“Hailey! Look at the wall.”
There is a bit of wall showing. When I squint, I see more hardware bolted in. There’s some kind of chain hanging there. And beside it I can just make out a row of… “Are those floggers?”
“Seems so.”
“Are you even surprised?”
Jenny shrugs. “Why didn’t you have sex with the hockey god yet?”
The question catches me entirely off guard, so I blurt out the truth. “I would have, but we were interrupted by an emergency.”
Her eyes widen, probably because she hadn’t expected her sneak attack to work. “What kind of emergency?”
“The intimidating kind,” I admit. “His ex-wife showed up looking like a supermodel, with her twin girls in tow. She cut her thumb and declared a national emergency.”
Jenny makes a face. “I hate her for interrupting your first night of sex in a million years.”
“Two years,” I correct.
Her eyes bug out. “Two? But your separation was only eighteen months ago!”
Well, this is embarrassing. “Next topic, please.”
“Oh dear.” She looks truly stunned. “No wonder you turn into a gibberflibber every time he turns up.”
“But most men don’t make me do that,” I point out. “Just him. He’s obviously the wrong choice to break my dry spell.”
“No.” Jenny reaches across the desk and smacks my hand. “That means he’s exactly the right guy. Did Jackson ever turn you into a bumbleberry?”
“No. Just Matt. I humiliate myself nearly every time we’re in the same room. And he has two kids, Jen. Seriously. There’s a whole bunch of people in line for his attention.”
Jenny’s wince is just proof that I’m right. “The kids are tricky,” she admits.
“The whole situation is tricky. This is like…deciding I’m interested in doing a little rock climbing, and then flying to Everest for my first excursion.”
“The scenery, though!” She fans herself. “Let’s talk about how you’re really just a big chicken.”
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
“Am not!”
“Hi ladies,” a male voice says from the doorway. Once again my heart leaps and then dives. It’s not Matt.
“Hi, Tad!” I greet him with great enthusiasm, because he’s interrupted the dumbest argument Jenny and I have ever had. When I bounce out of my desk chair, he looks a little startled. “Weren’t we going to have coffee sometime?”
His eyes widen. “I believe that was the plan.”
“Is now good? Jenny went for an espresso without me.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Now would be very good.” His smile leaves no room for doubt that Jenny was right. He had been trying to ask me out, and I missed it.
“I’ll just get my coat.”
We go to the coffee shop on Yorkville Ave. But instead of getting takeout, we have a seat at one of the little tables in back.
Talking to Tad is easy. I don’t feel any shimmies or flutters in inappropriate places. It’s soothing. We end up discussing television. Turns out we’re both excited for a new season of Sherlock.
“A ‘season’ is usually only a few episodes, though,” I point out.
“True,” he says, his brown eyes smiling at me. Tad is empirically attractive. He has a good haircut and a friendly smile. He’s a little lean for my recent tastes, but he carries himself well, and wears clothes that suit him. With his turtleneck sweater and his hipster glasses, he looks more like a Club Monaco model than a techie nerd.
Also in Tad’s favor? I haven’t stuttered once since we sat down to talk. I’m perfectly calm the whole time. He doesn’t make me stutter or feel sweaty. He’s just…Tad. I lean forward a little, wondering if the zap of attraction I’m hoping to feel is somehow held back by the width of the oak table between us.
But…nothing.
Interesting.
“After Sherlock is over,” he says, “there’s always hockey. I know how much you love hockey.”
I offer a wry smile. “Speaking of hockey, where’s your Toronto hat today?”
The tips of his ears go pink. “Flew off when I was running to the subway station the other week. It was either save the hat and miss the train, or lose the hat and make it home on time.”
“I would’ve chosen the hat.”
“Of course. The three pennants and the Toronto pencil cup in your office could’ve told me that.”
He smiles, and it’s a nice smile, but once again I don’t feel a single spark. “I bet if it was your, say, Boston cap, you wouldn’t have picked the train,” I tease.
His blush deepens. “Damn. Who gave me away?”
“Jenny. But don’t worry,” I add graciously, “it’s all right with me if you want to root for Boston over us. Foolish, but all right.”
Tad chuckles, then tells me about the time he had tickets for a Toronto home game against Boston but then got stuck in an elevator in midtown. It’s a pretty good story, and I’m a good listener. But as he’s telling me how he used his cell phone to call the building security, I suddenly feel it! A flush spreads across my chest, and everything starts to tingle. I feel myself smile a little wider. I sense something important happening…
“Hottie.”
I jump three inches in my seat, and my forearm knocks over the dregs of my coffee. I flail for the napkin but it goes sailing off the table.
Two seconds later, Matt Eriksson has retrieved my napkin and dropped it tidily onto the modest puddle of spilled coffee. Leaping to my feet, I take him in. In sweatpants and a Toronto jacket, he must have just come from the morning skate. He’s the most casually dressed man in the shop and the hottest by a factor of a thousand.
I’m just goggling at him, still stunned by his sudden arrival. And Tad is faring even worse. His mouth has flopped open, and his eyes are the size of the CDs he uses to install new software at our office. “You’re…” he stammers.
At least I’m not the only one who loses it a little when Matt shows up. Tad might not be a Toronto fan, but he’s still a hockey enthusiast, and all diehard fans go a bit nuts in the presence of a professional athlete.
“Hailey,” Matt says with a jaw that’s tighter than normal. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“This is T-Tad the techie,” I blabber. “Tad, this is Matt Eriksson.”
Tad pulls himself together. He stands and thrusts a hand into Matt’s, pumping it. “It’s a pleasure, sir.” Hesitating, he glances between us. “So, uh, you two know each other?”
“You might say that.” Matt retrieves his hand from Tad’s. Then he uses it to cup the back of my head. He places a firm, possessive kiss on my cheekbone. “We need to have a little chat, you and me. If you have a moment.”
“Oh, we’re done here!” Tad volunteers with a nervous chuckle. He grabs our cups off the table. “See you back at the office, Hailey!” He’s gone so fast I think I see a contrail all the way out the door.
“What was that?” I demand, finally shaking off my surprise. “You chased off my coffee date.”
“Date?” he asks, his strong jaw lifting in a way that’s so sexy I can practically feel the testosterone rolling off him in waves.