Page 3 of Play Book

I use a handful of paper towels to dry off and get some of the water out of my shoes. I touch up my lipstick, do my best to smooth my hair back from my face, and finally take a steadying breath.

It’s just dinner.

I can survive anything for an hour or two, right?

“There you are!” Russell is waiting right outside the bathroom and his loud voice makes me jump.

“Russell, you scared me,” I say, blinking at him in annoyance.

“Sorry. I wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost.”

Get lost? We aren’t in the fucking desert.

Tonight is going to be a blast.

Not.

I want to ask him what kind of misogynistic bullshit he’s spewing but opt to let it go. There’s no point in arguing because I am never going to see him again.

We sit down, and he orders an expensive bottle of wine before turning to me.

“So. Aunt Bertie says you paint.”

Another veiled condescending comment.

He’s starting to get on my nerves.

“I’m an artist, yes,” I say quietly. “And your aunt said you’re a lawyer.”

He nods proudly. “Corporate stuff. Probably not anything you’re interested in.”

“Mergers and acquisitions?” I ask blandly since that’s the most boring thing I can think of.

He squints a little. “Aunt Bertie gave you a rundown, eh? So, yeah, I work in M&A. That means we guide our clients through complex corporate transactions, including things like due diligence, regulatory compliance, and negotiations. And FYI, I made partner last year, so you don’t have to worry about my finances.”

This guy is even worse than I imagined.

I’m eternally grateful when the waiter appears and pours wine for us.

Since I’ve opened the door for him to talk about his work, he leans into it, telling me about his big-name clients, how much business he’d brought in last year, and myriad other details that make me want to run screaming from the room.

The more he drones on, the less interested I become, and I look around the restaurant to see if I recognize anyone. This is a popular place that lots of my friends frequent, and the bar is always busy. I’ve just scanned the crowd when a familiar face comes into my field of vision, and I pause.

A group of Phantoms are here.

And I’m not talking about ghosts.

The L.A. Phantoms are the local professional hockey team, and my friend Chey is now in a relationship with a guy on the team named Ivan Rochenko. Because of that, I’ve met most of his teammates, and I zero in on the group standing at the bar.

Marty Nadeau is one of the older guys, and he’s cute if you like them tall, dark, and married.

Connor Brooks is a rookie who’s only eighteen or nineteen, so way too young for me, but adorable in his own way.

There are a few others, but Canyon Marks is the one I focus on.

He’s the kind of guy I could sink my teeth into.

So to speak.

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