Page 60 of Keeper
I called Marta, fully intending to cancel on her at the last minute. Hey, I’m an athlete, she couldn’t bethatsurprised when I bailed on her. We’re busy people. My body and my health have to come before anything else, and I needed my rest.
But something made me pause and I had to ask myself, what would Coops say? I could justhearhim say it:watch for the signs, kid.
If everything happened for a reason like Coops believed, then it wasn’t an accident that I never sent that text to Pete. I wassupposedto go to this photo shoot.
I called Marta up and apologized for being late. When she told me she was waiting at the Arboretum, my inner-Coops perked up again.
“I love it out there,” I said. “It’s gorgeous.”
We hung up and, after a quick shower, I hurried out to meet her.
22
Ainsley
We passed another hour waiting in Marta’s car.
I felt so schlubby and gross—it would’ve been nice to know the goalie needed more time so I could’ve showered and actually made myself look presentable … but whatever.
It is what it is,I thought with a muted sigh.
All I had to do was snap a few photos. If the goal was to get this guy all over Marta, I doubted it would take long. He sounded like a sleaze, and she knew exactly where she wanted their day together to lead: the sack. With a small bit of luck, sparks would fly between them and we could quickly wrap things up and call it a day.
Suddenly, I sensed something far away that made my insides tingle—a faint but powerful buzz. I sat up, trying to hone my hearing into the distant rumble.
“Hey, do you hear that?” I asked.
Marta put her phone down and listened, but her expression remained blank. “No, what?”
The buzz grew louder with each passing second until it became a roar. Afamiliarroar.
“That sound,” I said. The tiny blonde hairs on my arm stood straight up. “That car.”
I knew that sound. It was the mechanical growl of an expensive sports car—the kind of exotic spaceship a millionaire athlete would drive. I knew it had to be Vaughn, but that wasn’t a shock. No, the eerie part was the feeling that I’d already heard thatexactsound before—in fact, I’d heard it very, very recently.
The wheels in my head started to turn, even as I begged and pleaded to be wrong.
No—please—not that.
But the coincidences were becoming too big to ignore. The guy I met at the club? He was from Toronto. He loved hockey. He’d named his dog after his favorite hockey goalie.
“Oh wait, Idohear something!” Marta said as the snarl of Vaughn’s sports car grew impossible to deny. “Do you think that’s him?”
Another puzzle piece fell into place: the mystery of the Vaughn’s oh-so-familiar eyes, burning with passion behind his goalie mask. Why hadn’t I realized it last night?! They both had thesameeyes.
“I think so,” I croaked, searching him out among the sea of cars. At last, I spotted it, an aggressive black blur prowling through the parking lot.
Oh no. Same matte black paint job.
It pulled into the parking spot next to us, the purr of its powerful engine thrumming my insides.
Marta dropped her jaw, gaping at the sleek black car. “Holy shit!That’sgotto be him. His car looks like the friggin’ Batmobile!”
I couldn’t see through the tinted windows but I didn’t need to. Nor did I need to wait for the door to slide up. Because that car? The one that looked like a sexy slipper? I already knew exactly who was behind the wheel.And everything about our night together, and everything since, suddenly made sense. Because,oh my God—
My hot guy at the club was Marta’s goalie.
Tanner was Vaughn. Tanner Vaughn.
