Page 68 of Bombshells
Fiona comes through the door at four o’clock. “So Anton didn’t show at the pool?”
“Oh, he did,” I grumble. “He wants to be friends.”
She cringes. “I’m sorry. That makes no sense to me.”
“Me neither. But I gave up trying to convince men to love me, so…” I hit pause on my show and sit up. “Are we really going to the Bruisers game tonight?”
“Free third-row seats? Hell yes, we are. Don’t let two men put you off hockey, Sylvie. You could always root for the other team.”
I laugh for the first time in hours. “Yeah, good point.”
“I have a text from Anton about the game,” she says. “He asked me very politely if there were any Bombshells who couldn’t use their tickets. He has family in town.”
“Oh, yeah. I heard something about that. His dad sounds like a real tool. Maybe it’s genetic.” I feel instantly bad for saying this. Because I know in my gut that Anton is not a tool. He’s just not ready for me.
Maman is right to warn me away from him. She is always right, damn it.
“I found him two seats,” Fiona says. “Can I ask you to meet Eric Bayer in the lobby before the game and hand them over?”
“Sure,” I grumble. “No problem. I’ll admit that I’m a tiny bit curious about his father.”
“Let’s face it, he’s probably a fox.” Fiona gives me a silly smile. “The Bayer family gene pool is spectacular.”
“Probably.”
She gets out a fat ticket envelope and hands me two of them. “Oh, and here’s yours, too. Don’t worry about the seat numbers—we have the whole section. You don’t have to sit next to Anton’s foxy dad if you don’t want to.”
“Small mercies.”
“Want to go running?”
“Not really?”
Fiona gives me a patient stare.
“Okay, sure. Let’s go.”
* * *
The lobby of the arena is mayhem on game night. The Bruisers’ winning streak means that every game is sold out, with extra tickets trading for hundreds of dollars on resellers’ sites.
I watch the fans stream in, faces bright, tickets in hand, heading for the turnstiles. There are so many Brooklyn jerseys that the lobby is a sea of purple.
I’m watching for Eric Bayer and also, I suppose, for Anton’s father, if I’m able to recognize him.
And then I see them both at once. There’s Eric, with his business partner, Bess, and they’re moving toward a handsome man in a dark suit coat. It’s so easy to recognize him as Anton’s father. He’s every bit as handsome, although his golden hair is turning a bit gray at the temples.
I could be imagining it, but he looks colder than Anton could ever look, even if he was encased in ice. The elder Bayer waits for Bess and Eric’s approach with the bearing of a visiting dignitary who’s used to people coming to him, and not the other way around.
I see Eric’s features harden, as if he might share Anton’s opinion of the man.
Interesting. I weave between groups of fans, crossing the lobby to meet them.
“These four are in section six,” Eric is saying as I approach. “And—oh, here she is.” Both Eric and Bess break into a smile when I approach. “This is Sylvie, a member of the Bombshells team. They scared up two tickets for you as well. Those are in section four.”
I smile in greeting, although it’s just hitting me that this is a little awkward. As I glance between Eric and Anton’s dad, I can’t help but think: I just had relations with your relation…
“Those two seats are separate?” says another voice. “We’ll take those.”
