Talk Hockey to Me (Bears Hockey #3) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,28
of the restaurant near the bar is raucous, but back here it’s quieter. I hang up my light coat and take a seat at the table for two. The place is dark, with lots of worn wood, exposed bricks, and ornate gold chandeliers providing a little light.
“Remember that tequila tasting we did in Cancun?” Hunter says as we pick up menus.
The air goes static against my skin. I keep my eyes on the menu as my insides tighten. I don’t want to remember Cancun!
Why the hell did I pick a Mexican place? Damn, I’m an idiot.
“Yes,” I say calmly. “That was very educational.”
He laughs. “We all got hammered.”
“That was pretty much the entire trip,” I say dryly.
“I do remember some of what we learned.” He studies the menu. “Let’s get the Casamigos.”
“Mmm. Okay.” I need to stay sober. This is a business meeting. But I can handle a shot of tequila, I guess.
Only, when he orders and the drinks arrive, they’re not just a shot. They’re a glassful.
“It’s sipping tequila.” Hunter lifts his glass to admire the amber liquid.
“Right.” I take a deep breath and sip. “Oh.” I let the taste spread over my palate. “It’s smooth.”
He nods with satisfaction. “Yeah.”
“I taste…caramel and vanilla.”
“That’s why I like it. Also, oak.”
I take another sip. “Yes.”
Our eyes meet, sharing amusement at our tasting notes.
We figure out what to eat, starting with a trio of guacamoles and chips, then we’re left alone.
“Okay,” Hunter says. “What’s happening?”
I grin. “Don’t get excited. This is a slow process. But I’m working, I assure you. I’ve spent hours on the phone, and today I met with Brad Julian.”
His face falls. “Brad Julian? From the Bears?”
“Yes.”
He stares at me. “I’m not playing for that team.”
9
Kate
What?
I stare back at Hunter. Controlling my expression, I ask evenly, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not playing for that team. Ever.”
“Oh.” I nod slowly, gathering my thoughts. “You didn’t mention that earlier. You said you were open to anything.”
He scowls. “I didn’t think I’d end up there.”
I adjust my lips into a tiny, calm smile. “To be honest, it seems like a perfect fit.”
“No.” He jerks his head from side to side. “I can’t play there.”
I take a leisurely sip of my tequila, hoping my composure will influence Hunter. Right now, he makes a pressure cooker look calm, color sliding into his cheeks, his eyes flashing. “Okay. Tell me why.”
“I just can’t.”
I tip my head to one side, letting him see my skepticism. Then I lean forward. “Hunter. It’s me. Kate. You can talk to me.”
I see his internal struggle. He gulps back a mouthful of tequila that makes his eyes water. Then he shakes his head and sets the glass down on the wood table with a clack. “Tell me who else you’ve talked to.”
I pause for a moment. I see he’s avoiding talking about whatever is bothering him about playing with the Bears. How hard should I push? Maybe this isn’t the time.
So I tell him about my other conversations. Hunter listens, settling down, and asks a few questions. Our chips and guacamole arrive in the middle of our discussion, and we pause briefly as the waitress sets them in front of us, then carry on.
“Just those teams, huh?” he asks as I finish.
I pick up a chip. “Vegas seemed interested, but I don’t think seriously. Their top three lines are solid and they have a lot of talent on their farm team. Unless something changes. You never know.”
“Yeah.” He purses his lips.
“You’re not happy.”
“No, I am!” He jerks his head up. “I mean, sort of.” He takes a deep breath, scoops up some guac with a chip and eats it. I do the same as I wait for him to say more. “I guess I’m disappointed that nobody’s jumping on me.”
I lift an eyebrow and he barks out a reluctant laugh.
“That is disappointing,” I murmur, glad I got a chuckle out of him. “But I did warn you this won’t be quick. We can’t sign with anyone else until July first. After talking to you and getting your thoughts about the teams and what they might offer, I’ll go back to them and talk more.”
He nods. “Okay. I’m interested in Long Beach. And Toronto.”
“We need to talk about the differences between signing with an American team and a Canadian team.”
“Right.”
I pull out my chart of income taxes paid by NHL city.
“Jesus Christ.” Hunter jerks his head back. “What the fuck is that?”