Page 63 of Playing the Player

“Sure.” He studies me for a second. “You two are getting pretty serious then, huh?”

I hesitate. I don’t actually know how to answer that anymore. “Actually…” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “How about we go for that drink now?”

Thirty minutes later, Knight and I are sitting on the beach with two cold beers and the waves rolling in beside us. “So?” Knight asks. “Do you think this is still fake to her?”

I stare out at the sea. “I really don’t know, man.” I say, taking a swig of my drink. “I mean, we see each other almost every day, we go on dates, the sex is…” I trail off, not finishing that thought. “It’s different, you know. When it’s someone you actually care about, it feels… different.” I’m getting mixed signals from Sasha and it’s giving me whiplash. One minute, she’s laying naked in my bed, and the next she’s saying how I’m gonna make some woman very happy one day, implying that it won’t be her. I’m confused.

“Yeah, I get it. Trust me.” Knight admits, hanging his head between his bent knees.

“You do?”

“It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter.”

“Nope, no.” I point my bottle at him. “I told you my secret, now you spill yours.” When he doesn’t speak, I urge him on, “Come on, Christian. You know I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Fine.” He sighs, kicking at the sand. “I’m not saying who it was with but I was nineteen. We were good for so long but you know what it’s like having a girlfriend when your hockey career starts.”

“No actually, I don’t.”

“The rumors started. Just the usual shit. But she believed them.” This is the first time I’ve seen Knight show any kind of emotion that wasn’t anger. After ten years, he’s still hurt by what happened. “She dumped me.”

“You didn’t explain?”

“She wouldn't let me.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Blocked my number, left the country to go study abroad. I never heard from her again for years.”

“And now?”

“She lives here.”

I blink at him. “Have you spoken to her?”

“I’ve tried.”

“And?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “She hates my guts.” He downs the rest of his beer before getting to his feet. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s in the past.” I stand with him, gathering our empties and putting them in the trashcan a few feet away. “Just talk to Sasha. Let her know how you feel.” He dusts the sand off his jeans. “Don’t spend years wondering what would have happened if you’d just been honest.”

It’s simple advice. But it seems like the hardest thing in the world to do.

26

Sasha

It’s not in my job description to fetch coffees for all the ‘important’ men at my workplace, but here I am, riding the elevator up to the top floor of the law firm, with two trays of drinks in my hands. And not just simple black coffees either. No. These men had me remember eight separate coffee orders, from two separate coffee shops, because the one in the lobby isn’t good enough for them. Snobby pricks. I swear they do it just to make my life miserable. And it fucking works.

I shoulder open the conference room door where every partner and high-end client is gathered around the enormous oak table, glasses of whiskey resting in their hands. Whiskey? At 10am on a Wednesday. Seriously?

“Finally.” My boss, Larry, sighs dramatically, “We’ve been waiting all morning for you to bring these up.”

“Sorry, sir.” I keep my eyes trained on the coffee cups and not on him.

Maybe if I could have gotten the coffees downstairs, I wouldn't have taken so long.

Or maybe, if I didn’t have to go to two different coffee shops so that all your little friends could have the perfect drink, you would have had it sooner.

Or maybe, I don’t know, if you all got up off your fat, lazy asses, you would have had it by now!

I wanna scream at him! Instead, I swallow every sarcastic thought. This job pays my rent and until writing can pay all my bills instead, I don’t have the luxury of telling Larry exactly where he can shove his coffee.