She's notmyJasmine. She hasn't been for ten years. She's a lawyer handling a contract for my team, and she was at the game for work. Whatever we had ended in Long Island when I was eighteen and too stupid and too obedient to fight for it.
“Yeah, professional capacity. I'm reviewing the Renegades' sponsorship visibility across venues,” she says. “And how is Dom?”
“He’s good. He's finishing his masters in sports science, and he’s practically engaged.”
Jasmine’s face lights up. “What? Little Dom is engaged?”
I laugh at the expression on her face. “He's twenty-three, not so much Little Dom anymore. He’s been dating his girlfriend for three years now, I’m certain he’ll ask her soon.”
“True. When I think of him, I still see the version of him I knew,” Jasmine says, and I have to stop the sadness I feel that she doesn’t know my brothers anymore.
There’s a long pause because I suck at talking before she clears her throat, and says, “And how are your parents?”
“They’re all right,” I say with a shrug. The last thing I want to talk about with Jasmine is my parents. I’m well aware that, like Sarah, my mother didn’t like Jasmine either. It wasn’t a personal thing. More like, she’s always thought that relationships interfere with hockey.
“Tell me about the firm,” I say.
She tells me about the firm, Caldwell, Price & Associates, where she's been a senior associate for six years. I can tell she loves her work, by the excitement in her voice.
Then, I tell her about the season and the pressure this year. We have to prove ourselves this year after last year’s first-round exit.
There’s so much I want to tell her, but I remind myself that we barely know each other. Still, we talk for another forty minutes. It's the most I've talked to anyone who isn't Blake in months. The words come easier with her than they do with anyone else.
A man in a gray suit approaches and touches Jasmine's arm. “Ms. Bennett? Thomas Moore was asking for you.”
“Of course.” She straightens, shifts back into professional mode so fast it's like watching someone flip a switch. She turns to me. “I should make the rounds.”
“Yeah.”
She picks up her drink. “It was good to see you, Logan.”
“You too. Hey, would you want to grab a drink sometime and catch up properly? Somewhere that isn't—” I look around at the banners and the champagne and the sponsors and chuckle a little. “This.”
She studies me and then smiles. “Sure, I'd like that.”
I stand at the bar with my whiskey going warm in my hand and my chest cracked straight down the middle. Jasmine is everything I knew she'd be, and I couldn’t be more proud of her. But it doesn’t stop the sadness I feel that she did it without me.
I have no one to blame for that but myself.
Blake appears at my side. “You good?”
“No,” I say. “I don't think I am.”
4
Jasmine
The event is thinning out, and the sponsors left an hour ago. Now it's mostly Harper's team in black polo shirts, stacking chairs and collecting empty glasses.
I'm standing near the window with my second vodka soda warming in my hand, looking at the arena floor below. The ice is empty, and the lights are dimmed. An hour ago, this building was full of noise and hockey players in suits, and now it's just a big, quiet room.
I don't want to go home, even though it’s the smart thing to do.
My workload is packed tomorrow. I have the sportswear brand contract on my desk, and Wilder is expecting a framework by Friday. I have a spin class at seven, and if I leave now, I can be in bed by eleven. But my apartment is quiet, and tonight I don't want quiet. Tonight, my head is full, and I need to let it settle before I take it home with me.
I catch sight of Logan. He's pulling on his coat by the exit and scans the room one more time. His eyes land on me.
We're forty feet apart, and the lounge is almost empty between us. We lock eyes, and he smiles. I remember what itused to mean when he gave it to me. Remember the butterflies I felt when he did.
