Page 43 of The Sweet Spot

“Are you and Wolseley a thing now?”

I know my eyes opened wide in shock. “Why do you say that?” My voice hitched a bit, and I hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Two things. You went to a drag show, and the only person I know who would go to one of those is Wolseley. Also, Delia mentioned that she noticed some major heat between the two of you.”

So he had the first part right. “Delia is imagining things. And exactly how does that come up in conversation with your delivery driver?”

“Delia is cool. Sometimes, she hangs out for a bit if she has time. And unlike you, no bedroom eyes between us.”

He sounded like a grandmother with his antiquated visuals.

“Nothing is going on between me and Wolseley.”

“I’m gonna say it. Wolseley brings out a better side of you. You aren’t as much of a hard-ass in the dressing room. Tell Wolseley the steak was amazing. Did she say sweet potatoes for the pregame meal? Her sweet potatoes are the best, and I didn’t think I liked sweet potatoes.”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to keep up with everything he’d said.

“I guess I’ll find out. Later.”

I walked to my car in a haze. Did she make me a better person? Was I less of a hard-ass? I hadn’t noticed any of this. Thankfully, when I got home, Delia was still there, so I had a quick bite to eat before she left, then headed for my pregame nap. The less I saw of Wolseley right now, the better. I was taking the easy way out, but I needed to sort out my head before I did anything else stupid.

I got up around one thirty and the condo was quiet. I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed some water. That’s when I noticed the note on the island. My heart thudded. Had she skipped out on me? I snatched the yellow Post-it, and in Wolseley’s neat printing was a message that she’d gone with Delia to Yee’s to pick up a few things and that my lunch was in the oven and would be ready at two if she wasn’t back by then. It was one forty-three. I had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t be home before I left for the game, and I wasn’t wrong.

With most things in life, I was able to compartmentalize what happened with Wolseley and focus on the game. That was how I dealt with my father, my siblings, coaches, girlfriends, pretty much everything. I had the capacity to shut it allout when I was on the ice, and devote myself 100 percent to the game. This night was no different. And we still lost.

I rolled through the postgame interviews, did my usual pep talk with the team, talked to Coach Anthony, showered, and went home. As was usual practice, since I didn’t expect Wolseley to stick around until midnight, when she had to be there first thing in the morning, she left my postgame meal waiting for me. She’d made me brown rice with her teriyaki tofu that I could eat by the pound if she let me, and a bowl of lightly seasoned vegetables. Whatever seasonings she was using—and she assured me it wasn’t packed with salt—I had to get the recipe. As I ate alone, it dawned on me how much I looked forward to seeing her and how empty and quiet my place was now. She brought a spark into my life, she brought me happiness, and knowing I may have fucked it up with a kiss bugged the hell out of me.

I thought of her asleep on my sofa. She’d looked so peaceful and content, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her. What I’d wanted to do was bring her to my own bed, pull her in close, and drift off to sleep with her and feel that sense of peace she had too. That was my first hint that I was going down a path that had fucked me over once before. Although, with Tangi, I’d wanted her the second I saw her. She was a spitfire who wasn’t afraid to tell me what she really thought. Wolseley had elements of that, too, but everything else about her was different, her softness, her 1950s’ pinup body, her laugh, the way she told silly stories that had me enthralled, her big brown eyes and luscious lips, and when I wasn’t paying attention, all those feelings had snuck up on me.

A day with Wolseley was always a good one. I didn’t have to worry that she’d get upset with me or frustrated. That she’d be disappointed. That she’d nitpick anything I’d done wrong. Just thinking about her smile made me smile. I loved her funkyhair colors, vintage clothes, the smell of her homemade perfume, and the curve of her breasts that she rarely let anyone see. I loved her dimples and her button nose. Most of all, her heart was so pure, and what Wolseley put out in the world was who she truly was. She was genuine.

And that meant I was fucked.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Wolseley

Iknew why I didn’t text Tangi after Brandon kissed me. I was afraid of what she would say, so I texted Jill instead. After leaving my note for Brandon that lunch was in the oven, I’d spent the afternoon avoiding him, then headed over to Jill’s when she got home from work. I told her everything from Daniel leaving me alone for good to the amazing kiss and now didn’t know what to do about Brandon.

“Do nothing,” she said in her usual matter-of-fact voice. “Wait and see what he is going to do next.”

“What if he does nothing?” I asked, munching on the chips she had out. With nothing to do with my nervous hands, I was probably going to eat the whole damn bag. I stopped eating them once Chloe gave me a judgmental look. The cute little pup was probably pissed I wasn’t sharing with her.

“I suspect he’ll do something.” She leaned in closer to me. “Here’s the thing: he made the first move. He needs to finish what he started.”

“But maybe it was a reaction to my good newsabout Daniel.”

She arched a brow. “Really? He got so excited that you finally shut up a guy he’s never met so he kissed you? Not likely.”

When she put it that way, it did sound a little ridiculous.

“All right, so I wait it out? We have plans to go secondhand shopping tomorrow.”

Jill had been sipping her wine and slowly put the glass down. “Just a second here. First, he goes grocery shopping with you, then a drag show. He kisses you, and now a guy who makes millions of dollars a year is going secondhand shopping with you?”

I had no idea where she was going with this. “Well, yeah. He wants to try new things.”

“Secondhand shopping? A guy? Who makes millions of dollars and can buy anything he wants?”