Page 36 of Tempest

I guess that includes me. Can’t say I don’t deserve it, exactly. But I’m hoping we’re beyond that now.

Odette:

Just friends, Gavin.

Me:

Just friends, Ode.

There’s no telling what made her change her mind. I’m not going to question it because her agreeing to go with me feels a lot like winning the Stanley Cup.

Odette:

As for your last question. Edgar Allan Poe. I feel like he could use a hug.

I’d asked her if she could meet a dead historical figure, who it would be and why. If I’d bet on her answer, it would have been that it would be some famous fashion designer that I’d never heard of. That’s the thing about Odette Quinn, she’s always unexpected.

Me:

Good answer. I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday, friend.

Dropping my phone to the counter, I go back to making my loaf of gluten-free bread. Caroline says the store-bought shit is trash and suggested I try making my own for Odette. We spoke a few days ago, after weeks of relative silence. Tori had told her about Odette and now she’s just as eager as Tori to force me and my old crush back into each other’s orbits.

No more eager than me, really. But Caroline has always carried some guilt over how things happened, despite me telling her none of it was her fault. I guess we both think we’ve stolen one another’s happiness in some way. Tori makes up for it, so it doesn’t really matter.

I want the same for her. She’s closer to it than I am since she’s met back up with the guy she met while we were married. It was obvious to me that she’d fallen in love with him then, so I’m glad they’re getting their second chance now.

Even though his name is Brock, and I can’t picture him as anything but a huge muscle head. Apparently, he owns a nursery. The plant kind, not the baby kind. Which Caroline loves; she’s become earthy and spiritual the past few years. Looking back, I think she saw the shape of things before I did and took the proper steps to ensure she would come through it healthy and content. Whereas, I threw myself into work and ignored the fact that my life was going to change drastically when my kid graduated high school.

I always knew Caroline was smarter than me. I’m catching up now and can focus on both my last season as an NHL player, and seeing if whatever was between Odette and I may still be there.

The woman fucking confounds me. Something she said sticks with me while I watch the bread bake. I took particular care with this loaf, as the last three came out as hard as a hockey puck.

I feel very…domesticated. Oddly enough, I thought the guys would give me shit for this, but they didn’t. They’ve been encouraging me, in fact. This one already looks better than the last, as it rises like a cloud above the pan.

Odette won’t date me because I’m eligible. What the fuck does that even mean? Pulling up the search engine on my phone, I type in her name and the word boyfriend. Keeping tabs on her over the years, I never let myself explore too far into the men she was rumored to be with. I didn’t want to know if she had found some great love with some rich or famous man.

Within seconds, I’m given a long list of headlines connecting Odette to various men of wealth or fame. Actors, entrepreneurs, a rock star, even an extended member of the British royal family, at one point. A person could look at this list and feel insecure about their own status.

I don’t, though. I know what I have to offer. And I know, at one time, I meant something more to her than all these men she quickly moved on from. My aim is to have her remember that. To remember me, and us, and how amazing we were together.

Clicking through them one by one, I quickly find a common thread. Not all the men, but so many, are married. Estranged, or rumored to be in troubled marriages, a couple very recently divorced at the time they were spotted with Odette.

The minority of them are single and free.

What in the ever-loving hell?

Odette opens the door and every question I’ve wanted to ask her vanishes from my head. We’re just having a friendly outing. I can’t haul her over my shoulder and carry her to bed. Though that’s all I fucking want to do, seeing her right now in her form-fitted skirt that lands just below her knees. A couple of inches of her stomach are bare below a fitted top of the same color. Dark plum that complements her skin, glowing and smooth and damned lickable.

I can’t wait to peel her out of it…

“Hi, Gavin,” she says, holding up a bottle. “I didn’t know what was best to bring. Wine, bourbon, or these fantastic mini cupcakes I found the other day. I ordered fresh ones for today, but then thought I should ask you. Honestly, I don’t know much about athletes’ parties. Do you all even drink? Or eat sweets?”

“Wine, the wives will love it,” I say, still perusing her body, taking in every curve. “How are you the one nervous?”

“I’m not,” she starts to argue, then stops. “What do you mean? Why would you be nervous?”

“I wasn’t before. But here I am trying to be friendly, and you open the door dressed in that.”

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