Chapter Fourteen
Sterling
I was driving myself crazy for a man I didn’t even like. But what was it he’d said to me?
“You don’t have to like me to want me to fuck you. You know how good it will be.”
And from the way my body responded every time that damn man came near me, I was afraid he was right. Even worse, I didn’t know how to handle it aside from ignoring it, and so I spent the rest of the weekend buried in work, researching stories our reporters were working on.
In moments of weakness, though, I thought about Denis.
How the hell had I gotten to this point where I was lusting after a man? An athlete. Him. A tease and a flirt who no doubt would use me and forget me as soon as it was finished.
But was that such a bad thing? I didn’t want a relationship with him. The thought was absurd. This was about pure unadulterated desire.
“I can’t believe you’re even thinking about this. You’re an idiot,” I told the mirror, then went to bed.
Monday morning, I sat in my office, waiting for Adrian to walk by. I heard him before I saw him, as he always stopped to say hello to each of the staff.
“Adrian, how was your weekend?” I asked when he got to my door.
“Well, Rip’s home for a few days in between games so it’s always good.” He blushed. “But the team’s concerned about Denis.”
“I’m sure he’s getting the best care.”
“Oh, definitely. And they have someone with him at home to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”
My lips curled. “Yes. I know.” And instantly realized my mistake watching Adrian’s brows shoot up.
“You do?”
I pulled myself together. The last thing I needed was for Adrian to find out I went to Denis’s apartment. “I mean, I assumed they would. He’s a superstar. I’m sure the team will do anything they can to help him.”
“Hmm.” He shot me a look, but I kept quiet. “Well, he’ll be at the games even if he can’t play. Not the away games, but tonight’s at home.”
“Adrian, why are you telling me this? In case you’ve forgotten, we work at night. And for the last time, I’m not interested in being friends with Denis Bouvier.”
Which was kind of the truth. I didn’t want to be friends with him. I wanted him to fuck me. Two entirely different things.
“Fine. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Good. Because you have work to do. There’s a city-council hearing this morning, and you need to be there. It’s about the new development they want to build on the West Side. Lots of opposition, so it promises to be pretty raucous.”
“I’m on it. I did some research on the development company—Steele Properties. They’re pretty good from what I’ve heard.”
“Write it all up, and we’ll go over it this afternoon.”
He left, and I opened my browser to read the morning round-up, but instead I searched the sports news for any stories about Denis. There were a few, some downgrading the Blades’ chances at a three-peat of the Stanley Cup or even winning the division.
“It’s not only Bouvier’s lightning-quick reactions and skill at the net that makes him one of the greatest of all time.
He possesses an innate ability that can’t be taught, to always anticipate where the puck will land.
Bouvier has proved he’s unsurpassed in the league when it comes to low-scoring games, and he’s been one of the keys to the Blades’ success. ”
I couldn’t help but be impressed. Denis was held in high esteem by his peers. He was a leader among his teammates. Was I allowing myself to feel something now that he’d proved he was worthy? Did I think I was better than him because I went to college? Was I a snob?
I huffed. “No need to ask. It’s pretty obvious.”
For someone whose life had been hidden in the shadows, I was loath to step into the firestorm a relationship with a professional athlete would bring.
And yet I needed to do something. This craving for Denis’s kiss…
to touch him…feel him inside me…it all ate at me like a fever burning through my blood.
It was unacceptable to have it infringing on my work, and it needed to stop.
“Use that self-control, dammit. It’s gotten you through worse.”
I closed my eyes and imagined my sixteen-year-old self in that hallway, hearing the two most important people in my life bargaining over how much it was worth not to be my mother.
I must’ve lost my damn mind because I downloaded a sports app that allowed me to watch hockey on my phone.
In between my anchor duties in the evening, I watched the Blades, not to see them play, but in the hope I’d get a quick look at Denis on the bench.
Whenever the camera panned to him cheering for his teammates, I caught an unguarded glimpse of his wistful face and devastated eyes.
It might not be career-ending, but I couldn’t imagine the mental toll this injury was taking on him, and sympathy chased away most of my anger toward him.
What the hell are you going to do about it?
A month passed before I broke. By that time, I was watching every game the Blades played and was happy to see him occasionally replace the backup goalie for a few shift changes.
For some reason, Adrian believed it was necessary to report to me that Denis had progressed so well that he was scheduled to play in the Saturday afternoon game.
“If you’re interested, I can get you a ticket. We could sit together.”
“Why?”
Adrian’s face fell, and though I felt a twinge of remorse, no way in hell I’d go on this double date.
“Trust me, I’m not trying to set you two up. I don’t think it would be a good idea. I just figured it could be fun. Forget it.”
He rushed out of my office, and we were polite but no more than cordial during the newscast. When we were finished for the night, I stopped by his office. He was packing up his leather bag to go home.
“Adrian?” He stopped and faced me. “I apologize for being short with you earlier. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.
I’m just a very private person, and I keep my personal life to myself.
” I also wanted him to expand on why he didn’t think Denis and I would be good for each other, but that would be hypocritical.
If I didn’t want to be set up, it shouldn’t matter.
His head dipped. “I’m sorry. Would you ever come for dinner? If it’s not just the four of us?”
My smile was faint. “I don’t really socialize that much. I’m pretty drained after the week and use the weekend to recuperate and recharge. But thank you for thinking of me.”
“I understand. Well, have a nice weekend, whatever you do. I’ll be at the arena tomorrow, cheering for the Blades.”
“Good luck.”
At home I thought that lately I’d been going to bed so late after watching the games that I’d neglected my self-care, so it was time to remedy that.
I did a full detox—body and skin. I could feel the sluggish enzymes and molecules draining from my pores, lightening all the ugliness I held inside.
I grimaced at the ever-encroaching silver hairs and dyed my sideburns, which solved that problem.
I used a face mask and performed some at-home teeth whitening. I took a melatonin and went to bed.
In the morning, I decided on a totally new route for my jog and ran down to Riverside Drive. I came home, showered, and ate my yogurt and granola. I paced the apartment, its walls closing in on me.
Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?
Before I could stop and think, I went online and bought a ticket to the Blades game.
I grabbed my phone, keys, wallet, and ran out of my apartment to the train.
I emerged in Brooklyn, getting caught up in the crowd.
I stood out as one of the few who didn’t wear a Blades sweat shirt or jersey.
I’ve come this far. Might as well go all out.
I held out my phone to be scanned and headed to the Blades shop, where I bought a jersey with Denis’s name and number. “Why am I not surprised he’d have Number One,” I muttered to myself as the cashier handed me the item. “Egomaniac.”
“It’s old-fashioned. Used to be lots more goalies wore Number One. Now they’re mostly in the thirties, but sometimes twenties or forties.”
“I didn’t know there were rules for numbers.”
The kid stared at me. “Not a hockey fan, huh?”
I tucked away my credit card. “Not really.” I pulled off the tag and tugged the jersey on.
“It’s his first game since he got hurt. We need him. Lost four games without him, and now we’re second in the division.”
Not knowing how to answer that, I nodded. “Thanks.”
I picked up an obscenely overpriced water and found my seat in the lower half of the stadium. I scanned the rows and saw Adrian’s blond head. He was talking to other people, so it looked like he didn’t miss me.
The row I was in was occupied by a group of men in their midsixties. They kept side-eyeing me, and finally the man next to me tapped my arm.
“You’re that guy who does the news on Channel 8, ain’tcha?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Me and my wife watch you every night. Hey, Charlie, Ed, Morty. It’s that guy who does the news on Channel 8. My name’s Larry.”
The whole row peered over at me and waved. While inside I cringed, I managed to put a smile on my face and waved back.
“You’re a Bouvier fan?” Larry asked and drank some of his beer.
“What? Oh, because of the jersey? I’ve met him, so I figured why not?”
“Thank God he recovered fast. Blades dropped too many games without him. Their other goalies are good, but Bouvier is the GOAT. He’ll get ’em on the right track—he’s in a league by himself. You’ll see.”
“GOAT?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Greatest of all time.”
“Cheap shot from that fuckin’ player. Glad they suspended him.”
I hadn’t heard. “I’m glad too. It’s not right to win by hurting someone else.”
The players came on the ice for the practice skate, and I picked out Denis immediately. The crowd did as well, with a huge roar of approval. Everyone stood and clapped, and as it would look odd for me to remain seated, I joined them.