As I rested my head on his strong hockey player thighs, thoughts raced through my mind. What had I just done? I didn’t see a way out of this. It was as though I had become addicted to Dylan and couldn’t get him out of my life. But there was no way this could end well. Without a doubt, I was going to get hurt, I knew that. What was this going to do to Dylan? I squeezed my eyes shut and justified everything. I was getting what I wanted, for now, and so was he.

  Twelve

  Dylan

  Some people might find the smell of a marina, overheated engines, and engine oil, a little off-putting, but when I walked into work, it felt like home. My dad had been a mechanic, and in some way, the smell of the marina reminded me of him.

  I should’ve felt like shit. I was wearing the same clothes I’d worn the night before – and they were still damp. I’d fallen asleep for maybe an hour – two tops, underneath a blanket of a yellow silk dress in the back of a Rolls Royce, which, if you have to sleep in the back of a car, a Rolls is the way to go. I was on my third coffee. Floyd bought one of those expensive cappuccino makers to make coffee for all the rich people while they waited for their boats, and I was jittery. I don’t think it was the coffee though. Adrenaline and excitement had coursed through my body since the conversation with Bronwyn, who technically, I think, was now my girlfriend – and who gave me the best blowjob I’d ever had in my life.

  As I sanded my boat project, I tried to figure out when and where I could take her. With the announcement of the National League Playoff Series, our practice schedule had doubled – and I needed to get the boat finished.

  Before the marina officially opened was my favorite time of the day. I had the space to myself and could listen to whatever music, or podcasts that I wanted to – as loud as I wanted.

  Today I had The Eagles, one of my dad’s favorite bands, cranked loud enough to hear it over the sound of the sander and through my earplugs. As the chorus to Hotel California blared, I felt a firm hand grip my shoulder. My nerves were a jangled mess already and I must’ve jumped a foot in the air.

  “Easy, kid,” Floyd shouted.

  I took one of my earplugs out and turned down the music. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Floyd’s shoulders shook as he laughed. “No shit.” His eyes traveled past me to the frame of the boat. I had just started applying the cedar strips. “She’s looking good.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to look at my project. It had been a labor of love and proven to be easier than I thought.

  “Long night, Moss?” There was concern in Floyd’s eyes. Along with Coach Covington, Floyd had been one of the male father figures that had pulled me out of the downward spiral I had been riding a couple of years earlier.

  I tried to stop the smile from spreading across my face. “Kind of, but the good kind.”

  My smile must’ve been contagious as one spread across Floyd’s face too. His white mustache twitched as he winked at me. “I remember those days.”

  Floyd wasn’t the type to ask questions, and I was thankful for that because I wouldn’t be able to lie to him. How were Bronwyn and I ever going to keep this dating thing a secret?

  Part of me loved the idea of keeping it clandestine, it made it pretty damn exciting, but the other part of me just wanted to be with her, and, truthfully, be seen with her.

  Floyd rapped his knuckle on the boat. “Solid work, kid. I might have a buyer for it – if you want to sell her.”

  “Really?” I didn’t have a plan for the boat, it was just something I’d always wanted to do. “I’m not sure if I want to sell it.”

  “Well, if you do, let me know. And Moss. Don’t sell your work short – this boat could fetch a lot of money with the right collector.”

  The idea of making money from something that I found so satisfying, like playing hockey, almost seemed like a foreign concept. “Well, I don’t really have a place to moor her…” I would have to buy a trailer and keep the boat in the garage at my house.

  “You know there’s always a few extra slips here.” Floyd adjusted the Otters’ cap on his head, a Christmas present from me, and then headed to his office. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “But you could always make another one. That’s some serious talent you’ve got there.”

  Could the day get any better? A hot girl waiting for me to take her out and now, a potential collector wanting MY boat build. I had a full day of work, hopefully finishing off the engine on Calliope and then practice. Somewhere in there, I had to come up with an idea for an amazing date with Bronwyn - but how do you impress a billionaire?

  After I finished as much as I could get done on the boat project, I knocked on the door to Floyd’s office. I remembered something that Bronwyn had asked the night before.

  “Hey, Floyd.” I stood in the open door. “I’m open to selling the boat.”

  “I thought you might say that.” He flipped through an old-fashioned Rolodex on his desk. I’m going to make some calls for you.

  “I thought that you had a buyer?” Was Floyd trying to pull something weird?

  He laughed and gave me a sly smile. “I do. But it’s better to have more than one – someone else wanting it makes ‘em want it even more.”

  “Ah. I see.” There was a reason Floyd had done so well in business. He looked like a bumpkin but was savvy like a big city businessman.

  “Leave it with me, kid. Just get Calliope fixed up good and proper.”

  “I should be able to wrap it up today before practice.” I lingered at the door. Not wanting to ask the next question, but I had promised Bronwyn.

  “Is there something else?” Floyd put on his glasses and took a sip of his coffee.

  “Yeah, um. A friend of mine was wondering about that cream you and your wife use on your hands.”

  His eyes bulged as he tried not to spit out his coffee. He swallowed. “Are you serious?”

  I knew that this wasn’t going to go over well. Floyd was as manly a man as they get. Another dude asking him about his hand lotion was going to seem, well, weird.

  “Miss Yates...” I thought that if I threw her name into the conversation, he might be a little more forthcoming with the information, “… noticed that even though you work hard, your hands are very soft. She wants to know what you use on them.” God, I felt dumb. And it wasn’t Floyd’s hands she’d remarked about, it was mine, but I couldn’t tell Floyd that.

  He rubbed his hands together. “She noticed, did she? He smiled beneath his bushy mustache. There’s some in the bathroom and kitchen here, you should try it out – it’s Thelma’s homemade cream. You’ll have to get a cup of tea with her and ask her what her secret ingredient is.

  I knew he was mocking me at that point, but the joke was on him. I’d been using his fancy hand cream for months now – and after hours of sanding, days in engines, and nights in hockey gloves, my hands had never felt better. “I’ll ask her.”

  “Ask her what?” A voice spoke from behind me.

  “Speak of the devil.” Floyd got up from his desk and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Dylan wants your secret ingredient for your hand salve.”

  Thelma wrapped her chubby arm around my back and squeezed me. “If I told you, I’d hafta kill you.”

  “It’s not for me.” I laughed. “It’s for Bronwyn Yates.”

  Her eyes sparkled when she looked at me. “Really? Lucky you, Mr. Moss.”

  My face flushed hot, and I hoped it wasn’t as red as it felt. “We’re just friends and I’m fixing her boat.”

  “Sure. Sure you are.” She winked. “Floyd fixed my boat once too.”

  I knew that I was like a son to the two of them, but this conversation was too much. “Gross.”

  Their laugh sounded the same. I guess that’s what spending years with the love of your life does to you. You start to sound and look the same.

  Thelma had disappeared but returned with a small mason jar filled with a white cream. “Here, you give this to your friend.” She put the jar in my hand and winked.

  “Thanks, Thelma.”

  She patted my hand. “And you tell her if she wants some more to come and see me. I don’t give out my secret recipe to just anyone.”

  Floyd and Thelma were the kindest, most giving people I knew, and their marriage, while I’m sure it had its ups and downs, seemed like one of the most solid ones out there. Maybe they were just from a different era, like my parents. If they were still alive, they’d be just as in love as these two. I knew it.

  Hockey practice that evening was brutal. Three guys puked. This playoff series had lit a fire in the Otters that I’d never seen in my four years with the team.

  “What’s going on?” Leo fell into stride next to me as the players filed out of the dressing room.

  I kept walking. “What do you mean?”

  “Your mind, it’s not in the game. It’s somewhere else.”

  I didn’t think it was that obvious, but I had spent most of the game wondering whether Bronwyn would be interested in going fishing with me. I was also trying to figure out just how secretive she wanted this relationship to be. If it really was to keep the paparazzi away and to stop my name from being dragged through the mud, it might be easier to get a few more people involved in the story – like Jessie and Kane. I could also get some advice from Kane on how to wine and dine a rich lady, and hopefully, get some guidance from Jessie on the girl stuff. Bronwyn wasn’t just a puck bunny who would be satisfied with tagging along to some games. She was a real woman, and if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t know what the hell to do with a real woman.

  “Sorry, man.” I hated to admit that I wasn’t one hundred percent into the practice.

  “Coach noticed too.” There was concern in Leo’s voice. “Is everything okay?”

  I took a deep breath. How long did I have to be a good boy before everyone stopped worrying about me falling to pieces? “Totally fine. Some big stuff is happening at work.” That was true, the boat thing was huge for me, but the bigger stuff that was happening, the falling in love thing. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t tell anyone about that.

  The sun was setting over the rooftops of Laketown as we stepped into the warm summer air. Leo walked with me the entire way to my beat-up Volvo. I could tell there was something else he wanted to say, but Leo didn’t, or couldn’t get it out. I shut my equipment in the trunk and Leo followed me to the driver’s side. “What’s up, Lion?” I still used his old hockey nickname.

  He leaned in the open window. “I’m not supposed to say anything to you.”

  I groaned and pushed the key into the ignition but didn’t turn it, letting my hands fall into my lap. “What the hell, Leo? Okay, then. Don’t tell me.” The gears of the ancient electric windows groaned as I pushed the button to close the window.

  “Stop.” Leo rested his hand on the glass. “There’s a couple of scouts asking about you.”

  “Me?” The window shuddered as I lowered it. “I thought they wouldn’t touch me or my antics with a ten-foot stick.”

  Leo laughed. “I didn’t think they would either. You’re not exactly what we in the business call ‘coachable.’” He used air quotes. “But you’re fast and you’re skilled and you haven’t pulled any shit in a long time. The league has noticed.”

  I rested my elbow on the frame of the open window. “You’re not fucking around with me, are you? ‘Cuz that would be pretty damn cruel.” There was no way the scouts were looking at me. I thought that I had completely ruined my chance as a career hockey player years ago. My mind started to go as quickly as I skated a power-play – fast.

  Leo cleared his throat. “I can already see you overthinking it.”

  I crossed my arms across my chest like armor. “Am not.”

  “Coach didn’t want you to change anything. He thought that if you knew, you might start to do things differently, or the pressure…”

  “The pressure might send poor wild card Dylan over the edge.” I finished the sentence.

  “No!” Leo interrupted. “You just might play a little differently.”

  “So, why are you telling me this then?”

  Leo leaned down so he could look me in the eyes, his hands gripping the door of the car. “You were off today. That’s all. You can’t be off in the exhibition series, so whatever is on your mind, get it off your mind. If you want a career playing hockey. Got it?”

  He patted the car a little too hard and bits of rust fell to the ground at his feet.

  “Got it.” My heart was pumping almost as fast as it had been in the Rolls Royce with Bronwyn.

  “Good.” Leo grinned. “You can do it, Moss. If not for any reason other than to get rid of this shitbox of a car.”

  “Hey, easy on the Vulva.” I laughed. Jessie and I each had nicknames for the car we’d shared for years – hers was Penny, a reflection of the mostly rust color that had taken over the old station wagon, mine was just an immature play on words.

  As I drove away from the rink, different scenes played in my mind. The biggest: it would be a hell of a lot easier for Bronwyn to be with a National League Player than a Laketownie mechanic. I had two reasons to go all in for this series. One: I loved hockey and it had been my dream ever since I was a kid to make it – and two: well, it would impress the hell out of a certain model who had been occupying my mind for the past two years.

  Thirteen

  Bronwyn

  The text messages were coming non-stop. Tess was blowing up my phone and every time it chimed, I felt my heart leap into my throat, hoping to see Dylan’s name on the screen. This time it was Tess again. I picked up the phone and called her if only to put a stop to the incessant texting.

  She wanted to go to a party on one of the islands and had begged me to come with her. The guest list was impressive, to her, but I didn’t care about the Laketown who’s who anymore. She wouldn’t take no for an answer and told me she was coming over to drag my lame, skinny ass to the party. I had to pull out the big guns, and by big guns, I mean an excuse she couldn’t counter.

  “I’m having stomach issues.” Any normal person would be able to read between the lines.

  “I’ll bring some Midol.”

  “Not period issues. The other kind.” Part of me wished I was curled up on the couch with massive period cramps. My life would be a hell of a lot easier if I were in physical agony at the moment.

  “You can mix your vodka with Pepto Bismol. Bron. You’re not missing out on this party. I need my wing woman.”

  “Tess,” I shouted before she could hang up the phone. “I have…I can’t leave the house. I have emergency-level diarrhea.”

  “Oh.” There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “Yes. Stomach issues.” I couldn’t believe that she’d made me come out and state what should’ve been obvious. “A normal person would understand that I can’t be more than five steps from my bathroom.”

  The line was quiet for a moment. “That’s pretty embarrassing, Bronwyn.”

  Now I was speaking her language. God forbid I embarrass her by crapping my La Perlas while watching her friends do keg stands.

  With Tess off my back, I set my phone on the coffee table and resumed the movie I’d paused the night before. Johnny Castle and Baby were grinding on each other in the staff house – one of the best scenes in the movie.

  I thought my phone chimed, but when I looked at it, there was nothing. Why hadn’t he texted? Was he having second thoughts about the secret dating? I had gone for a swim, read Vogue magazine cover to cover while tanning on the deck of the boathouse, and had gone for a walk. All while keeping a close eye on my phone. I felt like a basket case. I never worried about a man texting me.

  They always messaged me.

  I knew he worked until five because that’s when the marina closed, so when 6:00 rolled around I started doing something I swore I’d never do. Text a man first. I had several messages typed out on my phone but deleted them all.

  There was a list of men I could message and they’d be at the door in a heartbeat – but they weren’t Dylan. Was this what playing hard to get was all about? It sucked. Every second that went by, made me want him to message me even more.

  This was no good. I was losing it. I had to get out of the house and do something before…

  The phone chimed and I tried not to look at it. I was cool, calm, and collected. It didn’t matter if Dylan messaged me. After all, it had been less than twenty-four hours since he dropped me in my wrinkly yellow dress and the Rolls Royce off as dawn was breaking.

  This was bad and so not like me. Was this what it was like to truly like someone? Really like someone. If it was, I wasn’t sure that I enjoyed the feeling – this was way out of my comfort zone. I resisted the urge to snatch up my phone and read the text message. I was Bronwyn Yates, whoever it was, could wait. I kept the movie playing and slipped into one of my favorite summer dresses, a white cotton gown with a smocked top, one that looked like it could be a vintage nightgown or have been on the set of Little House on the Prairie. I pulled up the hem and ran my hands over my belly, it looked like bloat as if I’d had a bit too much champers and brie at lunch. That’s when I saw it. I leaned a little closer and gasped. I flicked on the overhead light and stood as close as I could to the mirror. My eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, if I’d had hope that I could rejuvenate my career, it disappeared in a poof of smoke, or rather in the pale white of a tiny stretch mark.

  “Nooooo.” I flicked off the light and collapsed onto the sofa. I needed to talk to someone, but I hadn’t told any of my friends about the pregnancy – yet. I sighed deeply and took a sip of my sparkling water as I realized just how empty and vacuous all of my friendships had been this far in my life. Hell, I felt more comfortable confiding in my interior designers and housekeeper than I did my own ‘friends.’ I was sure that once Tess found out I was no longer going to be on the party circuit, our friendship would be put on ice – the same with all of my model friends.