8. Adam
ADAM
“Cabernet Sauvignon from the Stumbling Bear Estate in Oliver, BC,” Bucky, the host, says as he pours a glass for Red. “One of the most respected wines in our province, it pairs beautifully with steak…”
“I know this wine,” Kate says quietly, almost like she’s admitting defeat. “I love this wine.”
This is already the best eighty-five bucks I’ve ever spent.
I raise my glass to her. “To bears who stumble and the movement coaches who teach them how to improve their hip stability.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she says, smirking. And she clinks glasses with me. Over the rim of my glass, I watch her savor the wine I special ordered for us. Her eyelids flutter. Those ice-blue eyes that usually roll around in annoyance are rolling to the back of her head like she’s in ecstasy.
Honey, if my choice of wine is doing it for you, I’m not sure you can handle what else is coming your way…
She catches me staring, and there’s that other kind of eye roll. That was the eye-roll equivalent of a double axel in figure skating. I feel honored that I got to see both variations. I bet I’m the only guy who has.
She goes back to drinking the wine.
Kate is, if I’m being honest, always pretty—even when she’s scowling at me or ranting about me on her podcast. But tonight she’s just…
stunning. Not like she’s trying hard or anything—those boots are doing a lot of heavy lifting and that tight dress isn’t fancy, it’s just…
hot. Because her body’s hot. Womanly. Athletic.
Strong. Graceful. Like she could strangle you with her thighs while wearing a tutu.
Her long hair is down tonight, which is rare, and it makes her look wild.
Like some mythical Irish she-beast who kills you with her screams while fucking you senseless.
She’s wearing makeup on her pale skin, so I can’t see her freckles in this dim lighting, but I know they’re there.
She’s just glowing. And I don’t even care that she sees me staring. I want her to feel good.
Because I want that new team logo.
She leans in across our small table, ever so slightly.
She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
“So, why is the host your buddy? Why do they accommodate you when you have wine and flower arrangements sent here? Do you bring dates here often or something?” she asks, trying her Kate Pogue best to seem nonchalant.
As if she didn’t give a shit whether I’ve brought other dates here or not.
As if she isn’t swooning because of the heady fragrance of the flowers I ordered for her.
As if she isn’t showing her hand by asking.
I see you, Red. I wish I didn’t, but you are all I see when I close my eyes. And not just in my nightmares either.
“I was a busboy here in high school,” I tell her.
“You were? I thought you worked with your billet dad.” She seems genuinely skeptical. Like it couldn’t possibly be true if she didn’t know this.
“I was his apprentice when I turned seventeen, yeah. But I bussed tables here in the summers part-time.” Grinning, I add, “That’s why I know all the good private spots to make out in around here. Did this not come up when you did a deep dive into me, Red? Pretty basic stuff.”
“I have never and will never do a deep dive into you, Foley.”
“Right. You just say stuff that isn’t true on your podcast.”
Her eyes are ablaze, but I watch her face as she catches herself before snapping at me. She tosses her head back, forcing a laugh that comes out as cackle and then says through a brilliant smile, “I have never said anything that isn’t true—I merely call it as I see it!”
I lean in across the table. She leans in again.
Our knees are touching under the table. We’re facing off.
She thinks she knows the game we’re playing, but she has no idea what she’s up against tonight.
“Wouldn’t you like to take this opportunity to ask me a few questions and get some real answers?
Straight from the source? Since y’all have never invited me on your podcast.”
Her brow furrows. “Did you want to come on the podcast?”
“Is that one of the questions you want a real answer to?”
“No.” She studies my face, and I’m pretty sure what she finds is that I’m not fucking with her. She sighs, not in defeat so much as she’s surrendering. “Okay. We’ll take a time-out and talk for real for five minutes.”
“You’ll want more than that, but don’t worry—I’ll give it to you.”
Her nostrils flare and she shakes her head a little. But she doesn’t roll her eyes at me. Baby steps, baby girl. Baby steps. “Okay,” she says. “I am curious as to why you came back to Kenton after your knee injury. Instead of your hometown.”
“You mean Fort Worth?” I take a sip of wine and settle back into my chair. “I haven’t thought of Fort Worth as my hometown in a long time. I was born there. I lived there for fifteen years. My blood family’s there. But Kenton is my hometown.”
“Didn’t you work on your family’s horse ranch before you moved here for the Comets?” So hesitant the way she’s asking. Like she knows this is a touchy subject for me, but she’s leading with it anyway. I respect that.
“I did. When I turned nine I started playing elite youth hockey in Dallas. So our housekeeper, Carmen, drove me to Fort Worth four mornings a week before school for practice. And on weekends my uncle who lived in Fort Worth would pick me up and drive me to games. My parents were too busy running the ranch. But after school I was a ranch hand.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of hustle for a nine-year-old.”
I shrug. “I was born for the grind, Red.” I hold my hands out in front of her face. “These hands were made to do and to make and to score.”
She shakes her head at me. “I was so close to having real respect for you.”
“I’ll get it back. Couldn’t resist.”
She takes another sip of her wine. “I just figured they would have wanted you back there when you left Chicago.”
“They did want me back. But when I grew up there we bred horses for regular ownership—family trail horses, you know? Didn’t bring in the big bucks, but it was a nice life.
I fucking loved those horses. I loved the land.
But I loved hockey more.” I start stroking the edge of my wineglass with my fingertips, like I’m doing it absentmindedly, but I know exactly what I’m doing.
And I see her looking. I see how tense she gets.
I see her rubbing her lips together and grabbing the edge of her seat, and I know she’s clenching her thighs down there.
“When I was up here playing for the Comets they made the transition to breeding quarter horses for show and competition. Cutting horses. They got really into the status of it. Totally different vibe. My brothers are really into it. I’m not. ”
I glance up at Kate. Her eyelids are heavy. She’s all dreamy. I’ve drawn her offside, and she doesn’t even realize it.
“My family doesn’t get me. And it’s fine. Because Howard and Frieda did from the start.”
“Your billet parents.”
“Yeah.”
“They always seemed very kind.” She has a sparkle in her eyes as she says, “I could never understand why they seemed to like you so much.”
“They’re the best people I know. They were retiring right around the time I got the injury.
As soon as I got the news that I couldn’t play in the NHL anymore, Howard told me they were moving to Nova Scotia but they wanted to keep their house here.
Said they’d rent it to me if I wanted it while I was recovering.
And the workshop that’s on the property.
He wasn’t going to take any of his woodworking equipment with him, so he wanted me to have it.
I wish they were here, but we keep in touch and I get an email from Frieda every so often, asking me if I’m eating enough. ”
That makes Kate Pogue smile. A real, honest to God, appreciative smile. “That’s cute.”
Our waiter comes to take our order, and I’m impressed by the steak she chose. After he’s poured us more wine and left the table, I say, “So, it’s my turn to ask you something I’ve always wanted to know.”
She frowns at me. “I reserve the right to choose not to answer if I don’t want to.”
“Fair enough.” I’m about to ask, but all of a sudden, Tommy from the dry cleaner approaches the table.
His salt-and-pepper hair’s in a ponytail and he’s wearing Crocs as always, but he’s got on a suit for a change.
“So sorry to bother you two, but we’re leaving and I just wanted to say you’re doing great.
Keep it up.” He pats me on the shoulder.
“That’s what she said, am I right?!” Tommy laughs at his own joke.
“Would you guys mind if I get a pic with you two? My daughter heard about the date, and she will absolutely die if she sees me with you.” He hands a waiter his camera and positions himself behind the flower arrangement, his hands awkwardly on both of our shoulders as we lean in toward him.
“Loved the last episode, Kate,” he says when we’re done posing.
“And I cannot wait for the one with my boy Bowie.”
Tommy holds his hand up for a high-five from both of us and then leaves. That guy is Bowie’s biggest fan. Craig Bowman’s all right, I guess. If you’re into goalies.
“Where was I? Oh yeah—why did you stop competing?” I ask Kate. “I’ve seen you skate. There were so many times over the years when I showed up at the rink and saw you skating before you realized I was there. You were brilliant. You were so alive. Why were you scared to go national?”
For a second she looks like she’s going to flip the table, but then she remembers we aren’t fighting and takes a deep breath before answering.
“I wasn’t scared. I realized I just love skating.
I didn’t like competing. The joy you saw, that was because I was skating for me.
And I’m tired of people thinking that’s not enough.
I’ve had so many clients who absolutely adore competitive figure skating.
It lights them up. I love it for them. It’s just not for me.
I know who I am. And if you don’t, that’s just too bad for you. ”
“I agree.”
She scoffs. Then she realizes what I just said. “What?”
“I agree that it’s too bad for me. Not knowing you.”
Narrowing her eyes at me, she mutters, “What are you up to?”
“Believe it or not I’m just trying to get to know you better over the course of the next couple of hours. It might be the only chance I’ll ever get.”
“Highly suspicious.”
“Yeah, I get it. But what’s the harm in continuing to make it look like we’re having a good time so your shitty ex can see how quickly you moved on?”
I reach for her hand across the table.
Smirking, she says, “How dare you.” But she takes my hand. “But also, why don’t you tell me why you always hated him so much?”
“Well, darlin’, that’s gonna take me a lot longer than two hours.”
She squeezes my hand.
Here we go.
I’m gonna gift her a custom-made jersey with the new Icebreakers logo and my number on it. I’ll present it to her live on her podcast. She’s gonna love to hate it so much.