CHAPTER 5 #2
Nadie was preparing for the lead role of Laurey in her high school’s production of Oklahoma! She’d told her aunt she’d won the part over twelve other girls, and Tyler couldn’t have been prouder.
“I’ll see her tomorrow.” Tyler checked her watch. “Come talk to me in the bathroom. I have to leave in twenty minutes.”
“To see Cary?” Dylan teased.
“Shut up! Just get in here.”
Dylan put down the dog and followed her into the bathroom. “What’s going on with you two?” She sat on a toilet lid cover made of high-pile fibers.
“I’m done with musicians.” Tyler applied a thin coat of mascara to her top lashes. “I’m not falling for Cary fucking Kingston.”
“Why not? You said he was a nice guy—and he kissed you.”
“It was a peck,” she clarified, regretting telling her sister the details of their encounter. “Don’t get too excited.”
“What’s he like in person?” Not surprisingly, she’d also had a crush on him in high school. It was Dylan who had turned her onto his music.
“He’s, like, a person.”
Dylan traced the outline of her lips with her finger. “He’s got nice eyes. They’re brown, right?”
“Hazel with specks of gold.”
“Yeah, I thought so.” Dylan grabbed an orange stick and scraped off her janky red nail polish. “You said he likes Rory, right?”
A moment later Rory dashed into the bathroom, tail wagging. “He loves him.” Tyler smiled at her dog. “Hi, buddy.” She turned to Dylan. “He’s looking for c-o-o-k-i-e-s.”
“What’s the problem?” Dylan sounded frustrated.
Tyler rolled her eyes in the mirror. “Other than being the most famous rock star in the world? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I haven’t heard from him.”
“He asked you to text him.”
“Which I did.”
“Yeah, you sent a house emoji with a thumbs-up sign.” Dylan spun the toilet paper roll. “Nice going.”
“He sent a thumbs-up back.”
That damn emoji had haunted her for weeks. Why didn’t she text him, I’m home! Thanks for an amazing night! Because she was an idiot when it came to men.
Like, the worst of all time.
“What was he supposed to do?” Dylan picked up Rory and held him on her lap. “You didn’t leave an opening for him to follow up with you.”
“Please. He dates models and actresses, not music managers.” Tyler had done her homework. Googling Cary Kingston + girlfriend had nearly given her a heart attack. The list of women he’d dated was extensive. “Emma Turner? He’s obviously shallow.” She spoke in a drawl. “Emma’s the belle of the ball.”
“Cary writes love songs, Tyler.”
“Correction. He used to write love songs.” She raised an eyebrow, not sure where her sister was going. “What’s your point?”
“He’s a romantic at heart.” Dylan covered Rory’s ears. “He didn’t make that shit up just to sell records.”
She scoffed. “He’s a musician, Dylan.”
“Watch it. Mom married one, and he’s our father.”
An hour later Tyler arrived at the arena and headed straight to the private suite level.
True North Sports and Entertainment, the Winnipeg Jets organization, was providing SDM with exclusive use of their house suite, and she wasn’t about to waste it.
Her job came with all kinds of perks, but this was by far the greatest.
As she stepped into the suite, her mouth went dry—like she’d downed a bag of pretzels and chased it with saltines. Cary was somewhere in the building, and the thought alone had her nerves on high alert.
I need a drink.
She opened the bar fridge and grabbed a beer—Blue Moon, always her favorite. Twisting off the cap, she took a long gulp, the crisp citrus bite cooling her nerves as she swallowed.
The suite door swung open and a young woman with a jaunty ponytail stepped inside, expertly balancing a large tray of cheese and crackers on her shoulder.
“Hi, I’m Jessica. I’ll be your server.” She set down the tray next to a plate of cold cuts.
“Tyler,” she said, introducing herself. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’ll get you a glass and an orange for that right away.”
She inspected her bottle and nodded. “Thank you.”
“I . . . I heard this was Cary Kingston’s suite?” the server stuttered.
She scanned Jessica from head to toe. “For tonight it is.”
“Have you met him?”
“Cary?” Tyler nodded. “I work for his manager.”
Jessica’s eyes rounded into globes. “Is he nice?”
“He’s the best.” That kiss wasn’t too shabby for a non-kiss, either. “Really. He’s a great guy. Super nice.”
But don’t get any ideas.
Jessica straightened her skirt at the waist. “Is he coming up here?”
It was a good question, but she didn’t want to get Jessica’s hopes up—or her own, for that matter.
“I doubt it.”
“That’s a bummer.”
Tell me about it.
The voices in the hall gradually became louder as Sebastien and his buddies were like megaphones personified. He was always the loudest person in the room—not a shocker.
Sebastien arrived with his Winnipeg entourage—club owners, promoters, and musicians from his heyday. But they weren’t friends, not really. He kept them close only to flaunt his net worth because, more than anything, Sebastien loved to brag.
“Hi, doll,” Sebastien said, waddling into the suite. He called Tyler “doll” whenever he was drinking.
“Hi.” She turned her head, already cringing in anticipation. Like every French person, he went straight for the double-cheek kiss.
Ow. Shit.
His beard scraped her skin like steel wool, and she recoiled, nose wrinkling at the potent combo of whiskey and stale cigarettes on his breath. It was a miracle she didn’t hurl on the spot.
“Fix us some drinks,” he ordered.
“She’s our server,” Tyler pointed to Jessica. “She’s a big Cary Kingston fan.”
Sebastien gave her the once-over. “Cute,” he grunted, adjusting his Quebec Nordiques baseball cap. Being a slob, he dressed more like a comedy writer than a music mogul—missing the sense-of-humor part. “I’ll introduce her when he gets here,” he added.
Tyler cleared her throat. “Cary’s coming up here?”
“He wants to watch the game.”
“Why?” She hung her thumb from her belt loop, lowering one hip.
“I didn’t ask,” he said, his voice grouchy like Oscar’s.
Sebastien never questioned Cary or told him what to do since their management contract was a handshake deal, not something legally binding.
SDM’s other clients had iron-clad agreements, which meant Sebastien owned them for life.
But not Cary. He could leave whenever he wanted to, which would have been disastrous for their bottom line.
Tyler’s chest tightened, her heart pounding. Get it together. It was just a peck. She pressed a palm to her eye, willing it to stop twitching—her tell when she was freaking out.
The house lights dimmed and the announcer introduced Cary to the sold-out arena. The crowd erupted in cheers for their hometown hero. Brandon was close enough to Winnipeg that people didn’t get offended when they said he was a local.
Cary strutted down the blue carpet toward center ice. Tyler bowed her head and tugged at her white Jets jersey. Damn it. They’d done it again—showed up in matching outfits.
Telepathy?
Not long after the anthem ended, Vegas appeared in the doorway of their hospitality suite.
His 6‘6“ frame took up a lot of space. People assumed he was a biker because of his neck tattoos, ponytail, and black leather jacket, but Cary’s tour manager wouldn’t have been caught dead riding a motorcycle.
He was the voice of reason and never did anything reckless.
Tyler waved at Vegas, who stepped aside, leaving her fully exposed to Cary’s piercing gaze.
Oh god. He’s here.
What was she supposed to do—curtsy? Faint? Spontaneously combust? Too bad there wasn’t a conveniently placed window to swan dive through.
Be cool.
She took a swig of beer as the string parts from Requiem for a Dream echoed in her head.
Be cooler.
One after another Sebastien’s buddies posed for pictures with Cary as if he were the Second Coming. Truth be told, Jesus would have taken fewer selfies before he got annoyed.
The puck was about to drop so Tyler turned on her heel. She was there to watch the game, not Cary Kingston, even though it was a nice view.
“Is this seat taken?” a voice from behind her asked.
It’s him.
She half-turned around and smiled. “Be my guest.”
Cary lowered himself into the seat beside her. “We’ve really got to stop coordinating our outfits,” he said. “Where’s Rory?”
“He’s at my dad’s.”
“Are you staying there?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Cary pointed to her beer. “Where do I order?”
Jessica was already staring at him when Tyler waved her over.
“What can I-I get you, Mr. Kingston?” Jessica’s voice trembled.
“Mr. Kingston is my dad. Please, call me Cary.”
She giggled. “What can I get you, Cary?”
“How’s the wine?” he asked.
Tyler touched the arm of his jersey. “I’m sure it’s not great, not like what you’re used to.”
“Yeah, it’s just red or white,” Jessica admitted.
“Red, please.” Cary placed his hand on Tyler’s thigh and her muscles contracted. “It’ll be fine.”
Jessica giggled again. “Another beer for you, Tyler?”
“Please.”
And Jessica took off as if her life depended on it.
“I think someone wants an autograph.” Tyler batted her eyelashes.
“Sure,” Cary said. “Where should I sign?”
She squeezed his upper arm, not expecting to find muscle there. “Not me, Cary. Our server.”
“Ow!” He smiled, holding his arm. “I’ve got to play tomorrow.”
“In less than twenty-four hours you’ll be playing down there.” She pointed to the rink. “They’re doing the conversion overnight.”
“It’d be kind of slippery otherwise.”
She laughed. “Very funny.”
“Here you go.” Jessica passed him a glass of red wine filled to the brim. “And another beer for you.”
“Thank you.” Tyler took the bottle and smiled politely.
Jessica swayed in place, watching Cary. “How is it? I can get you something else if you don’t like it. A beer? A mixed drink?”
He took a sip and his mouth puckered. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
Tyler could tell that it tasted terrible.
“Ca—Cary?” Jessica stammered. “Can I please have your autograph?”
I called it.
“How about a picture?” Cary offered.
Tyler took a sip from her bottle, not amused by the server’s interruption.
Jessica’s gaze shifted to Tyler, then bounced to the rock star. “Are you serious?”
In an attempt to be the bigger person, Tyler put down her beer. “Here, hand me your phone.”
Jessica did just that and Tyler took their picture.
“Are you coming to my show?” Cary asked.
Jessica lowered her gaze to the ground. “I couldn’t get tickets.”
Cary pointed to the suite. “See that tall guy standing in the corner?”
“Yeah, he’s pretty hard to miss.”
Isn’t Jessica a fucking comedian.
Cary laughed. “Ask him to put your name on the guest list.”
“Thank you!” Jessica said, and with a skip in her step she took off to see Vegas.
“You’re good with the Kingers.” Tyler gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Are your parents coming tomorrow?”
In all the years she’d worked at SDM, she’d never met the Kingstons.
Cary shook his head. “No.”
“They’re not?” She cocked her head to the side. “Brandon’s less than three hours from here.”
He shrugged. “They’ve seen me play a million times.”
“Did you invite them?”
“They don’t need an invitation, Tyler.”
“No, but they need their names on the guest list.” She kicked into work mode, making sure they’d get into the venue. “Invite them.”
“Okay.” He continued watching the game. For someone who didn’t like hockey he seemed to be captivated by it.
She shook her phone like an Etch A Sketch. “Invite them now.”
“Okay, I will.” He took out his phone and she nodded, encouraging him. She couldn’t imagine his parents declining the invitation.
A few minutes later Cary’s phone lit up and he chuckled, sharing his screen with Tyler.
We’d love to! Mom.
Cary pointed out, “She always signs her texts with ‘Mom.’”
“That’s cute. I’ll get Vegas to add them to the guest list.”
As promised, Tyler explained the rules to Cary, and they laughed and joked like it was two weeks and four days ago.
Was she obsessing over nothing? Did he remember the kiss?
She didn’t think so.
“That’s my favorite part.” Tyler pointed to the players as they lined up to congratulate their goalie. “I like it when they rub his head. I do that with Rory.”
“Your favorite part of the game?”
She nodded. “Yeah, and I get annoyed when the telecast cuts it out. It’s like when they don’t show the ending of Saturday Night Live. I like the hugging. It’s nice.”
“Got your text.” Vegas raised his phone. “The Kingstons are on the list.” He nodded once at Cary. “Ready to roll, man?”
Cary smiled at Tyler. “So, I’ll see you at the show?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, it’s my family’s concert.”
“What time does it start?”
She glanced at her watch. “Around eight, I think—”
“What’s around eight?” Sebastien interrupted, eyes bloodshot, clearly intoxicated.
This asshole.
She softened her voice and said, “My family’s benefit concert.”
“You guys still do that, huh?” Sebastien hiccupped and his turkey neck flapped, skin folding inward. “How many years now?”
She used her eyes as daggers. “Thirty, if you must know.”
“You don’t say?” He stroked his beard. “I want a list of producers for the Westgrays by the morning.”
“I sent you a list a few weeks ago.”
“Send another one.” A droplet of spit stuck to his beard and she turned up her nose. “More pucks on the net.”
I’m sending the same list and you’ll never know.
Her boss squinted, trying to focus. “We’re hitting the bar, Cary. Are you coming?”
“Big day tomorrow,” Vegas said, throwing him some rope.
“Yeah, I’m kind of beat.” Cary rubbed one eye with his fist, although he didn’t seem tired at all.
“What about you?” Sebastien raised his empty glass at Tyler. “Free booze if you’re interested?”
Before she could answer, Vegas ushered him back to his cronies.
Thanks, Vegas. I owe you.
“Why don’t you come by for the first set?” Cary stared at her intensely, pleading with her to go.
“Okay.” She nodded, then had second thoughts. “Well . . . maybe.”