Chapter 4

FOUR

Canyon

I pull up to Saylor's gallery at seven twenty-five on Friday night and park on the street. I'd almost called to cancel our date a handful of times because even though I like her, my gut tells me she's different than most women I hook up with. She knows who I am and that I'm not looking for anything, so it isn't like I've led her on, but there's something so sweet and genuine about her, I don't want to do anything that could potentially make her feel used.

Maybe I'm overthinking it.

I was half-kidding when I asked if she wanted to go to dinner, but then she said yes and now I'm walking into the gallery dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt instead of the jeans and concert T-shirt I usually wear.

I spot Saylor immediately, talking to a well-dressed middle-aged woman who's chattering non-stop about what she apparently just bought.

"—and you know what? I think I want the silver one for my daughter. I'm going to give it to her as a divorce gift! Her soon-to-be ex-husband is such a jerk."

Saylor smiles politely. "Of course. Do you want me to have it delivered or will you pick it up yourself?" Saylor types something on her laptop as the woman continues to talk.

I keep my distance, staring at the painting closest to the entrance.

Saylor's style seems to focus on dark or monochrome color schemes with one bright or light element. In this particular case, it's a man's silhouette, done in shades of brown and beige, with the brightness coming from a shiny gold watch on his wrist. It's so striking I can't tear my eyes away, suddenly wondering if I have a place for it in my condo.

"Hi!" Saylor comes over to me and presses a light kiss on my cheek, one hand resting on my arm. "I need a few minutes to close out this sale, and then I'll be ready to go."

Her touch makes my body tingle, as if she's given me a light shock, and it's strangely exhilarating.

"Take your time," I tell her.

She moves away, and I turn back to the painting.

I don't really have a color scheme or art in my condo, but this painting seems to be speaking to me. It's like I need to own it, which makes no sense since I've never felt that way about a piece of art before.

The price tag momentarily gives me pause, but I'm going to ask her about it as soon as the current customer leaves.

"Are you ready to go?" she asks, startling me.

I've lost track of time studying each piece of art.

"Is that one for sale?" I ask, pointing to the brown one.

She smiles. "It is. Do you like it?"

"I do. I'm not really an art guy, but that piece seems to resonate. I can picture it in my bedroom. It feels like it belongs to me. That's the only way I can describe it."

"That's what art is supposed to do," she says, gazing up at me with long-lashed yellow-gold eyes that are momentarily mesmerizing. "It makes you feel something."

Right now, I'm feeling all kinds of unfamiliar things.

Jesus.

What's wrong with me?

This is supposed to be nothing more than sex.

We agreed to that.

We're both on board.

She's a classy, elegant lady so I threw in dinner because it seems like the right thing to do, but this isn't some kind of date.

Is it?

"Is something wrong?" she asks, cocking her head slightly. "I hope you don't feel obligated to buy something. I won't be offended."

"No, it's not that." I shake my head. "I was just thinking how pretty your eyes are."

She laughs. "Well, thank you. But sweet talk isn't necessary. We already know where tonight is going."

"We do," I agree, reaching out to put an arm around her and pull her closer. "But I still think a little sweet talk is fun." I really want to kiss her, but I also don't want to rush it the first time; something tells me it's going to be spectacular.

She gently moves out of my embrace. "Then, by all means, sweet talk away. Just let me lock up. And if you're serious about the painting, we can haggle over dinner."

I follow her around as she turns off most of the lights, throws the deadbolt at the main entrance, puts a wad of money in a safe that's activated by her fingerprints, and then picks up her purse.

"Okay. We have about thirty seconds to get out once I set the alarm."

"I parked out front," I tell her.

"We can walk around through the alley, if that's okay?"

"Sure." I step outside as she punches in a series of numbers and then locks the back door behind her.

"That's a lot of complicated security," I say, keeping a hand at the small of her back as we walk through the alley that runs along the side of the building.

"Sadly, it's necessary. I'm here alone a lot, so I like to feel safe after hours. Not to mention, my art has become pretty valuable since word got out that I essentially sold out on my grand opening, and I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"Absolutely." We get onto the sidewalk that goes along the front of her shop and I pull out my keys, unlocking my Ferrari.

"Your car is amazing," she says, sliding her arm through my elbow. "Would you let me drive it sometime?"

"Sure." I nod. "Not on the way to dinner, but how about on the way home?"

"Fun!" Her eyes light up, and I can't help but smile back.

What is it about her that makes me smile so much?

I'm being a dumbass.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"The new place that opened on Melrose," I say. "Some fancy new French place. A few guys on the team have been and said it's wonderful."

"That sounds nice. I don't get out much lately. I spend all my time either at the gallery or painting."

"You paint at home?"

She nods. "I live in one-half of a duplex. I own the whole thing, but I rent the other side. Each place has three bedrooms and two bathrooms, and I use one bedroom as a guest room and one as my studio. It's small but it does the job."

"That's smart," I acknowledge. "Renting out one side to pay the mortgage."

"Actually, it's paid for, but property taxes are high, so it amounts to the same thing. A nice married couple lives next door. They're quiet. No kids, no pets, and they both work a lot. I take a little off their rent because the husband started mowing the lawn, and it saves us both money."

"I keep thinking about buying," I say, "but real estate here is insane. And of course, with everything going on in the back office, I don't know what's going to happen with the team."

"You've been doing well," she says. "I don't imagine they want to get rid of you. Not now, anyway. Harper's rebuilding."

Harper Barrowman is the new owner of the Phantoms, and she did almost a complete overhaul when she took over during the off-season. I'm one of the guys she picked up during that time, and while I'm happy to be here, we're all a little on edge, wondering if she's done making changes.

I glance at her. "You and Harper are friendly?"

"We are. I do a lot of charity work and so does she, and we've worked on a few benefits together. She's really great. I'm so proud of what she's doing with the team."

"Were you a hockey fan before she took over?"

"Absolutely. Season ticket holder for the last five years."

"Cool."

It's nice to be with a woman who won't immediately start giggling as she admits she knows nothing about hockey.

My phone begins to ring, and the name flashed on the digital screen on the dashboard.

Carly.

Nope.

Not tonight.

Not any night, for that matter.

After what she did and the way she treated me, I have no interest in talking to her.

There's an awkward silence as it rings a few more times before going to voice mail. Then it starts ringing all over again.

"Carly really wants to talk to you," Saylor murmurs. "It's okay, you know. You can pick it up."

"Actually, it's not," I reply, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. "Carly is my sister, and we haven't spoken in a long time. I'm sure she wants money and that's not happening. She's either going to stick it up her nose or buy alcohol, and I'm not supporting either of those habits."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That sounds hard."

I shrug. "Not really. Not anymore, anyway. She's older than me, and she was always wild. She's been getting into trouble since she was thirteen or fourteen. My dad essentially gave up on her."

"That's sad," Saylor says. "What about your mom?"

I hesitate. "Mom passed away when I was seventeen and Dad recently remarried, so there's not a mom in the picture."

"Are you close to your dad?"

"He comes on the dads' trip every year, and they usually make it to a few games. I try to see him in the off-season, if they're not traveling."

"Are they retired?"

"Well, my stepmom is only thirty-five, but she doesn't work. Dad made a lot of money on Wall Street and retired at forty. He met my stepmom three or four years ago, married her, and they essentially do nothing but travel."

"That sounds lonely."

That's one word for it.

I'm used to it, though.

"To be honest, it's easier," I admit. "She's high maintenance, and Dad does nothing but brag about his money. Although, to be fair, he handles all of mine and he's already doubled my wealth, so he's good at what he does. No matter what happens with hockey, I'll be set for life."

"That's important. That's why I bought the duplex a few years ago. I renovated it and rented out the other half. It's been great. It's a little small, but it's paid for, and it allowed me to open the gallery."

My phone rings again, this time from an unknown number, and I figure Carly is just trying to get me to answer, so I let it go to voice mail once again.

I'm starting to get curious, though.

Considering how long it's been since we've spoken, she's being persistent if all she wants is money.

Luckily, we arrive at the restaurant and the valet hurries to open the door for Saylor. I walk around to meet her, and she slides her hand through my arm again. Most women go right for handholding, and I like Saylor's old-fashioned but oddly intimate gesture.

Our table is ready, and we settle across from each other, which for some reason irritates me.

I want to sit closer, keep her hand on my arm, and continue enjoying the warmth of her touch.

"Wine?" I ask her.

"Sure. I'm a fan of reds."

"Same." I studied the wine list, deciding on a merlot I enjoy.

"That's one of my favorites," she says. "You almost read my mind."

"Wine is a hobby of mine," I admit. "When I decide to buy a house, one of the requirements is going to be either having a wine cellar or having the place to build one."

Her eyes light up again. "Wow—it's almost like we share a brain. That's the plan for my next house too."

I don't know about sharing a brain, but I have a few other body parts I'm ready to share.