Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Chloe

"You've been back for two months and I've barely seen you!" Mom sinks onto my couch with her usual flair for dramatics. She crosses one leg over the other, bejeweled sandals catching the light streaming in from the expansive windows in my duplex. "Please tell me it's because you've been out on so many dates recently you can't even find time for your own mother."

I put down the overflowing notebook that's basically my brain in written format. Perimenopausal brain fog can't win when the thoughts are in black and white. "Mom, I'm starting a new business. I don't have time for dates or casual lunches."

She slaps a hand to her chest, outraged over my statement. "There's always time for love, honey!"

I shake my head and have a seat on the couch next to her. The woman would know. She's remarried three times since she and Dad divorced, collecting spousal support each time. The last one only lasted two months. "You sound like those mamas on Bridgerton, trying to marry me off. I'm a widow, and I'm okay with it."

"No one's okay being a widow," she scoffs.

I roll my eyes. "I don't mean it like that. Of course, I'm not happy Josh died, but I'm happy being on my own right now. I'm focused on my business and on me. And it feels good."

She eyes my outfit, an admittedly skimpy black shirt that shows more of my stomach than usual, paired with cut-off jean shorts. To be fair, I wasn't expecting company and therefore hadn't gotten dressed beyond what the excessive May heat in Florida called for.

"Yes, I see that. I just don't understand the youth's need to show everything. Clothes are made to cover." Mom's eyebrows are furrowed, but not creased. She'd never allow the Botox to run out enough to cause a wrinkle. "You are a gorgeous girl, Chloe, but you don't dress to your advantage."

In Mom-speak, that means I'm showing off the fact I'm not a size two. Or any size in the single digits. Thank god for Dad and his unwavering support of my athleticism over the years. I learned to view my body as a machine, capable of Olympic feats, not window dressing for a man's gaze. Although I wouldn't mind a man's gaze either. A girl can have both, right?

"Can I ask you a question?" I blurt out.

"Always," Mom answers, tilting her head curiously.

"I know we've talked about the night sweats, but did you also experience issues with word recall when you went through menopause?"

Mom lifts her nose in the air. She hates when I bring up any subject that reminds her she's aging. "I did not. Just night sweats and weight gain. The plastic surgeon took care of the latter, but the former plagued me for years. Why? Are you having some issues?"

"Yeah, I was on the phone with a possible donor the other day and couldn't remember the name of my company. I wasn't sure if dementia was setting in already or if this was yet another perimenopausal symptom."

Mom leans over and pats my hand. "Go get checked by a doctor, honey. And while you're at it, make sure they check your thyroid. I think they're missing something there."

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes at her subtle dig about my weight. "What brings you by?" I ask, quickly changing the subject to less turbulent topics.

"We texted yesterday about it!" Mom shakes her head like I've lost it.

And maybe I have. I completely forgot we agreed for her to come by and visit. Oh well. Since she's here, I can show her all the new plants I added to the condo. She'll be coming by every day to feed Sushi and water my plants while I'm in the Bahamas for Roman and Olivia's wedding next month. With all the league planning, and wining and dining of donors, our little get-together had completely slipped my mind.

"Right!" I rush to stand, tugging on the bottom hem of my crop top. It's no use. The little shirt won't cover my stomach no matter how much I tug on it. Instead I straighten my spine and take comfort in having gorgeous, voluptuous boobs. "Come on back and I'll show you all the new plant babies."

Mom sighs as she stands, probably ready to launch into her usual monologue about wanting to be a glamorous Gigi to real grandchildren, not plants, but I don't let her. I lived with Mom for eighteen long years and learned how to deliver my own monologues. She's about to be educated on the proper care and feeding of Monsteras, snake plants, and peace lilies. I must do a compelling job because she doesn't get a word in edgewise until we're back at the front door and I have her handbag held out.

"Oh, I meant to tell you I have another eligible bachelor who would love this little hockey thing you're putting together."

I grit my teeth over the "little" adjective. "Oh, yeah?"

"He's not a hockey player, don't worry," Mom says, tittering over her joke. She and Dad have only agreed on one thing in life and that is keeping me away from hockey players. While they both came to love Josh after the initial shock, they weren't too happy about his career aspirations. When he gave up hockey after college and got a "real job," they were both relieved. "He's a stock broker. Or maybe it's a financial adviser. I can't remember."

Either one sounds like boring fundraiser dinners and fancy vacations. "I'm not in the market, Mom."

"Honey." Mom puts her hand on my arm and levels a serious glare at me that would have had my pre-teen self shaking in her Birkenstocks. "You need to make time for love or time will pass you by. One dinner. That's all I ask."

I sigh. I'm not getting anywhere with Nikolai and no one else has caught my eye. That itch I wanted scratched is like poison ivy now. "Fine. One date. And he better be good looking."

Mom's face lights up with approval. "Oh, he is! No kids, one divorce, makes good money, and he's handsome. He's quite the catch, Chloe." She looks me up and down. "Make sure you go buy a new dress, okay? And no black. Men love a sundress. Maybe pink or baby blue?"

I'd rather throw myself into the gator infested waters of Florida than wear a baby blue sundress, but what Mom doesn't know won't hurt her. "You got it. Just send me his contact info."

She leaves happy, and I instantly put the date out of my mind. I have flyers to send off to the printers and a reporter to email back. The first open house will take place right after I get back from the Bahamas and I have a million things left to do to make sure it goes off without a hitch. But first, I need to get dressed and head to the arena to talk to Banks Bennet. Roman indicated his Little would be interested, and I feel like word of mouth among the kids is the best way to advertise the new rec league. And if I can rope Banks into coming out for the first open house to impress the parents? Double bonus.

Thirty minutes later, I'm dressed to kill and heading to the rink. Probably not dressed in the way Mom would have preferred, but I'm feeling like a million bucks and that's all that matters. My ripped black jeans are hugging my curves, and my bright red top is a welcome splash of color. And boobs. These badass bitches are on display in this top, but I figure you gotta flaunt your assets or everyone will focus on your flaws.

And Nikolai will be there.

I let out an evil laugh as I find a space in the parking lot and walk to the building that houses the practice rink. I had every intention of staying away, but then Nikolai flirted with me on the ice, and I can't seem to help myself for wanting a bit of payback. Security waves me in, recognizing me right away now. I sit in the chill air and wait for practice to end, all the while eyeing Nikolai from behind. He hasn't seen me yet and I kind of like that I can just observe him in his natural habitat. He's so damn talented. I'm starting to think I have a competence fetish.

"Hey, Chloe!" Bobby calls out, startling me. Practice is now over, and the boys are starting to stream off the ice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nikolai's head pop up. I can feel the weight of his stare on the side of my face.

I smile and wave at the young kid. I'm not dumb. I know that he flirts with me every chance he gets, and I eat it up like Ben & Jerry's after a breakup. Men aren't the only ones who like to have their egos stroked.

Plus, it pisses off Nikolai.

"Hey, Bobby," I call back. "Did you get ten years older overnight?"

He sends me a wink that must make women's knees wobble. He rocks those innocent brown eyes paired with a sculpted jaw and muscled body that makes you want to see if he'll turn naughty or nice in the bedroom. "Nah. You still won't date me, baby."

A hand comes out of nowhere and slaps the backside of Bobby's head. The kid turns a frown on Nikolai, who skates past with a grunt I can just barely hear.

"Have some fucking respect."

"Dude. What's your issue? You've been in a bad mood all day," Bobby whines to the backside of Nikolai as he skates off the ice.

I bite back a smile. "I'm actually here to speak to Banks."

Bobby whistles and then shouts. "Yo, Benny. Hottie wants to talk to you!"

Nikolai grinds to a halt right next to me and turns to glare at Bobby. I can feel the anger pulsing off him. I can also smell a healthy sweat from a long practice. Somehow, it's like my own personal pheromone blend because my insides turn to jelly.

Banks glides over and steps off the ice to give me a hug. "Hey, Chloe. Nice to see you again." Nikolai doesn't move, staying by my side like some kind of watchdog. Banks slides his gaze over to Nikolai, but then refocuses on me. "Kaitlyn told me all about your rec league. I talked to Eli and he's in. He thinks hockey is for losers, but I have a feeling you'll change his mind pretty quickly."

I rub my hands together. "Nothing I love more than hotshot kids who get their asses handed to them and walk away with a new level of respect."

Banks laughs. "God, I almost want to be there for the first practice, just to see him flounder. Good blackmail material, you know?"

I lift an eyebrow. "All practices will be recorded..."

Banks shoots me a single finger gun. "Name your price."

"Chocolate. Not the shit kind from the grocery store. I'm talking quality from Belgium."

Nikolai grunts. Banks and I turn to look at him. "Switzerland has the best chocolate."

Banks pats Nikolai on the shoulder. "You're always looking out for me, Druggy."

I reach into my satchel and pull out some of the flyers I stopped to pick up. I hand a few to Banks and shoot my shot. "Might be fun to swing by the open house. Hopeful parents always love to see a pro."

Banks confirms he'll be there, then gives me another hug before marching down the hallway to the locker room. Nikolai holds his hand out and I look down at it. Calluses line his palm. My whole body shivers, thinking about those hands touching my skin.

"What?"

"Do I get a . . . what do you call it . . . paper too?"

I put a hand on my hip and revel in the way his gaze dips down to take in my body before flicking back up to my face. "A flyer about my league? Do you have a youth hockey player in mind?"

He nods, a lock of his golden brown hair falling over his forehead. "Flyer. Yes. My daughter, Ayana, might want to take a few lessons."

My heart warms and my smile shows it. Nikolai trusts me with his daughter. I hand him a couple flyers. "She's welcome any time."

We stand there, flyers between us, gazes locked as we breathe the same cold air. He doesn't break the stare down and neither do I. My heart rate starts coming faster and I remember every vivid detail of that kiss at the bar. The way he took control of my mouth and made everything around us disappear. His blue eyes heat and if I'm not mistaken, he's remembering that kiss also. Too bad Mom couldn't fix me up on a blind date with this man.

"Chloe?" Dad's voice behind me breaks the moment.

Nikolai steps back and waves the flyers in the air, nearly clipping me in the face with them. "Thank you for the flyers," he says comically loud. Then he marches off to the locker room, leaving me with Dad.

He watches Nikolai for a moment. "That boy all right?"

I let out a nervous laugh. "He's fine. You know all goalies are odd." Except he's not odd. Not really. He's a lot of things all wrapped up in a proud, loyal package that most people don't understand. I want to understand him even better, but he'll never allow it.

I inhale sharply and turn my focus back to my priorities. "Want some flyers?"