has passed though, as the game resumes. We order another round of drinks for the last period, cheering as St. Louis takes the lead. When Dallas pulls their goalie and throws everything they’ve got at the St. Louis net, we’re on the edges of our seats. I don’t even care who wins, but it’s fun watching Kate cheer on Callum’s team, fun getting swept up in the fervor.
I wish it was me on the ice, still in the playoffs.
Oh well. There’s always next year.
Down to the last seconds, one last shot on goal, St. Louis makes the save…and they win.
Kate throws her hands in the air with a cheer.
She always was competitive. And loyal. I remember her coming to my games at Bayard and loudly cheering us on. I always liked it when she was there. Even more than I cared if my girlfriends were there.
Kate’s eyes sparkle as she picks up her nearly empty beer glass and tosses it back. “That was fun.”
“Not as much fun as playing, but yeah…it was.”
“I guess I should get going.”
I don’t want the evening to end, but this was supposed to be a business dinner. I mean, it was a business dinner, as she so clearly emphasized when it came time to pay. So I nod and finish my own beer, then settle up the bill with the bartender. This time, I’m paying and Kate acquiesces gracefully.
“How are you getting home?” I ask out on the street. “Do you need a cab or an Uber?”
“I’ll take the subway.”
I frown. “It’s late.”
“It’s fine.” She shakes her head with a tiny eye roll, and I smile. “I do it all the time. How about you?”
“Uber. Let me walk you the station at least, and I’ll call a car from there.”
“Okay.” She pulls out her phone and studies the map, then points. “There’s a station a few blocks away.”
We set out along Nineth Avenue. It’s gotten cooler, and I eye her light jacket. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You’re always cold.”
Her eyes widen. “You remember that.”
“Sure.” Of course I remember that.
She looks so pretty in the floaty, flowery dress that matches her blue eyes. I like seeing her legs.
Don’t think about her legs. Don’t think about the rest of her body. Which is absolutely smoking hot. I’m a jerk. She’s my agent. But I’ve seen her naked and I’ll never forget that if I live to be six hundred years old.
“Um…” Kate stops. “This is Forty-eighth Street.”
“Yeah.”
“Shit!” She pulls out her phone again. “I turned the wrong way.”
I frown bemusedly and take the phone from her hand. “Yep. You did.”
We turn and back track.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I have a terrible sense of direction and for some reason this city confuses me.”
“How can it confuse you? It’s a grid. Mostly.”
“I know, but I always get my directions turned around. I’ve added a lot of steps to some days because I went the wrong way.”
I shake my head, smiling. “I think we’re good now.”
We pass Forty-second Street and I pause, taking Kate’s elbow and drawing her out of the crowds of people still thronging the sidewalk. “Look.”
She follows my gesture. The street is bright as daylight—lit with dazzling neon in shades of pink, scarlet, green and white, taillights of cars glowing red. Towers glitter above us against the dark sky. Energy pulses around us, dynamic and vibrant.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, eyes wide. “Chaotic…excessive…but beautiful.”
“Yeah.” We stay there for a moment, taking in the vibe. It fills me with electricity.
She turns her face up to me. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making me stop and look.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m always in a rush, always going somewhere, doing something. Sometimes I don’t pay attention to things like that.”
“I remember.” I smile wryly, recalling that snowy night back in college when we walked home from a party. I see a shared recollection in her eyes. “It’s good to slow down and take a minute to enjoy something beautiful.”
When we arrive at the stairs down to the station, we pause at the green railing. “Thanks for all you’re doing for me,” I say. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s my job,” she says lightly. “I’ll check in with you again next week. I may not have much to tell you, but I think it’s good to keep the lines of communication open. And call me if you have any questions at all.”
I hate that she’s talking to me in such businesslike tone. And I don’t know why I hate it. “Sure. Well. We’ll