Page 30 of Across the Boards

I set my phone down, the smile still firmly in place. Three months ago, I was in Boston, packing up my apartment after an unexpected trade, wondering if coming back to Phoenix was the right move. Now, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

5

ELLIOT

“So was it a date or wasn’t it?” Sarah’s voice echoes through my kitchen as I juggle my phone on speaker, coffee mug, and laptop.

“It wasn’t a date.” I set my mug down with perhaps more force than necessary, sloshing coffee dangerously close to my keyboard. “It was tacos. In a parking lot.”

“Mmhmm.” The skepticism in Sarah’s hum is palpable even through the phone. “And the fact that he took you to his favorite taco stand after your totally-not-a-dinner at Marcel’s means nothing?”

I refuse to acknowledge the flutter in my stomach at the memory of Brody insisting I try the fish tacos that had apparently sustained him through rookie season. Or the way he’d flirted when salsa dribbled down my chin. Or how he’d casually handed me a napkin while continuing his story about his first NHL fight, somehow making me feel like my mess was perfectly acceptable rather than mortifying.

“It means he’s from Boston and appreciates authentic Mexican food after years of sad New England attempts,” I say instead, opening my laptop to check my work schedule for the day. “Nothing more.”

“Right.” Sarah’s tone drips with amusement. “And I suppose the fact that Tommy says Brody asked for your number weeks before moving in next door is also meaningless?”

My fingers freeze over the keyboard. “He did what?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” The fake innocence in Sarah’s voice would never hold up in court. “Tommy says Brody called him the day after he signed with Phoenix again, asking if he still had your contact info.”

“That’s...” My brain scrambles for the appropriate reaction, landing somewhere between flattered and alarmed. “Why would he do that?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Elliot. Why would an attractive, single hockey player want the number of an intelligent, beautiful woman he’s always had a thing for? It’s a real mystery.”

“He hasn’t ‘always had a thing’ for me,” I protest, though a traitorous part of my mind flashes back to that Christmas party years ago—the way Brody had looked at me during our literary debate, like what I was saying actually mattered. “We talked books once at a party and ran into each other at team events a couple times before he got traded. That’s it.”

“Mmhmm,” Sarah hums again. “That’s why he remembered exactly what you were reading and brought it up the second he saw you again. Totally normal behavior for someone who wasn’t interested.”

I take a fortifying sip of coffee, refusing to engage with her logic. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work instead of interrogating me about my non-existent love life?”

“This is way more interesting than preparing for a staff meeting. Besides, I need all the details to properly prepare for the gala. Speaking of which, we need to discuss your outfit. I assume you’re wearing that black dress you always wear to these things?”

The abrupt subject change is giving me conversational whiplash. “I was planning on it. Why?”

“Because I need you to be bold this time. We need to go shopping for something new which means you’ll need the right foundation garments.”

I glance at the clock—8:12 AM is far too early to be discussing underwear choices. “I’ll figure it out, Sarah.”

“Please tell me you’re not planning on wearing those beige granny panties I saw in your drawer last time,” she groans. “They’re practical for work but not for a gala dress. You need something seamless. Preferably something that doesn’t make you look like you’ve given up on ever having sex again.”

“Sarah!” I hiss, glad she can’t see the blush creeping up my neck. “I’m not planning my underwear based on hypothetical sex that isn’t going to happen.”

“So you say,” she replies, undeterred. “But just in case the universe delivers a miracle and you decide to live a little, you should be prepared. Do you even own anything remotely sexy anymore?”

The question shouldn’t sting, but it does. After the divorce, I’d systematically purged my closet of anything Jason had bought or expressed preferences about—including several expensive lingerie sets he’d given me “as gifts” that were really for his own enjoyment. What remained was practical, comfortable, and thoroughly unsexy.

“Actually,” I say before I can reconsider, “I bought something new.”

The shocked silence on the other end is deeply satisfying.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sarah finally sputters. “Elliot Waltman voluntarily purchased lingerie? Without me dragging you to the store? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say, immediately regretting the admission. “Cocktail dresses need specific undergarments, like you said. I was being practical.”

“Black lace is never just practical,” Sarah counters with the confidence of someone who knew she’d struck gold. “Send me a picture. I need to see this mythical lingerie that you, Elliot ‘Cotton-Is-The-Only-Acceptable-Fabric’ Waltman, deemed worthy of purchase.”

“I’m not sending you lingerie selfies at eight in the morning,” I protest, though I’m already heading toward my bedroom. Sarah’s enthusiasm is infectious, and part of me wants validation that my impulsive purchase hadn’t been ridiculous.

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