“Always,” I whisper.
“That’s never going to change,” he vows, before planting a light kiss on the top of my head. “No matter what happens, we’ll always be friends.”
He rises to his feet, gathers up his file folder and mug, and walks out of my office.
No matter what happens? As in, he’s going to try to push me out of the business? Is that what he meant?
I stare at the empty doorway, the answers eluding me. But there’s a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Nine
Like the Penalty Box, But Plusher
Matt
I’m standing on the steps of the opera house, oddly nervous. This is a stupid first-date idea. I wanted to take Hottie out for a quiet dinner first, somewhere I could feed her and tell her all my best jokes. But that’s not how tonight worked out. Instead I’m treating her to a night with my hyper teammates, at an opera where I’ll have trouble sitting still.
Slick, Eriksson, I chide myself. Well done.
Hottie couldn’t meet me for dinner tonight because she had an emergency meeting with her programmer. So that sucks. The evening’s only saving grace is that my tux fits perfectly. It’s yet another thing in my life that she’s helped me with.
“What’s this opera about, anyway?” Wes asks, nudging me with his elbow.
“Fuck if I know.”
“I wish it were about fucking,” Blake says slowly.
“Oh, come on, you guys!” Jess Canning yelps. “Rigoletto is Verdi’s most famous creation. It’s amazing, and I promise it’s right up your alley.” She’s our resident artsy friend, so she should know.
“Well, don’t hold out on us, J-Babe,” Blake demands of his girlfriend. “What’s the story? God knows we don’t sprechen Sie Deutsch!”
“It’s in Italian, you goof. Here, I found a synopsis earlier…” She taps her phone. “The story opens with the Duke at a big party. He’s trying to decide which women to seduce first. The song is ‘Questa o quella,’ which means ‘this woman or that?’”
“Now we’re talking,” Blake says. “It’s just like me in ye olden days. Before I found the perfect one.” He puts one of his big mitts around Jess’s waist. “When I picked up our tickets, I noticed this place has a kickass coat room. You know how we enjoy coat rooms…”
She gives him a silly smile, but Wes makes a growling sound. “TMI, okay? Now tell me about the damned opera.”
Jess continues to explain the story. There’s a curse on the Duke and his jester, and the jester’s beautiful daughter. Instead of listening, I’m scanning the street, eyeing every taxi that pulls up, looking for Hailey. I can’t find her anywhere.
“The song in Act Three is something you’ll recognize,” Jess promises. “‘La donna e mobile.’ It means, ‘the woman is fickle.’”
“Sounds okay,” Lemming says.
“Eh,” I caution. “These things always sound better on paper. But it’ll be three hours long, and they’ll manage to suck the joy out of the story.” I’ve been to quite a few of these opera nights already.
“Speaking of sucking and joy,” Blake says with a grin. “Matty-Cake has two tickets in his hand. Something we should all know, my boy? Are you and the dog-walker an item now?”
I wish. And tonight probably won’t improve my chances. Asking Hottie to this thing was a terrible idea. If she stands me up, it might even be for the best. “How about you don’t make any sucking jokes for the rest of the night?”
“What fun is that? I arranged for us to sit in a box together. It’s like the penalty box, but plusher.”
“You...what?” Just as I’m worrying about this new development, another taxi pulls up. When the door opens, a pair of long legs appears from the darkness inside. Then Hottie unfolds those smokin’ legs from the car and stands up on a pair of spike heels, her dark hair shining under the street lamps.
“Amirite, Matty-Cake?” Blake says, jabbing me in the ribs. He’s still talking, but I’ve tuned him out.
“Everyone shut it,” I hiss. “Here comes my date. Pretend you’re normal.”
“Good luck with that.” Wes snickers.
“Mamma mia,” Lemming mutters under his breath. “That can’t be your date, Eriksson. She’s too hot for you.”
I want to tell him to keep his trap shut, but there isn’t time. Hottie spots me and smiles. I watch her navigate the busy sidewalk, and I descend a couple of steps to greet her. “Hey, you made it.” I take her hand, then lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek to show my appreciation. Her perfume invites me to linger, so I take a deep breath before I step back. “Thanks for coming.”
She blinks at me for a long moment, then looks down at our clasped hands. “It’s my pleasure.” Her voice is soft and a little tentative, her blue eyes sparkling. I feel the warm buzz of arousal, and I wish I could just hail one of these cabs and ask the driver to take us back to my apartment.
But I can’t, of course. And that’s not what Hailey signed up for.
Right. Opera it is.
“I’ll apologize in advance for my friends,” I say, stalling.
“Why?” She smiles at me again, and it hits me full force. If this is how Hottie looks at me after she’s gotten a little used to me, I may not survive it. “They didn’t shower after practice?”
“It’s not quite that bad,” I manage, smiling back at her. We’re both standing here grinning like a couple of idiots, but I can’t stop. “They’re just kind of rowdy. Not opera fans. Except for Jess.” I tip my head toward Blake’s girlfriend on the stairs.
Hottie glances at my fellow players and shrugs. “I’m from Toronto, Snipes. I’m not afraid of a few hockey players.”
I chuckle. “Snipes?”
“If I have a nickname, you get one, too. It’s only fair.” She gives me an appraising look. “Nice tux. Some smart person must have helped you pick it out.” She licks her lips and glances up at the theater.
I am in so much trouble.
Taking her arm, I lead her up the steps. “Guys, this is H…” I almost say Hottie. “Hailey Taylor Emery.”
“Awesome!” Blake bellows with his usual deafening enthusiasm. “I love a chick with three names! Like, um…” He pauses. “James Earl Jones!”
“Not a chick.” Jess sighs, shaking Hottie’s hand. “Welcome to the asylum.”
“Sarah Jessica Parker,” Wes offers.
“Julia Louis-Dreyfus,” Lemming adds.
I cut off this recitation of stupidity by introducing each of these chuckleheads, and then the lights flash outside the theater, prompting everyone to go inside.
“C’mon, guys!” Jess says, clapping her hands. “I don’t want to miss the beginning!”
“I wouldn’t mind,” someone else mumbles.
We enter the theater and I give Hottie my arm as we climb a curving staircase. Someone shows us to a private box, where another usher waits to hang our coats in a little closet right outside.
“Fancy!” Jess says approvingly.