5. CONOR

CHAPTER 5

CONOR

I 'm the biggest fool in this entire planet. I should've checked where the famous new dentist was located in advance. If I had known that it'd be a whopping forty minutes away, I'd have asked Gramps to shift the appointment to literally any other lunch break of the week.

But naw. Not only do we make it twenty minutes later than the scheduled time because I underestimated the drive, but also they've been seeing Gramps for over an hour. Basically, I'll get back to the office in the middle of the afternoon and Sierra is going to murder me in cold blood. I won't do anything to defend myself because I told her, and I quote, that I'd be back at one-thirty at most—un freaking quote.

That's not even the worst part. Since I thought this would be a quick thing, I didn't even bring my work laptop.

I sit in a much-too-small chair at the waiting area, my eyes trained on a TV screen showing a never ending reel of news. The arm rests are way too low, which means I'm hunched forward like a giant making itself small. If I stretch out my legs, I can reach the front desk where two receptionists keep sneaking glances my way. One of them leans closer to her colleague and uses her hand as a shield to whisper something.

They're on my right, so I can catch the whole thing from the corner of my eye without issue. The thing is that I can't for the life of me determine what their deal is. Did I put my clothes on backwards? Do they have holes? Stains? I run my tongue across my teeth, not feeling any food stuck between them. I comb my hair with a hand, making sure it's presentable. It's a bit too long at the top but I'm pretty sure I styled it this morning so… what gives?

The office phone rings and as one of them picks up, the other busies herself typing on the computer. I observe them openly for a second but I don't recall ever meeting any of them in the past. I wasn't the most prolific dater in college, and only had one girlfriend during the short length of my pro career.

My pants start buzzing and somehow that attracts both of their attention again. Great.

I pull out my phone from my pocket and my breath hitches. Sierra's name appears on the screen and I wonder whether it's possible to be physically killed through a phone call.

After clearing my throat, I open the conversation by saying a simple, "Hi."

"Where the hell are you?"

This is gonna get ugly fast. I pick myself up from the tiny chair and zip up my coat. I better take this call outside where I can get screamed at without an audience.

"Sorry, I?—"

"You're more than an hour late, Conor. It better be for a good reason like you're dying in a ditch or something."

"How the hell would that be a good reason?" Outside, I pace back and forth across the entrance of the dentist office. "But no, if you must know, I'm very much alive and well. "

"Isn't that a bummer." The heavy sarcasm actually makes me smile.

"I'm sorry—not that I'm alive. That I'm running super late, I mean." I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and sigh. "I had to bring Gramps to the dentist and it's two towns over for reasons I won't bore you with, and I had no idea it'd take so long."

There's a very long pause where I even have to double check if the call has disconnected.

"You have a grandfather?" she asks with a weird thing in her voice. Like a sudden lightening that makes her sound like she's talking with literally anyone but me.

"I—yes?" I scratch my head. "Anyway, I don't have to teach lessons on Mondays so we can work until late."

That snaps her back to her usual lane. "Why should I have to work late to make up for you being late?"

"You're right." I cringe, if I could high stick myself I would. "I'm sorry. This is a hundred percent on me. I'll throw myself under the bus in front of Richard if I have to."

"I appreciate the sentiment," she says in what feels like a measured manner. "However, even if we tell him that we don't have a concrete plan because you bailed, it will reflect badly on me too."

I get it. This is like being forced to do a group assignment for a college professor, and shit's like half of your whole grade but no one else in your group shows up to the study session.

"Okay, give me one second." I prop the door open and the two receptionists zero in on me again. "Excuse me, do you know how much longer this may take?"

One of them stands up with a smile. "I'll go check for you."

"Thank you." I lift my phone back to my ear and say, "I have a proposal for you. "

"I'm listening. After all, I literally booked my whole afternoon to listen to you."

"Thank you," I say as if she wasn't being a thorn on the side. "Anyway, I'm checking how much longer it's going to be and unless he's done right away, maybe we can start our meeting over the phone like this."

"That sounds reasonable." If anything, she sounds grumpier. Like maybe she was hoping to somehow rid herself of dealing with me while also not letting Richard down. If life has taught me anything, it's that we can't have our cake and eat it too.

The other receptionist returns. "The doctor says it should be about a half hour more."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I should've asked earlier. I might not have wasted the better part of the afternoon sitting at a cramped chair doing nothing.

"Thanks," I mutter the word before heading back out. "Sierra, you still there?"

"Ah, yeah."

"Okay, so…" I trail off, waiting to see if she wants to start.

The only sound coming from the other end is the shuffling of paper sheets. I check out my surroundings, looking for some inspiration from a quiet strip mall parking lot or even from the grey sky clouded over with tufts of white. The truth is that I came up with a lot of garbage ideas over the weekend and I was hoping that the pressure of one-upping Sierra in a verbal spar would inspire something better.

Sighing, I fess up, "I actually didn't come up with anything solid."

"Me neither," she quips right away.

Well, we're clearly off to a great start here. Someone's gotta really try, though.

I stuff my free hand in my coat pocket. "So… We said like Christmas Olympics, right? What if we do like a Secret Santa ty pe of thing, except it's not for a gift exchange but to select teams people will be competing with for the event? We can give them two weeks to train and if we make it so each team has people from different departments, it's like an extended team building thing."

"And what would they be competing on?"

"A massive trophy full of eggnog? I don't know, help me out here."

Sierra sighs so loudly, I almost feel her breath against my ear. And for some reason I shiver.

"Actually, I think it'll be way easier for us if we keep it all a surprise. But also that way, if something doesn't work out then no one has to ever find out." She gives out an awkward laugh and it occurs to me for the first time that ultra confident, owns every room, can kick your ass and will, Sierra Fernandez, is capable of being nervous.

"What's your idea, then?" I ask, legitimately curious.

"Well…" There's hesitation in her voice that I can't understand. She has a prime opportunity to make me feel inferior, which has basically been her goal in life since I joined the marketing team. "The whole thing has to be Christmas centered more than sport centered. So what if we take some elements from certain sports, but make them Christmas?"

"I'm intrigued but I can't envision it," I admit.

"I don't know, swimming in a ball pit to find your Christmas present and silly things like that." Sierra huffs. "Do I have to do all the heavy lifting here, Conor?"

I surprise us both with a sudden laugh. "Okay, that actually sounds really fun."

"The actually was kind of unnecessary, I'm a genius."

"What else, Miss Genius?"

"I don't know. You come up with the next activity."

"Er… bobbing for apples but instead of water it's eggnog? "

"First of all, ew. Second, that's not an official sport. What's your deal with eggnog?"

"I really like eggnog, what can I say." I shrug even though she's not seeing me.

But then the door opens behind me and another female voice sounds. "Excuse me, Mr. Mahoney, but your grandfather is ready."

"Oh, thanks." I tell Sierra, "Hey, Gramps is waiting for me now. I'll give it a thought on the drive back and give you some ideas at the office, okay?"

"Fine." After a moment, she adds, "Drive safe."

"You too." I choke on my own saliva and shake my head hard. "I mean, sorry. Thanks?"

"Um, okay. Bye." She sounds confused before hanging up.

I press the corner of my phone against my forehead. What the shit was that? A small shred of civility tied my tongue in knots and that shouldn't have happened. Like at all.

My face probably glows like a red Christmas light as I walk back into the reception, and Gramps pauses whatever he was saying to motion at me.

"There he is, ladies, my former pro hockey player grandson—runner up to the Calder Memorial Trophy on his rookie season. Lost it to his best friend from college, funny enough."

"Gramps," I hiss as if that would get him to stop.

"I knew it." One of the women snaps her fingers. "I recognized him from somewhere. Thought he might've been someone I dated in college."

"You have good taste." Gramps smirks. "And he's single, too."

"‘Kay, that's the cue for me to wait in the car." I swivel around and head back out. I must be the epitome of pathetic if I need my grandfather to find me dates.

I unlock the door and climb on the passenger's seat of the Dodge Ram, purchased with my very first pro hockey paycheck as a gift for Gramps. I happen to be the one with the best vision in the family, so I'm the only one who drives it now. I turn it on and ramp up the heating because I have no desire to make myself even more uncomfortable than I already am.

A few minutes later, Gramps joins me by climbing onto the passenger's seat with a hefty grunt. "That was rude, kid. There I was talking you up and you ran like a coward. Now I'll never be able to show my face in this place again."

I groan. "Gramps, you're killing me."

"What is it? Are you planning to never date again after what happened with Nikki?"

Hearing the name of my ex wasn't in my bingo card for today.

"Let's go, I'm late for work." I put on my seatbelt, which prompts him to do the same.

Unfortunately, that distraction isn't enough to make him change the conversation. "They were both nice, single, employed young women. Besides, they're both hockey fans, to the point that they recognized you."

"They probably saw the accident video on replay a million times, just like everyone else," I mutter. That was one of the worst things about the whole shitshow. Every time I tuned into a sports channel, the clip was there. And every time I watched it, I could feel the blow that ended my career all over again.

"Although one of them said she likes you better when you're shaved," he parrots, ignoring me altogether. "And honestly, you deserve someone who likes you for your facial hair as well."

I blow a raspberry. "Can we please drop this topic?"

"But it's fun."

"Not for me." I prop my elbow on the door handle. "Gramps, whenever I'm ready to date, it'll be someone I choose. Not you. "

"I have better taste, though. I did warn you there was something off about that ex of yours."

I squeeze the steering wheel a bit tighter. This is the biggest reason why I haven't dated anyone seriously since that whole mess. Nikki was a walking red flag from the beginning. A super hot blonde bombshell singling me out from a professional team with at least a handful other single guys—even though this is me we're talking about—should've given me pause from the beginning.

The more goals I scored the more she acted like the most doting G of the WAGs, but if I played badly she pulled away. It was no wonder she broke up with my ass the second I retired. It wasn't me she was after. It was for the fame or status, I don't know.

And yeah, she also didn't have a job like Gramps reminded me a second ago. Maybe she was just looking for a ticket to a leisurely luxe life, and once it was clear I wouldn't be able to provide that anymore, she bailed.

"Gramps, sorry to cut this riveting conversation short, but I actually have to do some brainstorming for work while we drive. Let's talk about women later, preferably while I'm unconscious."

He snorts but drops it. For now.