“A few blocks up.I figured street parking was safer than a garage.More witnesses if something happened to the car again,” she explains and reaches for the door.
“Lola.”She pauses, but then pulls the door open anyway.
“Thanks.Honestly, thank you.Last night was fun.”
And then she leaves.
And I let her.
Chapter18
Theo
Morning skate is optional the next day, but I’m still surprised when Callan isn’t there.Rookies rarely miss a skate.I partner with Iggy Redov instead of Callan for the practice.Landon isn’t here either, but Grady is.He says Landon stayed at home with Randie because Lola was busy.If he knows about Lola spending the night at my place the other day, he doesn’t say anything.When skate is over, I use one of the bikes for about 30 minutes.When I’m done, I see Milo, our head trainer, about my shoulder.The good one has been tweaking a little.He thinks it’s because it’s overcompensating for the bad one, which still isn’t one hundred percent.He shows me some stretches and tells me to ice it.
When I get back to the locker room, Grady is pulling on his street clothes.I try to figure out a way to casually ask what Lola is doing and land on, “So Lola has bartending on Saturday afternoon?”
He glances at me.“What?”
I focus intently on peeling myself out of my Under Armor shirt like it’s a complex task.“You said she was busy, and I thought she watched Randie unless she was at work?”
“Yeah, but no.She doesn’t have work,” Grady explains.“She also volunteers at an art gallery.Well, it’s more like an art collective thing.”
“She’s an artist?”I sound gobsmacked because I am.
Grady just shrugs and runs his hands through his damp copper hair, trying to finger-comb it into a style.“I mean, I haven’t seen anything she’s done, but Landon says she used to be obsessed with drawing and painting.He’s happy she’s back at it, so he tries to accommodate her.Also, he’s a sucker for daddy time with Randie and knows there’ll be no missing skates in the play-off push, so he’s taking advantage now.”
I nod.We’ve found a bit of a groove as a team, and we’re climbing the ranks in the division at the moment, but there’s a ton more regular season to be played.If we keep this up, we will definitely be in playoff contention, though.God, I hope we can do it, but I shove those thoughts from my head.“What’s an art collective?”
“It’s a place that is a gallery with exhibitions, but also a workspace where artists can create.They offer classes, sometimes at no cost or minimal cost,” Grady explains.“It’s super cool.Landon and I went to one of the exhibits and bought a painting for our bedroom by a queer artist.Oh, and Coach’s daughter takes classes there.Not Mac but Cassia, his younger one.”
“The one who designed the logo in his office?That thing is bad ass.”He nods in agreement.“And she’s there now?At this art collective?”
Grady’s eyes narrow on me.“Lola?Landon and Callan’s sister?Yeah…”
“I heard the cops followed up about her car, and I wanted to touch base.Since I was there… when it happened.When she found it.You know what I mean.”I shrug and peel off the rest of my workout gear, then grab my towel and wrap it around my waist.
“Yeah.Okay.Well, cops say that dude didn’t do it.The Pete guy she dumped.”Grady eyes me oddly.“They told her yesterday.”
“I still think it was him,” I say quietly.
“Yeah, we think so too,” Grady replies.“Which is why we’re gonna install a ring camera at the apartment and she’s quitting the bar.”
“She is?”I didn’t know that.
“She’ll find something else,” Grady remarks as he heads to the door.“See you tonight.”
I shower and throw on my street clothes.My original plan was to go to the local deli I like, pick up a Cobb salad for lunch, and then have a pre-game nap.But as I wait in line at the deli, I find myself googling Art Collective Portland.Only one place comes up, called Sand Dollar Art Collective and Gallery.I pay for my salad and start scarfing it down with a bottle of water at the counter by the window, and scan their website.
There’s a showcase for new artists happening over the weekend.I scroll through pictures from previous exhibits and find Lola in two of them.She’s smiling in both of them, dressed up, and looking incredible.But she looks incredible in anything.I find the tab on the website about classes.There are examples of student work.One piece catches my eye because the name underneath is Lola Casco.It’s a landscape in muted pastels of the beach at sunset, seagulls swooping high in the sky, and dune grass bending in the imagined wind.I know less than nothing about art, but I think it’s fucking great.
I finish my salad and kick myself once again for not getting her phone number.I have no choice but to message her through that stupid hook-up app if I want to talk to her.I walk home, trying not to think about how many other guys have shown interest in her profile and whether she’s responded to them.I mean, we aren’t exclusive.We aren’t anything, and that’s the way it has to be because I’m in no place to date someone.I don’t even know how to do that… do I?
I’ve never wanted to be in a serious relationship.Not once.Not even in high school.I used to hear the funeral march in my head when my teammates started getting into exclusive relationships.I would even whistle it in the locker room when they’d talk about proposing and marriage.Yeah, I was a delight.But why did I feel that way?And do I still?
I pull up the app as I round the sidewalk on my street.
LUKE_T
