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When he lifts the bow and begins…
The arena goes silent. I’ve forgotten how to breathe. When he pauses, twirls the bow in his fingers and repositions the violin to begin the Star-Spangled Banner. Never in my life have I been more moved by our anthem.
I meet Davey’s eyes.
“Holy fuck.”
Davey smiles at me and nods. Devyn is rolling her eyes at both of us. She has to physically nudge me out of my stupor to get me to make my way to the elevators and up to the visiting team’s box to watch the game. I don’t want to watch the game. I want more of the beautiful creature in the pink suit.
Chapter two
“Why the hell aren’t you on the ice?”
Davey eyes me sympathetically. He may not hear the exact words, but the decibel level is unmistakable. The only reason I even took this call was to spare Davey.
My father will quickly divert his attention and wrath to Davey when I avoid him. Davey is our Director of Player Development. A made-up title that means he is our GM’s right-hand man. He was Brady’s right-hand man when Brady was our head coach, when Brady coached in Buffalo and when Brady returned to Denver as our GM. Davey knows how to handle and deflect a whole lot of bullshit. But I try to spare anyone my father’s wrath when I can. I put it off as long as I can, but I don’t avoid him. I take his calls and his disapproval. Been doing it for years, my whole life really.
I step out onto the concourse so I can hear him better. And get this damn call over with.
“That trainer of yours doesn’t have a clue…” he goes on and on and, of course, it doesn’t take long to get the fact that Brittany is a woman.
“She’s too soft. She knows nothing about being an athlete and suffering through pain. A man would have you out on the ice.”
Never mind that she was a Division I track and field star who made the Olympic trials. Never mind that he might be right. Another trainer might have me on the ice sooner, but Brittany is a long-term thinker. Keeping me off the ice longer than some other trainers lessens the chance of re-injury and riding the roller coaster of play two games, hurt again, take one off, play two. That used to happen with our former head trainer. As soon as Brady promoted Brittany, everything changed. Suddenly, we weren’t getting re-injured. Old injuries that used to flare up regularly with certain players stopped happening.
I long ago stopped trying to defend her, or anyone else in the organization, or even myself, for that matter, to my father. It’s a lot easier to just take it. Nod and agree at the appropriate moments.
None of that keeps my heart from threatening to pound out of my chest. None of that keeps the heat of anger from filling my cheeks. Soon the throbbing fills my head. Breathe, breathe, breathe. In 2, 3, 4. Hold 2, 3, 4. Out 2, 3, 4.
I feel like reminding him I still get paid, even though I’m not on the ice. That’s all he cares about. The money and being able to use my name in social circles. Not because he’s proud of his son. But because I am rich and famous, and he thinks he is by association.
I rub my temples and exhale. Breathe, breathe, breathe…2, 3, 4. Leaning back against the wall of the concourse, I let my head fall against the cold cinderblocks.
Breathe, 2, 3, 4.
A flash of pink catches my periphery. I lift my head from the wall. And I’m wishing I hadn’t just exhaled, because now all the air has left the corridor. He isn’t wearing the jacket of his suit any longer. He isn’t the one carrying it either. A paunchy man staring at his cell phone as they walk has it draped across his arm. He hardly seems worthy of sharing the same airspace as this man, much less carrying his jacket.
The crisp white shirt is unbuttoned a few buttons farther than would be appropriate for anyone else. But for him, perfection. The absence of the jacket allows me a better view of just how well that pale pink fabric hugs the muscles and curves of his long legs. It flows as he walks, caresses. Has me wishing I was that fabric. A few dreads fall across his shoulder as he moves. He doesn’t look at me. Unaware I’m standing here gawking at him for the second time in less than an hour.
I’ve never experienced an attraction towards a man before. But I’ve never seen a man like Nandy before.
He stops at the doorway to our box, peers in and makes a beeline for Davey.
Davey.
Damn. That really bugs me. Davey is a good-looking guy. He has the wavy blond hair thing going on. He doesn’t look anywhere near his age. He still has an athletic build. A leaner version of the player he once was. And Davey is gay. I’m not. Is Nandy gay? I think he might be. It never crossed my mind. How does he know Davey is gay? I look at them, chatting easily. Nandy glances around the room a few times. Casually. Slowly. Like he might be looking for someone…maybe. Probably just taking it all in. He makes Davey laugh. A tiny stab—okay, maybe not so tiny—of jealousy pokes its way into my gut. Why? Why do I care that a man I didn’t know existed until an hour ago is flirting with another man?
I’ve had men hit on me before. I’ve done nothing about it. Never had the desire to. But this man. There is something about him. He is sexy as fuck. I want him to notice me.
I cut off the call with my father. So lost in the vision of Nandy, I couldn’t tell you what the last thing my father said was. Nor do I care.
Nandy is definitely flirting. Davey smiles a few times. I don’t know Davey’s relationship status. He has something going on with Brady’s stepbrother, Carter, but I’m not sure what it is. I’ve not bothered to ask. It isn’t my business. But right now, watching a man I’ve never even spoken to flirt with Davey has me wanting it to be my business. Why isn’t he flirting with me?
They both look toward Brady and then Levi. Then Nandy takes a long look at Davey again. He sweeps his eyes up and down the length of Davey’s body. He says something else that causes Davey to pause, smile and shake his head.
I start to put my phone away, then think better of it and do a quick Google search—Fernando Reyes Jr. born in the Dominican Republic, orphaned as a young child, adopted by a white family, raised in Chicago. From what I can tell, that family is very wealthy. He attended some fancy prep school and a small private music school college.
No spouse. No children. No siblings.
