Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lauren
I would always associate hangovers with Alexei Nazarov.
Sure, the man was frustrating enough to drive anyone to drink, but why was I the one with the fuzzy head and uneasy feeling of having made yet another mistake?
It wasn’t fair. I had no doubt he was on a run or at the gym or just generally enjoying his Sunday, while I was gulping down water and wondering what exactly happened to make my hair look like tiny woodland creatures were nesting in it.
Then I remembered that his father was living with him, and that he had left him last night to come take care of me at the bar. Again. I didn’t enjoy that pang of guilt. But I knew exactly on whom I could take out my frustration.
First, I left a message for Thad, telling him I’d meet him at the coffee shop in ninety minutes. Then I showered, put on running gear and my baby blue Tokyo Adidas sneakers, and left to sweat out the toxins and gather some intel.
After thirty minutes of cardio, I headed to Jason’s. He answered the door with baby Cammi in his arms, and good golly, there was nothing hotter than a tower of muscle cradling something so defenseless. I suppressed the image of Nazarov doing exactly that the day of the Cup party.
“Morning, Lo.” He ushered me inside and headed to the kitchen. “You hungry?”
“For the scuttlebutt.”
He snorted, then turned. “Here, could you hold her?”
“Um—” But she was already in my arms. “Hey, kitten, how ya doin’? Is Daddy getting breakfast?”
Daddy was indeed getting breakfast. Jason deftly extracted the bottle from the warmer, dabbed a smidge on his hand, then turned back to me. “You want to feed her?”
“Sure.” If anything, holding her might help me focus my thoughts. It had been a while—not since my nephew, Foster—and then I had loved holding him close as I inhaled his sweet baby scent.
Jason handed me the bottle, and we both watched as Cammi avidly suckled.
“Is this breast milk?” I grimaced. “Sorry, that probably sounded weird.”
“It is. Franky pumped earlier so she could focus on her book outline.” He looked on indulgently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Do I need an excuse to see this bundle of adorableness?”
“No, but word on the street says you’re single and ready to ming—oh, that’s not quite right, is it? You got rid of one of your beaus, but you still have the other problem.”
“No sympathy for the girl who just dumped her boyfriend before she even snagged the ring?”
Leaning against the kitchen island, he threaded his arms over his chest. “I’d be Symp Central, if you were actually upset. Hatchling said you were buying rounds to celebrate at the Net last night.”
“Which could be my way of masking my incredible hurt … But you’re right. I’m not that peeved. More annoyed that I let myself be used like that.”
“Okay, spill.”
While little Cammi suckled away, I outlined the major issues of the Thad situation like I was giving a PowerPoint presentation. Both baby and I finished about the same time.
Jason picked her up and held her close for a burp. “You were thinking of getting engaged to this guy, Lo. I know it’s not as easy as acknowledging he’s a jerk and that you’re well out of it.”
“No, it’s not. It stings more than cuts, though. Why I’m really here is to find out why you went blabbing about my situation to Nazarov.”
He smirked. “He came running, then?”
“He showed up, looking like a Brava enforcer, but prettier. Hovered all night until I felt sorry enough for the guy to let him take me home. And then he got into it with Thad.”
His eyes went wide. “He punched your ex?”
“No, he did not punch him.” Why did hockey players assume violence was the default response? “He basically growled and told him to unhand me, like a Regency era fop. All he was missing was the glove-slap in Thad’s face.”
Jason rubbed Cammi’s back. “I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on this. I guess you were sneaky about it in college, but what I’ve seen over the years should have clued me in.”
“Over the years?” I snapped to attention, desperate for any morsel he could provide. “What does that mean?”
“Naz used to come to your games.”
“Yeah, I know. And I went to his. That’s what the teams did for each other.”
He shook his head. “Not college. When you were pro with the Athenas. I can’t say for sure how many, and our road warrior status can’t have allowed for much free time, but I ran into him maybe four or five times over the years.
And that’s just the ones I knew about. He would always tell me not to mention it because he didn’t want to piss you off. ”
“Why would I—he said that?”
“Yep. We’d get a drink, and then I’d run into him again when we played against each other, and I’d bring you up, but he’d shut it down.”
My heart stuttered. Why would he keep that to himself?
So he was a fan of women’s hockey. It wasn’t that strange, was it? But to go out of his way to see me play?
I didn’t want to think about what it might mean.
But I also had to know.