“My pleasure.” She stands and offers her hand to me across the desk, which I shake before she turns and shakes Jason’s hand as well.
Paperwork in hand, he escorts me from the office with his hand on the small of my back.
At first, it confuses me a little, but then I remember that we’re not telling people this is only a formality for paperwork reasons. Everyone will think we’re getting married because we’re in love, not because I’m broke and desperate and Jason has a mountain of guilt combined with a white-knight complex.
When he holds the door open for me, I smile at him. “Thank you,” I murmur, hoping he knows I mean more than just for holding my door. Even if I think he’s crazy for doing this, it doesn’t mean I’m not incredibly grateful.
“You should text Maggie,” he says as soon as we’re in the car. “See where she wants to meet up.”
“She already told me.” I rattle off the name and address so he can put it in the GPS. “I’ll let her know that I’m on my way, though.”
We meet Maggie at a little coffee shop in downtown Seattle. I don’t recognize her, of course, because I’ve never met her before. But she’s with a large, handsome man who Jason greets. “Bouchard! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Of course! I want to see the woman who’s captured all your free time and attention.” He turns to me, offering a wide smile and holding out his hand. “You must be Hailey. I’m Jack Bouchard, one of Chalmers’ teammates. We’ve played on thesame line off and on the last few years, so I’ve got all the insider info if you need any.” Leaning in close, he whispers, “And don’t worry about the sock thing. He’ll eventually wash them.”
Confused and a little bit alarmed, I look at Jason. “Sock thing?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he says, glaring at Bouchard, who laughs before elaborating.
“When we’re on a winning streak, Chalmers doesn’t wash his socks. He says it brings us good luck.”
“We always have winning streaks when I do it, don’t we?”
Bouchard raises an eyebrow. “And that’s because of disgusting socks?”
“Like you don’t wrap your stick the same way every time for luck.”
Shaking his head, Bouchard holds up his hands. “That’s totally different.”
“How?” Jason demands.
“For one thing, it’s not sweaty socks.”
“Hi, I’m Maggie,” interjects the shorter woman next to Bouchard, casting an amused glance between the men who’ve subsided to grumbling at her interruption. She has her shoulder-length brown hair in a half-up style, red lipstick that nearly matches her top, framing her warm smile. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Jason’s been telling us about you.”
“Oh, he has?” I cut a look to Jason, who’s still defending his stinky socks to his teammate.
“Don’t worry,” she says, touching my arm lightly. “Only good things. He says you’re a musician?”
I nod. “Violinist.”
“Wow. That’s so cool. I always wanted to play an instrument, but never found the time. We were a sports family, so we spent a lot of time at games instead.”
“Yeah. It can be tricky to balance those things.” I learned that from trying to play sports to make my parents happy when I was growing up. Volleyball and softball, though I didn’t last long in volleyball. Once we had to overhand serve, I lacked the strength to get it very far and got cut from the team. Softball lasted a little longer, but it interfered with my lessons so much—and didn’t have the desired effect of gaining my parents’ attention—so I quit after my freshman year of high school.
“Are you much of a sports fan?” Maggie asks, smiling hopefully.
“Oh, well …”
I leave that hanging for long enough that she chuckles. “Don’t worry. You won’t be the only WAG who’s not.”
“WAG?”
“Oh, sorry. It stands for wives and girlfriends. A few of the other women aren’t really into sports, but the games are fun regardless.” She casts a glance over at Jason and her boyfriend, who seem to have moved on to speculation about the upcoming season and the changes to their team. “Well, it seems the boys are well occupied. Do you want a coffee before we go? Or are you ready to go shopping?”
“A coffee would be great, actually.”
Jason’s not as oblivious to our conversation as I thought, apparently, because he perks up right then. “You want your usual? I’ll grab you one. Wait here.” And then he heads over to the counter to place an order, leaving me all alone with both Maggie and the giant of a hockey player next to her. He wraps an arm around her, letting his hand rest on her waist, and she leans into him, both of them so casual about it that it seems almost unconscious.
