Gavin

11

I 'm about to pop the bread loaf into the oven when the text chimes on my phone. It's an unknown number, of course, but I know who it is.

If I answer your last question, will you stop sending flowers , it reads.

Me:

If you continue to answer some by text, then maybe I'll consider stopping.

Odette:

I'm not sure I can agree to that deal. I like the flowers. Especially the dark ones.

Despite her now glamorous life, it seems she hasn't changed all that much. She's still playful and likes banter.

Me:

Is that a request?

Odette:

No. They're beautiful, but you should stop. It won't work.

Except it already has, she's texting me. We're having a conversation. I have her number now.

Me:

What won't work?

Odette:

I'm not going to date you.

Me:

I only asked for friendship. Out of curiosity, why wouldn't you date me? I'm one of Seattle's most eligible bachelors.

Odette:

Which is exactly why I won't date you.

Me:

Explain?

Odette:

No, thank you.

Me:

I'm making you something.

Maybe a change of subject will keep her talking.

Odette:

Why?

Me:

Because I'm thoughtful and helpful. A genuinely nice guy. You should get to know me.

Odette:

Do I not already?

Me:

No. I don't know you, either. Not anymore. We should change that.

She doesn't answer, and though I could take that as a bad sign, I don't. It's good that she didn't immediately dismiss the idea.

Me:

It's my teammate's birthday this week. Party at his house on Saturday. Mostly just teammates and their wags. Will you go with me? Just friends, I promise. I can introduce you to some more locals.

I'm not holding my breath that she'll say yes. I've thought of her as stubborn before, but I'm not sure that's quite right. It's more that she's confident in who she is and what she wants. She's not the type of woman who lets anything get in her way.

I guess that includes me. Can't say I don't deserve it, exactly. But I'm hoping we're beyond that now.

Odette:

Just friends, .

Me:

Just friends, Ode.

There's no telling what made her change her mind. I'm not going to question it because her agreeing to go with me feels a lot like winning the Stanley Cup.

Odette:

As for your last question. Edgar Allan Poe. I feel like he could use a hug.

I'd asked her if she could meet a dead historical figure, who it would be and why. If I'd bet on her answer, it would have been that it would be some famous fashion designer that I'd never heard of. That's the thing about Odette Quinn, she's always unexpected.

Me:

Good answer. I'll pick you up at six on Saturday, friend.

Dropping my phone to the counter, I go back to making my loaf of gluten-free bread. Caroline says the store-bought shit is trash and suggested I try making my own for Odette. We spoke a few days ago, after weeks of relative silence. Tori had told her about Odette and now she's just as eager as Tori to force me and my old crush back into each other's orbits.

No more eager than me, really. But Caroline has always carried some guilt over how things happened, despite me telling her none of it was her fault. I guess we both think we've stolen one another's happiness in some way. Tori makes up for it, so it doesn't really matter.

I want the same for her. She's closer to it than I am since she's met back up with the guy she met while we were married. It was obvious to me that she'd fallen in love with him then, so I'm glad they're getting their second chance now.

Even though his name is Brock, and I can't picture him as anything but a huge muscle head. Apparently, he owns a nursery. The plant kind, not the baby kind. Which Caroline loves; she's become earthy and spiritual the past few years. Looking back, I think she saw the shape of things before I did and took the proper steps to ensure she would come through it healthy and content. Whereas, I threw myself into work and ignored the fact that my life was going to change drastically when my kid graduated high school.

I always knew Caroline was smarter than me. I'm catching up now and can focus on both my last season as an NHL player, and seeing if whatever was between Odette and I may still be there.

The woman fucking confounds me. Something she said sticks with me while I watch the bread bake. I took particular care with this loaf, as the last three came out as hard as a hockey puck.

I feel very…domesticated. Oddly enough, I thought the guys would give me shit for this, but they didn't. They've been encouraging me, in fact. This one already looks better than the last, as it rises like a cloud above the pan.

Odette won't date me because I'm eligible. What the fuck does that even mean? Pulling up the search engine on my phone, I type in her name and the word boyfriend. Keeping tabs on her over the years, I never let myself explore too far into the men she was rumored to be with. I didn't want to know if she had found some great love with some rich or famous man.

Within seconds, I'm given a long list of headlines connecting Odette to various men of wealth or fame. Actors, entrepreneurs, a rock star, even an extended member of the British royal family, at one point. A person could look at this list and feel insecure about their own status.

I don't, though. I know what I have to offer. And I know, at one time, I meant something more to her than all these men she quickly moved on from. My aim is to have her remember that. To remember me, and us, and how amazing we were together.

Clicking through them one by one, I quickly find a common thread. Not all the men, but so many, are married. Estranged, or rumored to be in troubled marriages, a couple very recently divorced at the time they were spotted with Odette.

The minority of them are single and free.

What in the ever-loving hell?

Odette opens the door and every question I've wanted to ask her vanishes from my head. We're just having a friendly outing. I can't haul her over my shoulder and carry her to bed. Though that's all I fucking want to do, seeing her right now in her form-fitted skirt that lands just below her knees. A couple of inches of her stomach are bare below a fitted top of the same color. Dark plum that complements her skin, glowing and smooth and damned lickable.

I can't wait to peel her out of it…

"Hi, ," she says, holding up a bottle. "I didn't know what was best to bring. Wine, bourbon, or these fantastic mini cupcakes I found the other day. I ordered fresh ones for today, but then thought I should ask you. Honestly, I don't know much about athletes' parties. Do you all even drink? Or eat sweets?"

"Wine, the wives will love it," I say, still perusing her body, taking in every curve. "How are you the one nervous?"

"I'm not," she starts to argue, then stops. "What do you mean? Why would you be nervous?"

"I wasn't before. But here I am trying to be friendly, and you open the door dressed in that."

"There is nothing wrong with what I'm wearing," she says with all the confidence she should have. She is the expert, after all, she knows what she's doing.

"Nothing at all," I confirm. "You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen. And now I have to take you to a party filled with dirty-minded hockey players."

"You're dramatic," she says with a sigh. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"No. Never." I laugh. "I'm the most down to earth man I know."

"Doubtful," she says. "Is there anything I should know about these people?"

"These people?" I ask as I follow her around while she places the bottle of wine in some fancy bag and grabs her purse. "I'm not taking you to an island of pariahs."

"Dramatic," she accuses again. "I meant, are there subjects that shouldn't be spoken about or quirks I should know about. I hear goalies are unique. Is it okay to look him in the eye?"

"Now who's being dramatic? Of course, you can look Hugo in the eye. But only the left." I wink at her, and she can't help the smile that grows. "Barring walking in there and declaring you're a Vancouver Canucks fan, any subject that comes up should be safe."

"Considering I don't know what that is, it shouldn't be a problem."

"You wound me, Odette," I say, this time purposely being theatrical and pressing a hand to my chest. "You know so many famous people, how have you never rubbed noses with pro athletes?"

"I've met a few. Worked with a baseball player's wife once. That just isn't the world I've been in, though. Today will be good at widening my circle," she answers, as I load her into my car, trying not to let my hand linger on the smooth skin at the small of her back.

"Is that why you said yes?" I ask when I'm in the driver's seat and start the engine.

"Partly. I do need to meet more people here. I'm afraid my social life is meeting an early demise."

"Quite a bit different than life in the Big Apple?" I ask, ignoring how it makes me feel that she isn't here entirely for me.

"I rarely spent time at home there. Here, it feels like I'm rarely away from it."

"You haven't been going out?"

"Some. I meet Vanessa for brunch most weekends, and Preston has taken me out a couple of times."

"Preston?" I ask. "The stuffy dude from your party?"

"He's not stuffy."

"He is the definition." I wonder if he's married, but I don't ask. Not yet, not when we're just starting out our time together. My curiosity is piqued by what I found online, but if I'm realistic about it, I already have an inkling of why she chooses the men she does.

"In looks, perhaps," she says, implying there's been some intimacy that hasn't been at all stuffy. My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, but I let the comment pass. It's not my business. Yet.

"Do you get back home much?" I ask, changing the subject.

"I still go home for Christmas. Dad would be broken-hearted if I skipped that."

"I can imagine." Odette's house was always a hit during the holiday season. Her dad spent days setting up decorations on the lawn and lighting the house to perfection. The scene grew a little every year; and by the time we graduated high school it was an entire Santa's workshop in her front yard. "I don't get to go back that time of year, so I haven't seen how it's evolved."

"They moved a few years back; he has more yard to work with now."

"Maybe I'll get to see it next year," I say. "After I retire."

"Why are you retiring?" She sounds surprised, and maybe…disappointed. Or sad? I don't know why she would be, though.

"I'm old, Ode. I can't keep up."

"We are not old," she says. "I've never seen you play."

She used to talk about watching me when I was in the NHL, during that short time we made future plans. When we had dreams that included each other. We talked about her first NHL experience being my first professional game. I can't count the number of times I played in a game in New York and thought about trying to send her tickets. I never did. Of course, I never did. It would have been presumptuous and cruel after what I did to her. That never stopped me from wanting that part of our dream to come true, though.

I never forgot Odette. Maybe she didn't forget everything, either.

"I know. I did try to give you tickets," I remind her.

"I was otherwise engaged," she says elusively, and I get the impression it was with the stuffy dude. "Maybe try again."

"Really?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Because I've been trying to get you to give me the time of day for a month now and you've been ignoring me."

"It's hard to break years of practice," she says quietly as she watches the houses we pass outside the window.

"Odette, I'm…"

"No, ," she interrupts. "We're not talking about it."

"Whatever you want," I say, reaching for her hand. She doesn't pull it away, a small win, but I'll take what I can get. We will have to talk about it, sooner rather than later. I'll give her more time, though, since she's giving me some of hers.

We fall into silence for the rest of the short drive to Zander's house.

"Stay put," I tell her before rushing around to open the car door for her.

"I can get in and out of vehicles on my own, Vaughn," she snarks.

"I'm aware," I tell her, standing close enough that our bodies brush against each other when I help her out. I don't move right away, opting to breathe her in instead, watching the way her lips part ever so slightly and the vein at her neck pulses harder.

I may not be a married man like she prefers, but I still affect her.

Game fucking on, Quinn.

"Oh, fuck. She's here," Lehtinen says as soon as we walk in the door of the house Zander shares with his partners, Damian and Willa.

"Is he talking about me?" Odette whispers to me, eyes wide.

"He's a fan."

"You're kidding?"

"You don't think you have fans?" I ask, and she shakes her head. "You're gorgeous and adorable, Quinn."

"Hi!" Lehtinen says loudly, rushing up to the two of us before we've barely taken three steps inside. "I'm Oliver. Olly. Or Letty. Or whatever you want to call me. Future husband, maybe?"

"Shut the fuck up, man," I say, as both Odette and I laugh. "Odette, this is Oliver Lehtinen. Your biggest fan, evidently. And the Blades' resident shithead."

"That's me," he confirms, aggressively nodding his head without looking away from Odette.

"It's nice to meet you, Oliver."

"Likewise. You're beautiful. Has anyone told you that? Dumb question, I'm sure you hear it all the time."

"It never hurts to hear it again, though," she says playfully.

"I'll tell you all the time," he says, holding out his arm to her. "Come on, I'll introduce you around."

What the fuck? I'm being cockblocked by my own teammate.

"Oh, yeah. Okay. You'll catch up, Vaughn?" She hands me the bag with the wine.

"Sure," I say, letting him take her around to some of the others while I head to the kitchen to find Willa and Isla. Sisters, my coach's daughters, and both partners to teammates. Isla is married to Cillian Wylder, and Willa is with Zander. The Cole family is the heart of this team. Coach is stern, capable, but cares about his players like family members. Isla, who also works for the organization, knows everything there is to know about hockey and isn't afraid to impart knowledge to help any of us out. And Willa has become something like the team's mother over the past year, consistently hosting gatherings to keep us all unified and cared for. We're a lucky team, and we all know it. "Hey, ladies."

"Hi, . How are you?" Willa asks.

"Doing great, how is everyone today?"

"We're good," Isla says. "Seems like you just made Letty's day even better."

"Fucker stole my date right out from under me," I say, handing the bottle to Willa. "This is from Ode."

"Ode?" Willa teases.

"Date?" Isla chimes in.

"Well, she doesn't see it that way. But I'm working on it."

"She's even prettier in person," Willa says. We all turn to where Odette laughs with Oliver and Hugo. It's the same as when we were school kids, her head thrown back slightly. Watching her laugh feels like the first day of summer or Christmas morning. It makes me giddy with excitement and I can't pull my eyes away.

"Ah fuck, you're a goner already," Isla says. "How long have you known her?"

"My whole life, really. Give or take a twenty-year absence."

"She feels like home," Isla muses.

"Is that what it was like for you when Cillian came back?"

"Yes. But those feelings were tainted by a lot of anger and fear, too. So, it was hard to see it right away."

"Or it wasn't, and you just fought it," Willa says.

"Yeah, there was that, too," Isla admits. "I don't know your story, but if I can offer some advice?"

"Absolutely."

"Don't waste any more time. It's precious and you can't get it back." Isla's eyes are watery as she says it, and I move to wrap my arms around her.

"Get off my wife, asshole," Cillian says, stepping into the kitchen.

"No," I say. "She's too smart for your dumb ass."

"Don't I fucking know it," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. "You okay?"

"I'm good. Just feeling a little sad for our friend here."

"Don't be sad," Cillian and I both say in unison.

"I'll get it figured out," I add, looking up to see Odette watching us. Our eyes lock and I swear our hearts dance in time with each other. For someone who plays a very physical sport for a living, I've become a fucking cinnamon roll.

I wink at her and mouth, " You good ?" She smiles almost bashfully and nods. It's a long moment before she looks back to Hugo, who is asking her a question while Letty stares at her like a lovesick puppy.

Can't blame the guy. It's the way she carries herself, confident and classy but without the air of superiority, like she doesn't realize her own status. She's friends with some of the most famous people in the world, but you wouldn't know it because she doesn't flaunt it. Or think she's one of them.

"I don't know, man, Oliver might beat you to it," Cillian says.

"No way," I say. "She won't admit it yet, but she's mine."

Odette surreptitiously glances my way a couple more times, each one making my smile grow. I fully expect to battle with her, she's far too stubborn to just give in, and I still have that stuffy dude to contend with. But she'll come around, I'm sure of it.