Page 19 of Playmaker

“I would have guessed you didn’t.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. But I didn’t want to know why, so I moved on. “Where are you from?”

“Toronto. Grew up here, never went anywhere.”

I wanted to ask why. But I didn’t want her to give me grief over my privileged upbringing or current circumstances. I knew, based on the clothes, the lack of golf experience, and her attitude, that she hadn’t grown up with money. I had, and I had it now, and I didn’t need to justify it.

She was waiting for me to respond. I’d let her ask.

She huffed. “Okay, where are you from?”

“Family’s in Connecticut. Went to university in Burlington, drafted by the Toronto Blaze, been here ever since.” I didn’t say I’d never been anywhere, because I’d been a lot of places.

“Did you want to come to the Toronto area?”

She was curious.Good. “No.”

“Afraid of the weather?” She had that patronizing attitude that people who lived with “real winters” could get about anyone they thought enjoyed a soft life in the warm.

“Don’t you know your geography? Vermont is farther north than Toronto and gets hella worse winters.”

Her mouth made an O. “Oh, Burlington, Vermont. You’re right. That would be pretty wintery.”

It wasn’t like even Connecticut was the balmy tropics. “My turn. Do you play any sports?”

“Define sports.”

I checked that she was serious. She was. God help me, she was one of those. “Do you do anything that makes you sweat?”

“Interesting definition. I run, but it’s not a team thing.”

Yeah, she wasn’t a team person. She wouldn’t be doing any March Madness brackets with her coworkers. “How much do you run?” It would be nice to have some idea of her fitness level. Not that golf was likely to put her in danger of a heart attack, but I didn’t usually bother with a cart.

“Three miles. About half an hour.”

“How often?”

She did that growly thing again. “How long doyourun, and how often?”

“You do remember that I’m a professional athlete, right?”

“Are you avoiding the question?”

“I normally run five miles a day, but can do ten or so, if needed. Shall we compare our speed now?” I let my foot off the gas. “Maybe you want to grab a pair of shoes now.”

She gasped. “Is this the place?”

The gates for Briarwood were ahead of us. “Yep, this is the place.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

Chapter7

The theory of hockey

Callie

The website didn’t doit justice. The place was…incredible. Like something out of a movie about billionaires and princesses and people I’d never hang out with in a million years.

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