“Yes! After the marriage I didn’t know had happened. I swear, if I thought that I was married, there’s no way I would have tested Landon’s app or started dating another man. I wouldn’t have spent the last eight months in a relationship that might be going somewhere.” I lowered my voice. “Thad’s planning to propose to me any day now. I found a ring.”
“Oh, wow! That’s wonderful news.”
“It would be if I didn’t already have a husband, Franks.”
“Yes, I can see how that might be problematic. So you need a divorce.”
“Hell yeah, but Ass-arov won’t sign off unless I go on a date. Some bullshit about responding to the universe, but I can work around that.” I shoved another sliver of cinnamon roll into my mouth. Its spiral shape reminded me of a snail shell, which might have been why Franky was a fan. “More important, he has Volkov in his back pocket.”
“Volkov?”
“This Russian kid at Minnesota. Like a post-Soviet version of Conor Kershaw.”
“That good?”
Conor was the youngest son of retired Rebels captain, Theo Kershaw, and was currently playing for the Detroit Motors. He was going to be huge, but I thought Arkady would eventually surpass him.
“Yep. Nazarov has an in with him.” I pushed out a breath. “I need that kid on my roster. I’ve lost a few clients.”
“Every new business has teething problems. Is it that bad?”
This morning, one of my oldest clients, a women’s hockey player, had gone back to TMG. Becca claimed to be unhappy with her re-up and was blaming me for not fighting hard enough for her. Fucking Gen Zs!
“I need a big score. I thought the Rebels’ Cup win would give me more cachet, but until the glow-up effects of that start showing in the trades, I’m not going to attract any new talent and am at risk of losing what I have.” I had hoped to be a home for female athletes, but even they were electing to stick with the bigger name agencies instead of shooting their shot with a fledgling outfit like mine.
Franky pursed her lips.
“What? Tell me what you think and give it to me straight.”
“Well, I didn’t spend much time with Alexei, but I did notice he couldn’t take his eyes off you at the party, even while he held my daughter who tends to be an attention hog.”
The last thing I needed to be reminded of was how hot Nazarov had looked holding Cammi. Not only that, the co-mingled scent of them together, his cedar and spice, her brand new baby smell, had sent my ovaries into a DEFCON countdown.
Franky was still laying out her case like she was defending a thesis. “And he sought you out in the house. Has it occurred to you that he might want to remain married because he realizes that he made a mistake all those years ago, but he’s too emotionally stunted to tell you straight? Perhaps you’re blinded by your history together. I know all about holding onto preconceptions or letting past hurts dictate the potential for happiness.”
I grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Franks, believe me when I say I have not been holding a torch for Alexei Nazarov for years, hoping he’d finally realize the error of his ways and come running back to me. We were never a thing in the first place, it was all my imagination.” How could I explain that I wasn’t girlfriend material for a hockey superstar? I knew my lane and straying out of it in Vegas told me all I needed to know.
The man had to be drunk to be with me. This was not how true, respectful relationships started, but it was certainly a way for them to end.
“But he obviously has an agenda, Lo.”
I had my suspicions. “Listen, I work with a lot of athletes, and there comes a time when they realize they need to delete their dating apps, hang up the condoms, and start getting serious about their legacy. The personal one. You ever hear of the taxicab theory?”
She shook her head.
“Basically, according to the oracles on Sex and the City, men are like taxis. They stay available until they’re ready to play house, and then whoever they happen to meet after they have this epiphany is the lucky gal.”
“Are you saying he doesn’t care who he married, because he was just ready to pull the trigger?”
I snickered. “Yep. I suspect Nazarov is feeling left behind seeing all his cohort—Jason included—settling down.” I was about as sure of this theory as the internet when it was reported that a woman had fallen off the side of a boat and her husband “saw it happen.”
“And I understand where he’s coming from. That’s why I’m getting serious with Thad.”
“As soon as you eighty-six the husband you don’t want.”
I pointed at her. “Now you get it.”
She pushed back her glasses. “Okay. Time to date your husband so you can jump start that divorce.”
