Chapter 5

Steve

We lost the season opener against the Winnipeg Express this past weekend—actually they wiped the floor with us—so that wasn’t the best way to kick things off. And as a result, behind the scenes, it’s chaos. A few of our new-to-us players are not really turning out to be team players. The problems in the locker room are spilling out onto the field.

Everyone managed okay when we lost during the preseason. But the season opener wasn’t even close. The Vancouver Sun is full of commentary, and no one seems optimistic about our season. I want to believe they’re wrong, but this opening loss doesn’t help. I think the local high school would have played better than we did.

Today is the day I work out of the team’s offices in the stadium. We call them the back office , which is the operations side of things. While it may only be a game, we are a business. Normally, I like to be out with the players, doing hands-on work, but today, I’m looking forward to this. I’ve been thinking a lot about Eliza, and I’ve figured out my plan. It’s going to start with an invitation to lunch. Lunch is low key and has time constraints, so it’s not as if we can sneak off and have a quickie.

But maybe I should reserve a room just in case she’s up for that?

No, that would be presumptuous. This needs to be conversation over food as we get to know one another. Then we’ll make plans for dinner, maybe Published on Main or Cioppino would be a nice, romantic lead-in to a night of gymnastics.

I’m feeling confident. I rarely chase women, so this is a little out of my comfort zone, but I’m back in control of things now. Nothing to worry about.

By ten, I’m making my way through the things I have to do, but I haven’t seen Eliza arrive. I decide to walk down to the marketing department and ask the group admin if she’s working from home or something today.

When I walk into the marketing department, everyone’s in a meeting, and Eliza standing in front of a whiteboard as she addresses them. I turn right around and try to sneak out, but then I hear my name. “Dr. McCormick? Did you need something?”

When I turn back around, the entire meeting has stopped, and the marketing team is staring at me. I clear my throat. “Uh, I was looking for some new Tiger gear for my team for this weekend’s game against the Colombes. I can come back.”

Marianne Lee, a marketing team member, stands. “I just restocked the closet. Did someone take it all already? I swear there’s someone selling our team stuff on eBay or something.”

I shake my head. “N-no. I’m sorry. I forgot to look there.” I sound like a complete idiot.

She follows me down the hall and opens up the metal closet door. It’s filled to the brim with all the Tigers swag I could ever want.

“It’s all right here,” she says, turning to look at me. “ Since it’s a home game, you’re wearing white, right?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll pull everyone’s sizes after our meeting and get them to you.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to go out of your way for me.”

“I don’t mind, but I’m sure a drink after work would make it up to me.” She winks.

I smile, but nope, I’m not going there. “Oh, I can’t tonight. But I can do this. I don’t want to put you out.”

“It’s my job, Dr. McCormick.” She runs her hand up my arm, and I look away to find Eliza looking out the doorway with a raised brow.

I step back and retreat to the stairwell. “I’ll just get out of your way for now. When’s your meeting over?”

“Three o’clock.”

“I’ll be back then.”

Marianne smiles. “I can’t wait.”

She turns and walks back down the hall, and I practically run upstairs to my office. That didn’t go as planned. I looked like an idiot.

I force myself to sit down and return to the medical charts the physical, massage, and occupational therapists, as well as a half dozen trainers and the neurologist on my team have produced.

The therapists have the most contact with the team, but as the chief medical officer, I review all the charts to make sure everyone is healthy and nothing slips by us. I give a report to the coaches before each game about which players should be on medical reserve.

Shortly after three o’clock, before I can find a stopping point to return to the marketing department, there’s a knock at my door, and Marianne walks in with team shirts for this weekend’s game.

“As promised,” she announces.

“Oh, thank you. I was going to come up to you.”

Janna, one of the three massage therapists, looks at me funny from her seat across the room. We just got shirts and haven’t even worn them.

“So, about that drink tonight?” Marianne twists a strand of hair around her finger and licks her lips.

Janna rolls her eyes as she steps out.

“I wish I could, but I still need to do rounds at the hospital tonight. Maybe we can get the group together for drinks sometime next week?”

“Sure, that would be fun.”

I can tell she’s disappointed, but I’m not interested. At least not right now. She isn’t Eliza.

Shortly after she leaves, Janna returns. Makes me wonder if she was hiding out somewhere. “Did you ask for the shirts, or was that her reason to come down and get a date out of you?” she asks.

“I wanted to ask Eliza Rourke something, and I walked in on the middle of their marketing meeting. Shirts were the only thing I could think of that would make any sense.”

Janna shakes her head. “You’re playing with fire…”

I spend the rest of the afternoon going through all the physicals and making notes about blood work that needs to be watched and a few injuries that seem like they should be areas of concern for the coaching staff. Currently on our roster are forty-six players, but we have a practice team with an additional eighteen.

When I finally get through all the medical information, I look up, and the office is silent. In June, the sun doesn’t set until well after nine, so it’s hard to tell what time of day it is. I poke my head out to look around, and I don’t see any other lights on. Then my stomach growls. My watch tells me it’s nearly eight thirty.

This is a typical Monday in the office, so I’m not that surprised. I gather up my things to head out and decide to take the internal stairs down to the marketing department so I can put back the shirts Marianne brought me. We don’t need them, and maybe this way I won’t have to explain that to anyone .

As I enter the department, I see a light on in one office. Could I be that lucky?

I walk over and find Eliza at her computer. I watch her for a few seconds before I knock on the glass outside her door.

She jumps straight up in the air. “You scared me to death.” She clutches her heart.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Are you stalking me?”

That sends a jolt through me, but this time, I’m able to cover. “No.” I chuckle. “Mondays are just my ugly day. I go through the entire roster and practice team’s medical records here in the main office and make notes. Why are you here so late?”

“I’m working on something for my dad.”

“Yeah, you failed to mention you were his daughter when we met.”

She shrugs. “Would it have mattered?”

I look at her and decide being honest is best. “Maybe.”

Her shoulders fall. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. Everyone treats me differently once they know who my father is.”

I can relate to that . “It’s late. Have you had dinner? Maybe we can go out and get a bite and see where the night takes us.”

She looks up at me. “I’ll go to dinner, but I’m not going to sleep with you tonight.”

I reach for my heart like she’s shot me with an arrow. “I know it isn’t because you left unsatisfied.”

She laughs. “I’m very good at faking it.”

I narrow my eyes. “You didn’t fake it. You taste very good.”

She blushes. Then after a moment, she shuts her laptop and puts her computer away.

“What sounds good for dinner?” I ask. “Anything—other than me, of course—that you’re craving?”

“Very funny.” She slings her bag over her shoulder. “I had half a bagel this morning, so I’m starved. ”

“You want to try Gotham Steakhouse in Gastown?”

“Oh!” Eliza’s eyes twinkle. “That’s perfect. They have the best ribeye and a great oyster selection.”

“I have my car downstairs. Did you drive or get a ride in today?”

“I got a ride,” she says as we descend to the parking garage.

“Great. I’ll drive.” There are a handful of cars left as we exit the elevator and walk toward mine. With the expense of parking and the shortage in many neighborhoods, employees often leave their cars here and race around the city in a rideshare. Free overnight parking is a good company benefit.

When we reach my Audi R8 I open the wing doors with the key fob and pop the small trunk. “You can put your bag back here. That way it’s locked away from the valets while we’re at dinner.”

“Good thinking.” Eliza slides into her seat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were compensating for a small penis.”

“But you do know better. I just like to drive fast. This is a fun car for the Ski to Sky Highway—in the summer, of course.” That’s the winding road to Whistler. It hugs the water on one side and the cliffs on the other.

She shifts in her seat, and her skirt rides up her bare thigh. I remember her dark blue panties and wonder what she’s wearing tonight.

“Do you put snow chains on this car?”

“This car drives like shit in the snow. And it’s not the best in the rain, so when it’s dry, I like to drive it, even if it’s only the few blocks to the stadium.”

We pull out of the garage and turn down the street. Gotham isn’t that far, and the one time I wouldn’t mind hitting every traffic light, I don’t. We arrive in what seems like mere moments.

I pull up in front of the valet stand, and they have a spot for me right out front. That’s one advantage of driving a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car, even in this town .

I open both doors from the inside with the push of a button, and I watch the valet look at Eliza. I know he’s hoping for a peep show, but she manages just fine. Good thing because I’m ready to clock the guy. I leave him the valet key, which doesn’t allow him to go very far from the fob in my pocket.

Eliza waits for me on the sidewalk while I walk around. I extend my hand for her, and we walk into Gotham. It has dark, wood-paneled walls with deep red velvet drapes and an art déco feel. The ceilings are high, so it’s not too loud, and the hostess seats us in an intimate corner.

“Thank you,” Eliza says as she fills our glasses with bottled water.

A moment later, the server arrives and gives us menus before taking our drink orders.

“I’ll have a bee sting,” Eliza says.

“I’ll have a negroni,” I add.

The server nods and walks away.

“Is Eliza your name when you’re out meeting men and Elizabeth what you go by?” I ask.

She laughs. “Eliza is what my friends call me. My father, coworkers, and strangers call me Elizabeth.” She gives me a look. “Do people really use fake names?”

“My friends and I, when we were younger, used to go out and use fake names and fake jobs with the women we met so they wouldn’t know who we were.”

Her brow wrinkles. “That’s right. You hang out with Jack Drake and the Martin men. I had such crushes on them when I was in high school.”

I try not to bristle at the idea that she had crushes on my friends. They’ve been tabloid darlings for a long time. “Yes, those are some of my closest friends.”

“Why do you work? You don’t have to. Doesn’t your dad build buildings all over the city?”

She’s done some research on me. Rather than confirm or deny, I push her question back to her. “Why do you work?”

Eliza shrugs. “I love the game. It’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was seven years old.”

The server returns with our drinks, and we order dinner. Eliza goes for a steak, a half dozen oysters, a baked potato with everything, and sides of sauteed mushrooms and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. There’s no way she won’t have three meals left over after she’s done. My order of bacon-rimmed filet mignon and twice baked potatoes seems almost pitiful by comparison.

When the server leaves, we hold our glasses up and toast to a successful season for the Tigers.

“What made you decide you loved football?” I ask. For some reason I want to know all about her.

“It was something I could do with my dad,” she explains. “He and my mom divorced when I was young, and I spent weekends with him, which meant I was at the games during the football season.”

“Wow. My love of football was driven from playing.”

“Yet you’re considered one of the best orthopedists in all of Canada, even all of North America,” she notes.

“It helps to be doctor to the Vancouver Tigers and the Canadian Olympic teams.”

“What do you think about the league’s new insistence on a neurologist as the chief medical officer?” She’s asking because that’s my job. I’ve been CMO of the team for more than five years.

I shake my head. This is a tricky one. “The league is finally admitting to the long-term damage that can come from playing football, and that’s a good thing. But it’s only a small fraction of what I look for. Neurologists are a must in our toolbox as we serve the team, but it’s a mistake to insist on that for the CMO. I know it sounds self-serving, but I believe it’s true. We need a wholistic approach. I won’t lie, though, I’ll be crushed if I lose this job. I have plenty of patients out of Mercy Hospital, so I won’t be out of work, but I love football, and I love working with players at their fittest.”

Eliza smiles as the server approaches with her oysters. She places them in the center of the table, but I don’t think Eliza plans on sharing.

“You didn’t get an appetizer?” Eliza looks confused.

“I had a smoothie for breakfast, and I had lunch today. Go ahead.”

“Would you like one?” She holds up a giant oyster.

“No, but I’m going to enjoy watching you swallow all six of those.”

She has an oyster close to her mouth, ready to slide it down her throat, and I can’t help but remember our night together.

“Does eating oysters do something for you?” she asks.

I nod slowly. “We had a good night. I was a little disappointed that you left. It would have been fun to try a few more things in the morning.”

Her caramel-colored eyes look back at me as she tips the oyster and swallows it. My dick is so hard right now it could pound nails.

Over dinner we talk some more about the various people we know in common. She went to a fancy prep school, just like many of my friends.

Following our delightful dinner, we walk out to my car. “Would you like to come to my place?” I offer.

“I would, but I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” I sound like a teenager whose parents won’t let him borrow the car.

She sighs. “Because you know it’s a bad idea.”

I school my features. I’m not desperate, I remind myself. I have a cadre of women who are more than willing to be in my bed. I’m not going to beg. “Okay,” I tell her. “I’ll drive you home.”

We get my car keys from the valet, and she directs me to her house.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says when we arrive. “I don’t have many friends here anymore. I’m glad you’re one of them. ”

A plastic smile freezes on my face. I’ve been moved to the friend zone. God, kill me now.