Page 29 of Playmaker

She rolled her eyes at me. It was cute. “I just have to know when the sport seasons run. Hockey and basketball in the winter. Baseball and football in the summer. I ask what team they like, and if it’s the offseason, question what they think the team needs to do. Everyone has an opinion, and they’re happy to share it. I just listen. Remember the names of the players they like. Or I can ask them who was the team’s best player ever. They like that too.”

Huh.Had people done that to me? I would always support my team, so I wouldn’t offer opinions on the current roster, but asking about my hockey idols? That would distract me. I couldn’t underestimate this woman. She didn’t know sports or dressing or golf, but she had an incredible mind, and it was sexy. “What about in season?”

“Which player is having a good or bad season. If it’s a local team, if they see the games live. What team is their biggest challenge. Just generic stuff, but if I listen and pay attention, it usually goes well.”

That technique wouldn’t work on a golf course, or in the club. You could ask someone who their favorite golfer was, but it wouldn’t help you navigate the dining room, or make sure you didn’t try to take your next shot out of turn. Smart as she was, she needed my help. And that made me feel good.

We talked about movies and TV shows. Her roommate, Darcy, was a manager at a movie theater so she saw a lot of popular films. On the team jet we had downtime while traveling to away games, so we’d both seen most of the new releases and shared some tastes in common. There’d been a popular legal thriller out this year and her opinion on that was scathing. And a hell of a lot of fun to listen to.

I stopped in front of her condo building. She turned in her seat. “I should get you those clothes I can’t wear.”

I turned off the car. “I’ll come up and get them.”

She frowned.

I raised my hand. “Just saving you a trip. Show me what else you have to wear to the club, so we can work out how much you’re going to need.”

The furrows in her brow deepened. She picked up her bag, with the skirt and top she’d worn to practice in. “I’m good with this. I can clean it between golf lessons.”

“Callie.”

She lifted her chin again. The woman wassostubborn. “What?”

“You can’t wear the same thing every time.”

“I don’t need a whole lot of clothing like this. When would I wear it again? No one is going to even remember what I had on.”

There was a lot to unpack in this. But I didn’t want to have this discussion in the car, so I agreed to see what she already owned.

She was tense again as we headed up to her condo. That ease we had while talking at lunch and on the way back to the city was gone. She opened the door with jerky movements and dropped her bag on the coffee table in the living room.

“Stay there.”

I stayed, standing in where I’d stopped and checking out her place. It was nothing like mine, either in space or design, but it looked comfortable. I wondered which parts of the decor, if any, were Callie’s. Based on the sounds drifting down the hallway, and the swearing, she was having problems rummaging around in her room. I heard someone at the door, and her roommate Darcy came in.

He stopped when he saw me, arms full of groceries, face showing surprise. “Uh, hi.” He tried to wave, but that just jostled his bags.

I stepped over and reached for a couple.

“Um, thanks. Uh, I can leave again. Really. Just put the milk in the fridge and?—”

Callie stomped down the hallway then, arms full of clothes. “Darcy—you got food. Sorry, I meant to?—”

“No problem.” He looked between us. “I’m, um, just going to put the milk away and I’ll be gone.”

“Why?” Callie asked.

I kept quiet, enjoying the show. Darcy thought I’d come up here for more than clothes, and Callie was so oblivious it was funny. She was a strange mix. Super smart about some things, and totally missing out on others.

“We could probably use your help,” I added, and Darcy’s eyes widened to almost full circles.

“I don’t need the two of you ganging up on me.”

I watched Darcy blink as he processed the clothes in Callie’s arms, and the lack of any closeness between us.

“Why are you carrying around your running clothes?” he finally asked Callie.

She dumped them on the coffee table. “He”—she pointed at me—“thinks I need to buy a bunch of clothes for this country club.”

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