. We were having sex. Now we’re not. It was never going to be more than sex so at some point, it has to end, right? It’s okay.”
“I know. I just… I mean, I don’t think it has to be totally done, right? Can’t we just leave the door open to possibility?” The fact is, Gabby was great in bed and never expected anything more. It was a perfect arrangement for me. And her apparently.
She shrugs. “Sure. I’m dating but not looking for anything serious either so yeah. If the urge strikes again, call me.”
“I will,” I promise. “I just have some shit to fix first.”
Her eyebrows raise, intrigued. “The call?”
I nod.
“Okay well don’t forget to get that x-ray,” Gabrielle says as I walk toward the door. “And get rid of this other problem so you can focus on playoffs.”
I smile. “I intend to.”
Chapter 3
Tenley
“Your phone will not stop buzzing. You’re going to have to turn it off.”
“Yep,” I grumble and pull it out of my purse and growl at the name on the screen before I hit decline and turn the entire phone off.
When I look up at Fisher, who is sitting beside me on the plush gold velvet couch with rounded edges that look like it was designed by a toddler, he's smiling. Smugly. I glare. "I'm sorry I'm still trying to figure out how you dared yourself into a marriage to your worst enemy. Also, why is one of the best, hottest, most eligible hockey players on the planet your enemy?"
“I was too drunk to remember how I ended up married. I told you that,” I hiss and add a shush because the receptionist for this online streaming platform’s office is about three feet away. “Also, if you think he’s hot, you marry him.”
“Maybe I will, once you’re divorced,” Fisher kids, he shifts and puts his ankle on his knee, leaning back on the couch. “I’m not gay though. Or bi. And neither is he according to the internet. His brother on the other hand… there are rumors.”
“His brother is dating my cousin and roommate. The woman I consider a sister,” I remind him tersely.
“So? You’re saying he’s not bisexual?”
“I’m saying I don’t gossip about someone who is almost a relative of mine,” I reply and level him with a very serious stare. “I’m a Garrison. Our loyalty runs deep. I’m also a Caplan, and I will fight a bear to the death to protect my family.”
“And now you’re a Westwood!” Fisher declares and winks.
“I hate you.”
“Nah.”
"Mr. Adamson and Ms. Garrison?" the receptionist says and we both jump off the couch. Not a graceful thing to do because I think the damn thing is made from Play-Doh and quicksand. "Mr. Ryan will see you now."
We both nod and I smooth my pants and push back my shoulders. “Thank you, Monica.”
Fisher gives me a befuddled look, but that's the receptionist's name. It's on the little plaque on her desk. My mother always taught me to notice people's names and address them by them, no matter the situation. It lets them know you're paying attention and it's respectful. Monica rewards me with a smile and leads us to the door at the end of the hall, which is ajar.
