Page 14 of Play Book

After what she did and the way she treated me, I have no interest in talking to her.

There’s an awkward silence as it rings a few more times before going to voice mail. Then it starts ringing all over again.

“Carly really wants to talk to you,” Saylor murmurs. “It’s okay, you know. You can pick it up.”

“Actually, it’s not,” I reply, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Carly is my sister, and we haven’t spoken in a long time. I’m sure she wants money and that’s not happening. She’s either going to stick it up her nose or buy alcohol, and I’m not supporting either of those habits.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. That sounds hard.”

I shrug. “Not really. Not anymore, anyway. She’s older than me, and she was always wild. She’s been getting into trouble since she was thirteen or fourteen. My dad essentially gave up on her.”

“That’s sad,” Saylor says. “What about your mom?”

I hesitate. “Mom passed away when I was seventeen and Dad recently remarried, so there’s not a mom in the picture.”

“Are you close to your dad?”

“He comes on the dads’ trip every year, and they usually make it to a few games. I try to see him in the off-season, if they’re not traveling.”

“Are they retired?”

“Well, my stepmom is only thirty-five, but she doesn’t work. Dad made a lot of money on Wall Street and retired at forty. He met my stepmom three or four years ago, married her, and they essentially do nothing but travel.”

“That sounds lonely.”

That’s one word for it.

I’m used to it, though.

“To be honest, it’s easier,” I admit. “She’s high maintenance, and Dad does nothing but brag about his money. Although, to be fair, he handles all of mine and he’s already doubled my wealth, so he’s good at what he does. No matter what happens with hockey, I’ll be set for life.”

“That’s important. That’s why I bought the duplex a few years ago. I renovated it and rented out the other half. It’s been great. It’s a little small, but it’s paid for, and it allowed me to open the gallery.”

My phone rings again, this time from an unknown number, and I figure Carly is just trying to get me to answer, so I let it go to voice mail once again.

I’m starting to get curious, though.

Considering how long it’s been since we’ve spoken, she’s being persistent if all she wants is money.

Luckily, we arrive at the restaurant and the valet hurries to open the door for Saylor. I walk around to meet her, and she slides her hand through my arm again. Most women go right for handholding, and I like Saylor’s old-fashioned but oddly intimate gesture.

Our table is ready, and we settle across from each other, which for some reason irritates me.

I want to sit closer, keep her hand on my arm, and continue enjoying the warmth of her touch.

“Wine?” I ask her.

“Sure. I’m a fan of reds.”

“Same.” I studied the wine list, deciding on a merlot I enjoy.

“That’s one of my favorites,” she says. “You almost read my mind.”

“Wine is a hobby of mine,” I admit. “When I decide to buy a house, one of the requirements is going to be either having a wine cellar or having the place to build one.”

Her eyes light up again. “Wow—it’s almost like we share a brain. That’s the plan for my next house too.”

I don’t know about sharing a brain, but I have a few other body parts I’m ready to share.

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