Page 13 of Snap Shot

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I wanna deal with her while my head is exploding. Also” —I shield my eyes with the inside of my elbow, wishing away the sunlight— “what the hell are you doing here so early?”

“First of all, it's 10 a.m. And Kurt stayed at his after a long day of training. He's working out today, too.”

I peek from under my elbow at her sullen face.

“I got lonely.” Gabe stares at the white lid covering her drink.

“Did you talk to him yet about moving in together?”

“No. There hasn't been a good time. “

This hangover needs to die so I can support my friend. My head pounds harder when I sit up and drape an arm over her knees. “Everything okay with you two?”

“Yeah, I think so. He's stressed out over the team not making the playoffs this year. And I haven't been around during the transition.”

“Makes sense.” I hum, rubbing her knee. “By the way, if I knew he was proposing, I would’ve taken pictures and showed up to celebrate after.”

“I know,” she intones, palming my forearm. “But he wanted it to be private. It was nice, just the two of us.”

Kurt's alright, if not a little elusive. They've been together nearly three years and we've hung out maybe five times. I get that pro-athletes have demanding schedules, but he's hard to read. Gabe seems happy, though, and I don't want to throw a wrench in her happiness because of my general distrust of men.

“I'm glad you had a good time.” I scoot my ass to lean back onto the bottom of the couch. By the lull that follows, she doesn't want to talk about it more. I don't push it. “Pleasetell me you brought me an iced latte.”

Gabe reaches over and passes me a clear cup, ice crackling against the liquid and plastic sides on its way to my open hands. “With caramel.”

“Mmm,yes. Come tomomma.” I wanna put my face in a giant bowl of this stuff and stay there for the day.

There’s a reason I don't drink often. Two and I'm done. Last night, I had eleventy rum and Cokes. After a few pulls of delicious caffeine, my stomach garbles out a whale song. “I need food.”

Gabe smiles and pats my head. “It's so cute how you can't handle alcohol.”

I glare back at her smug smile and pinch the flesh of her thigh.

“Truce! Truce.” She winces and wrenches her legs away, holding up a hand in surrender. “Want brunch? My treat.”

“Deal.”

After a weekend of napping through the rest of that wicked hangover and folding laundry—why is there so much?—Sunday ends with the scaries for the incoming workweek.

But, as usual, I haul my ass to the office Monday morning, ice-cold caffeine in my veins and shooting outta-my-way Miranda Priestly-esque insults left and right to the lackadaisical summer tourists blocking foot traffic.

Radek's agent sends me an invite to some charity game the Regents are playing against a local beer league team. It's for the Community Food Bank. A noble cause. Management probably signed them up for it to counter all the bad press. I doubt any of those rich jocks care about the hungry.

Piles of paperwork in the aftermath of a previous case take me late into Thursday evening and I won't make it to the game in time. I call the agent to cancel.

“This is Wagner.”

“Hi. It's Indira Davé from Giachetti Law.”

“Ms. Davé! Good to hear from you.”

“Sorry, Cooke. I'm still at the office. Is there a chance we can reschedule?”

“I'd like to meet if you're available. Giachetti told me you're a fan. Why don't you meet me at the CTC?”

“I don't know if that’s—”

“The game ended but I can show you around, meet some of the team, and Radek, of course.”

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