Page 66 of Brooklynaire
Even if I’m making myself feel crazy, I still know that shutting things down was the right move. Any dalliance with Nate is just playing with fire. It would be way too easy to fall for him. Not only is he the smartest man I will ever meet, but he has a great smile, a fun sense of humor, and—I happened to notice—a great body. The wholepackage.
I feel a little quivery just thinking about an alternate universe where I’m allowed to kiss him whenever the urgestrikes.
But here inthisreality, I have a job to hold onto. Getting involved with Nate means jeopardizing the esteem of everyone in the Bruisers organization. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the team is my secondhome.
I head for the F train to Brooklyn. My boys are playing tonight. Game three. I haven’t seen a game in weeks, since right after my accident. I wish I could go to the rink tonight. But I can’t exactly tell Nate I need space and then show up in his private box at the arena. And it’s not like I’ve got a spare $400 sitting around for aticket.
Maybe I should have thought of this before I unbuttoned his shirt and stripped himnaked.
Live andlearn.
* * *
Afew hourslater I’m lying on The Beast—our hideous sofa—while Missy paces the floor with a cranky Matthew. He’steething.
We don’t have TV, and our internet connection is spotty tonight, so the live stream keeps glitching out. Of course it does. So Missy is monitoring a Twitter feed on my phone for scoring updates, because I’ve demanded it. The stadium is two miles from my apartment. And tonight those two miles feellong.
“What are people saying now?” I ask for the tenthtime.
“Nothing.”
“It’s Twitter. There must besomething.”
“Someone tweeted that the line for the women’s bathroom is toolong.”
“Waaaaaaah!” Matthew wails on her shoulder, and my head gives a sympatheticthrob.
“Give me the phone,” I say. Then I get up and snatch it from her. I run into my room and shut the door. I tap Georgia’s name off my contacts list and wait while it rings in myear.
“Hello!” she yells. “Becca?”
“What’s the score?” Idemand.
“I’m so tense!” she yells over the background noise. I don’t know if she even heard thequestion.
“Gigi—which radio station is covering the game? I need to hear the play-by-play.”
“Hockey on the radio? Is that athing?”
“Isn’t it? Old men listen to baseball.You’rethe publicist! Don’t youknow?”
“Rebecca, are you okay? Why aren’t you here watching,anyway?”
Hmm. Keeping a secret from my best friend hasn’t been fun. But this isn’t a great time to get into it. She might be standing beside Nate right now. “I’m all right. It’s complicated. Just tell me what’s happening on theice.”
“The first line is on shift. Leo, Bayer,Castro.”
“Wow! Young lineup tonight. Who’s onD?”
“Douley and… O’Doul passes to Leo! And it’s…OMIGOD. OH! COME ON! Yes! Not quite. Fuck!Arrrgh!”
“What happened? We didn’t score? Please tell me the other guy didn’tscore.”
I hear clunk, and then the call is cutoff.
“Georgia?” I say into thesilence.
Nothing.
