Right Man, Right Time
: Chapter 2

Silas: Did you see the press announcement from the Agitators?

I pick up my glass of Scotch as I stare down at my text thread with my boys, willing them to respond. I’m all sorts of fucked up.

The moment I saw the press announcement come in, I dropped everything I was doing, slipped on my shoes, and walked to the closest bar where I’ve been ever since, wallowing in how the universe is so fucking unfair.

No, not unfair, just fucked up.

My phone dings with a message.

Pacey: Dude . . . what the actual fuck?

Pacey is the star goalie for the Agitators. Last summer, when we were spending our time off the ice at my cabin in Banff, he met the love of his life, Winnie. He recently proposed, and she said yes. Not sure when the wedding will be, but I do know their disgustingly cute love makes me want to throw up.

Pacey: Are you okay?

Shaking my head, I text him back.

Silas: No. All kinds of fucked up right now.

Hornsby: Wait . . . SARAH is working for the Agitators now? HOW?

Eli Hornsby—defenseman, pretty boy, and the guy who got Pacey’s sister pregnant. Yeah . . . sore subject, but everything seems to have worked out now. Penny is due soon, and throughout all the years I’ve known Hornsby, I’ve never seen him this protective over anything . . . even his gleaming, Prince Charming-like smile.

Oh, and if you didn’t catch his text, yeah, my ex, the girl who destroyed me, is working for the Agitators in the marketing department. Hence the heavy glass of Scotch in my hand.

Posey: Whoa, whoa . . . whoa. *pinches brow* How? How the fuck?

Levi Posey—teddy bear on the inside, absolute bruiser on the outside—acts like the innocent one of the group with his love for bologna sandwiches and his penchant for helping old ladies walk across the streets of Vancouver when, in reality, he’s the biggest ladies’ man of them all.

Pacey: Do you think she used your name to get the job?

Hornsby: She better not have. Who can we talk to about this? How can we get her fired?

Posey: You can’t get someone fired because of a personal relationship.

Hornsby: You sure as hell can if this new hire is going to fuck with Taters’s head. You know it is. No offense, bro.

Silas: None taken because you’re fucking right.

Holmes: Just catching up. Sarah is working for the Agitators? Dude, are you okay?

Halsey Holmes, besides me, is the quickest skates out on the ice. A former twin, he lost his brother in a horrible car accident. Halsey turtled in on himself and focused on hockey and only hockey. That was until this past summer when we discovered that Halsey has a huge fucking crush on Penny’s best friend, Blakely. The only problem is Blakely is massively in love with her boyfriend. Yeah, he’s in deep.

Silas: Yeah, not doing great. I mean, what the actual fuck? Why would she do this?

Hornsby: Isn’t it obvious? To fuck with you, man.

Pacey: I hate to admit it, but I’m with Hornsby.

Hornsby: So how can we take her down?

Posey: Once again, you can’t take her down. Her personal life isn’t the Agitators concern.

Holmes: I’m with Posey. There isn’t much we can do.

Hornsby: What the fuck? What happened to band of brothers?

Silas: I appreciate your willingness to charge after her with a bayonet at the end of your hockey stick, but bro, they’re right. Nothing can be done.

I set my phone down and bring my glass to my lips. Absolutely nothing can be done other than hope and pray I don’t have to interact with her. And how the fuck did she get the job? As far as I know, she has little to no job experience. Are the Agitators just hiring anyone now? I want to see her credentials.

After taking a sip, I set it down on the bar in front of me as a hand presses to my back. I turn just in time for a woman to speak closely to my face as if we’ve known each other for years and we’re in cahoots.

“My name is Ollie. I’m in a really tough spot, and I’m so sorry, but I’m about to kiss you because I need to save face in front of my ex-boyfriend, who is now dating my nemesis. If you don’t stop me in three seconds, I’m going in.” She says this at such a rapid rate that I almost don’t understand what she’s saying.

As I turn to face her, I catch a glimpse of thick wavy brown hair and a flash of red lipstick, and then her lips are on mine, her hand shifting to the back of my head.

Whoa, what the hell is happening?

I’m caught off guard, but it’s only a moment because once her soft, plush lips move along mine, I turn toward her and smooth my hand around her narrow waist as my lips move along hers.

And for a brief second, I’m stunned, brought to another world where Sarah doesn’t exist and my worries are nowhere to be found. Instead, I’m lost in the most perfect pair of lips I’ve ever tasted.

My hand grows tighter on her waist as her fingers toy with my blond locks. She steps in closer, her mouth parting just slightly. I part mine as well while her other hand falls to my chest. Hell, this woman tastes good, like tequila and promises.

Just as I reach to pull her in even closer, she breaks away but keeps her face close as she whispers, “Please pretend to be my boyfriend for a second. Also, you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”

That makes me smirk. “Damn, and I didn’t even have to do anything to earn the title.” I catch her glance over her shoulder, so I quickly say, “I’m Silas.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says before turning around and sinking into me, my open stance on the barstool welcoming her as I slip my arm around her waist and pull her in even closer. Not sure why I’m going with her demands. Maybe I’m a bit drunk from the kiss . . . and the Scotch, but I hold still, ready for what’s to come.

Three people approach us.

One is a woman sporting a shocked, disapproving glare—must be one of the offenders.

Behind her is a lanky man whose brow is pinched together so tightly that I bet it could hold a quarter if I slipped it in.

And the other man just keeps blinking . . . rapidly, as if he can’t quite comprehend what he’s witnessing.

From a guess, I think Cranky and Lanky are the people Ollie—that’s her name, right?—is trying to save face with, and the blinker has to be a friend.

“See, told you he was over here,” Ollie says as she places her hand on mine. “He’s just shy, is all.”

Ehh, shy? Not really, but I’ll go with it.

I nod at them, not saying anything while still acknowledging their presence.

“Well, I, uh . . . I don’t know what to say,” the girl says.

“You’re . . . you’re dating Silas Taters?” Lanky asks. Honestly, I’m shocked it took this long for the guy to say something.

“Oh, you know each other?” Ollie asks, clearly having no idea who the hell I am.

“Everyone knows who Silas Taters is,” Lanky says.

Clearly, not everyone.

“It’s . . . it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Lanky says, holding his hand out.

Out of respect for my image, I take it and offer him a solid shake. “Thanks, pleasure is mine, man.”

I feel Ollie stiffen against me, probably wondering what the hell is going on and how her ex-boyfriend knows who I am, so I decide to help her out a bit.

“Ollie and I don’t talk about hockey much . . .” I leave it at that, letting them fill in the blank.

Cranky’s eyes narrow. “Wait, if you’re dating a hockey player, then why are you so up in arms about your assignment?”

Hmm, wonder what the assignment is. Also, really curious why Ollie and Cranky are nemeses. Who threw the first punch? Who wronged who? Was it because the ex-boyfriend was stolen? Not to be a dick, but he doesn’t seem like much of a prize to me.

“Uh, because he just said we don’t talk about hockey much,” Ollie says, and I’m somewhat impressed with her ability to think on her feet. “I clearly don’t want to bother him about it.”

I bring her in tighter and lightly stroke her stomach with my thumb, catching Lanky’s eyes falling to the movement. Huh, the guy has some jealousy showing, so hopefully, this helps her out.

And keeping with the shy guy mentality, I quietly say, “You can bother me, babe.”

She turns a few inches and cups my cheek while saying, “Thank you.” And then, once again, her soft, delicious lips touch mine, and she lightly kisses me. It’s short, but goddamn, is it sweet. I could easily kiss this girl more. She wouldn’t even have to ask me to pretend.

“Well,” the girl huffs. “We should get going. We have plans.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lanky says, his eyes never averting from Ollie’s and my connection.

“Good luck with your assignment. I think you’ll need it,” Cranky says right before she turns Lanky around and pushes him toward the bar’s exit.

Once they’re out of sight, Ollie turns toward me, gratefulness all over her face. And hell . . . she’s beautiful, but I only get a quick glance before she’s pulling me into a tight hug, her tits pressing into my chest. “Oh my God, thank you so much. You completely saved me.”

Not sure what to do, I return the three-second embrace.

When she pulls away, I get a good look at her.

Petite, toned body. Large chest for her size, beautiful long brown hair that seems to be naturally wavy, green, almond-shaped eyes, and plump lips. She’s an absolute smoke show.

“Uh, yeah, glad I could be of service.”

“What the hell is going on?” the friend says as he steps forward. “What was that, Ollie?”

Biting the corner of her lip, looking coy as shit, she says, “I took a chance, and by the grace of good luck, it worked out for me.”

“So you don’t know each other?” the guy asks.

Ollie shakes her head. “No.”

“Never seen her before,” I add.

“Well, hell, you convinced me. I thought you were hiding something from me, Ollie.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “Nope, just a random guy.”

“Hell,” the guy says while pulling on his hair.

Yeah, hell is right.

I could have convinced myself we were together just from that kiss and the way she cuddled into me. I hate to admit it, but it felt good for a second to have someone need me again. To have someone touch me, cuddle into me, treat me as theirs.

Turning back toward me, Ollie says, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your drink. Thank you so much again. I can’t tell you the kind of favor you just did for me. I truly appreciate it.” And with that, she takes her friend by the arm and starts to pull away.

I’m not sure what comes over me.

Maybe it’s the kiss.

Maybe it’s the thought of having to see Sarah around my sacred space.

Or maybe it’s the Scotch.

Before I can stop myself, I say, “You owe me.”

She pauses and looks over her shoulder. “What?”

I grip my glass and lift it to my mouth. From over the rim, I say, “You owe me.” I take a sip. “I did you a favor, so I think you should do me one.” I kick out the barstool next to me and nod toward it. “Take a seat.”

Her eyes flit from the seat and then back up to me. “If you think I’m going to sleep with you, you better think again.”

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” I say, even though the prospect of it is appealing. Wouldn’t mind tasting those lips again.

Her friend leans down, and even though it seems like he tries to keep his comment quiet, I can still hear him. “I think you should at least listen to him. He did just let you sexually assault him with your mouth.”

“Hey, I gave him three seconds to say no. There was no sexual assault. That kiss was consensual . . . right?” she asks me on a wince.

I nod. “It was consensual.”

“See. Consensual. Everything is on the up and up.” She gestures toward me. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some drinking to do tonight, and I’m sure you have the goal at hand. Have a good night.”

“Sit. Down,” I say in a firmer tone, which stops her.

She slowly turns on her heel. “Uh, excuse me?” she asks, a spark of fire lighting up her burning irises. “Did you just try to use some alpha-hero voice on me?”

“Alpha-hero voice? What the hell is that?” I ask.

“I don’t think he reads romances like you,” the friend says. “And I think he has a point. You owe him.”

“Ross, whose side are you on?” Ollie asks, flapping her hands.

Ah, his name is Ross.

Man, does he look like a Ross. The name fits him perfectly.

“Yours, Ollie. But he’s right. You do owe him. At least listen to what he has to say.”

“And what if he’s a predator, huh? You’re just going to let me sit next to a predator?”

“If anyone is a predator, it’s you,” I say. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

“Oh please,” she says, exasperated. “You kissed me back, and don’t even pretend you didn’t like it.”

Ross, being of sound mind, says, “He’s a hockey player. Pretty sure he isn’t going to risk his reputation on being a predator.”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Ollie says, putting up a pitiful fight. When Ross just gives her a look, she grunts out in frustration. “Fine.” Ollie throws her arms up in the air. “But I’m agreeing to nothing.” She gets a few inches from my face as she says, “You hear that? I agree to nothing!”

Reluctantly, she takes a seat on the barstool and slaps her clutch on the bar top. She turns toward me with her arms crossed under her breasts, which perks them up even more.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Ross says, slowly backing away.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Ollie asks. “You can’t leave me with this guy. For all we know, he could be a murderer ready to drug me and take me back to his lair, where he’ll sell my body parts on the black market.”

First predator, now a murderer. She sure does have a high regard for men who help her out.

“Yet . . . you kissed me,” I say.

“Out of sheer desperation. You saw the disbelief in Candace’s eyes. She needed to be put in her place.”

“I’ll be right over there,” Ross says, pointing to the end of the bar.

Ollie turns her attention toward the end of the bar. “Oh, near Fernando from accounting? The guy you’ve had a crush on all summer?”

Looking guilty as shit, Ross says, “He has his top three buttons undone. It’s clear he’s open for business tonight.”

“Dear God,” Ollie says while pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine, go flirt. But you are not to leave this bar until I’m safe from this overlord.”

“Overlord?” I ask. “Jesus Christ.”

“Well, come on. Can’t you just be a good Samaritan and do something for a damsel in distress without needing something in return? What happened to white knights?”

“Equal opportunity for all. That’s what happened,” I answer.

“Ugh, men.”

“So . . .” Ross says, rocking on his heels. “Am I good to go?”

“Yes, go. But don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” He kisses Ollie on the head and then takes off, leaving me alone with the now disgruntled woman with the perfect lips.

“Okay, you have me. Now, what do you want?” she asks with a snap to her tone.

Yeah, what do you want, Silas?

I’m not even sure. I just know that I couldn’t let her walk away, not when I feel like I could use her the same way she used me.

Needing to collect my thoughts, I say, “Want a drink?”

“Actually, yes. Margarita on the rocks, no salt.”

That I can do. Facing the bar, I grab the bartender’s attention with a nod. I give him the order and request a refill for myself. While that’s being filled, I say, “Want to properly introduce yourself?”

“If I must.” She brushes the hem of her tight dress that has ridden up to her midthigh from crossing her toned legs. Just from a quick glance at her shapely shoulders, small waist, and muscled legs, I can tell she works out. “I’m Ollie Owens. I absolutely despise the woman who was just here because she’s a know-it-all anus who is mad at me for using one of her Post-it Notes. And I think out of spite, she decided to date my ex, who I’m over, just so you know. Nothing like freeing the guy who acted like a dead fish in the bedroom.”

I nod. “And what is this assignment she speaks of?”

Ollie rolls her eyes just as the bartender places our drinks in front of us. I offer a thank you and bring my glass to my lips as she says, “Just the stupid end-of-the-year assignment for our internship that’s worth all of my credit.”

I nearly spit out my drink as I attempt to swallow, choking on the burning liquid. After a few coughs, I say, “Internship? As in you’re . . . in college?” When she nods, I mutter, “Jesus Christ, please tell me you’re of age.”

Her brows narrow. “Of course I’m of age. All college students are, you nitwit.”

Huh . . . she’s right. They are.

“How old are you?”

She tilts her head. “Twenty-one. How old are you?”

“Thirty-one,” I answer.

“Ew, you’re in your thirties?”

The fuck?

“It’s not like I said I was sixty,” I snap.

“Still . . . thirties, so old.”

“It’s not that fucking old,” I shoot back. Although, I’m starting to really feel those long nights on the ice lately.

“Still, ten years difference? That means when I was born, you were hitting the double digits. You could have been my babysitter. You’re a decade older than me, a near generation. Ew, I kissed an old man.”

“You kissed an experienced man,” I point out, growing irritated. “More than I can say for your ex who looked like he still watches Rugrats on Saturday mornings.”

“What’s Rugrats?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I say, dragging my hand over my face. “So what are you doing in college still? Getting your master’s?”

“No, bachelor’s in journalism, heading into my senior year of college.”

Jesus fuck.

She’s so young.

So fucking young that I know my boys would ask me what the fuck I was even doing talking to her. They’d give me so much shit if they knew.

“Bachelor’s.” I nod, trying to convince myself she’s way too young and I should just send her on her way. But as my phone dings next to me with incoming text messages, I’m reminded of my dilemma.

Sarah.

Sarah is back in my life even though I don’t want her to be.

“So you have an assignment?” I ask before taking a sip of my drink to help wash away my worries.

“Yeah. It’s the end-of-the-year article we need to write to earn our credit. Candace decided who got what topic, and as you can imagine, she deliberately gave me hockey as my assignment, knowing I know nothing about the stupid sport.” Not reading the crowd around her, that’s fine. “I hope her teeth fall out.”

I chuckle. “I could help you with that, you know. Since I play hockey and all.”

“But really, how experienced are you?” she asks.

“Pretty experienced. It’s my job.”

“Like . . . you’re a professional hockey player? I thought you were just, I don’t know, some club player or something people knew.”

I slowly nod. I’ve never met anyone who has at least not seen my face or heard my name. Vancouver plasters it all over the place.

“I play for the Vancouver Agitators.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and then they give me a slow once-over. “Like . . . the actual Agitators?”

“Yes, the actual Agitators.”

Her lips purse to the side. “Prove it.”

With a heavy sigh, I pick up my phone, ignore the texts from my boys, and type my name into the search engine. When it comes up with results—my face and Wikipedia info the very first thing—I turn it toward her.

She takes my phone and studies it. Her eyes flit up to me, then back to the phone. Then up to me, then back to my phone.

“Your hair is longer in person,” she says.

“That’s because hair grows.”

“You don’t have scruff in this picture.”

“Razors have to be used for something.”

Her eyes narrow. “I don’t see any tattoos in this picture.”

“Because they’re covered up. Jesus Christ.” I take the phone from her. “Are you really going to be that difficult?”

“Excuse me for wanting to make sure you’re not some impersonator trying to score women with a false identity of some poor schmuck who plays hockey for a living.”

“Poor schmuck?” I ask. The fucking audacity of this girl. “I have millions in the bank to prove I’m anything but poor or a schmuck. Also, you’re the one who came up to me. You’re the one who kissed me, so why the fuck am I the one defending myself?”

“Because in this day and age, you can’t trust anyone,” she says before taking a drink of her margarita.

“So what makes me think I can trust you?”

“Oh, you can’t.” She shakes her head and sets her glass down. “I’m a total wild card. Truly, the most ornery in the morning, especially after drinking. I tend to focus more on my needs than others, and even though I say I don’t want something, secretly, I always do. Completely untrustworthy, so if we’re done here, I shall retreat to my friend to see how he’s doing with his conquest to sit on Fernando’s penis.”

She starts to move, but I place my hand on her thigh. “Not so fast. You can’t scare me away with your nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” She dramatically clutches her hand to her chest. “How dare you speak of my life like that—”

“Cut the shit,” I say. “I did you a favor. Now you need to do one for me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, I can see we haven’t given good thought to the whole white knight thing.” She rolls her wrist for me to continue. “Please, regale me with your demands.”

Yeah, regale her with your demands, Silas.

I take a long, slow sip of my drink.

How the fuck can she help me?

My phone lights up beside me, and my eyes catch a glimpse of a text from Hornsby.

Hornsby: What the fuck are you going to do about the welcome dinner?

And just like that, a light bulb switches on in my head.

The welcome dinner, where everyone in the organization comes together before the season starts, and we toast to a healthy, successful year with ice skating, hot cocoa, and all that bullshit.

Which means Sarah will be there.

And the last thing I want is for Sarah to think I’m alone and unattached, possibly still pining for her.

No fucking way.

There’s only one solution I can think of, and I’m rolling with it.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

“What?” she asks with a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

I swallow down the rest of my drink and say, “I’m dead serious.”

“Pretend to be your girlfriend?” She blinks a few times. “Dude, I kissed you for like five seconds, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? You’re supposedly famous,” she says, using air quotes. “Hire someone.”

“I’m not going to hire someone. Do you know how lame that is?”

“Lamer than asking a girl in a bar ten years younger than you to be your pretend girlfriend?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose because, dammit, she has a point. This is all lame.

“You know what? Never mind. Forget I even asked.” I turn back toward the bar and try to flag down the bartender to order another drink. Anything to help forget this awkward conversation and the fact I’ll have to deal with Sarah at the arena. We don’t always interact with the front house staff, but from the description of Sarah’s job, it seems like she’ll be out on the ice for certain games with sponsors, so I’m bound to run into her.

“Why do you need me to pretend to be your girlfriend?” Ollie asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Go see how your friend is progressing with the penis sitting.”

I feel her hesitate like she doesn’t quite know what to do, so I encourage her.

“Seriously, go.”

“Okay,” she says softly while stepping down from the barstool. But she doesn’t walk away right away. Instead, I feel her eyes on mine. It’s like she has more questions that she wants to ask but is trying to pluck up the courage to ask them.

“Ollie, I’m serious. Leave.”

“I can see that you’re serious,” she says. “But I feel like I should stay.”

“Why?”

I finally get the bartender’s attention and ask for another Scotch. He gives me a concerned look but fills me up without a word.

“It seems like you’re maybe in a bad mood.”

I lift my glass to my lips. “What gave you that impression?”

“Hmm, I wonder,” she says sarcastically, staring at my drink. “So what is it? What’s causing you to drink this much and ask strange women to be your pretend girlfriend?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Is it a girl?”

I grumble under my breath. “Ollie, please, for the love of God, just go.”

Because she’s a defiant ass, she takes a seat on her barstool again and pokes me in the side. “Tell me. It’s a girl. What did she do to you?”

“Do you really think I’m going to tell a complete stranger that?”

“Well, you did ask me to be your pretend girlfriend, so I assume, yeah, you would.”

For how annoyingly young she is, she’s quite clever and quick on her feet. Absolutely terrifying.

“Just an ex who has re-entered my life,” I say, keeping it simple. She doesn’t need to know the details.

“Were you in love with this ex?”

“Yes,” I answer. “She was my high school sweetheart.”

“Oh,” Ollie says softly, empathy evident in her voice. “I’m assuming she’s the one who broke your heart?” I nod. “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious. Okay, how did she re-enter your life?”

“Got a job with the Agitators.”

“As in your hockey team?”

I nod again. “Yup.” I wonder if the bartender will pour me another drink after this one.

“Knowing full well that you are on the team?”

“Yup.”

“Wow,” she says, and I catch her shaking her head. “What a wench. That’s all kinds of messed up.”

“It is. And the reason my phone keeps blowing up is because my teammates know, and now it’s going to be this big fucking thing.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

I turn toward her again and rest my arm on the bar while keeping a solid grip on my glass. “They’re protective of me. They saw what she did to me, they saw how she came back this summer and messed with my head for a goddamn second, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she searched out this job to continue to fuck with me. And they’ll be up my ass, making sure I’m okay.”

“Aah, I see.” She glances to the side. “So . . . would I be your pretend girlfriend to fend off their concerns? Make her jealous? What’s the proposal here?”

“You don’t have to. It was a stupid idea,” I say.

Her hand lands on my thigh, drawing my attention back to her gleaming eyes. “Maybe it wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I feel like we could help each other out. I have this assignment to take care of, and I know nothing about hockey. You have friends to fend off and an ex. I think we could, you know, work things out. But . . . the offer has to be good.” She lifts up and smiles.

“Why do I feel like I’m going to be indebted to you?”

“Because isn’t that how it always is? You truly need more from me than I need from you.”

“What about that doofus of an ex of yours and that Candace girl? Pretty sure you needed me first.”

“Semantics.” She waves her hand at me. “So what do you have to offer?”

“You’re not kidding?”

She shakes her head. “No. I need to see your offer, and if I think it’s worth my time, I’ll take it.”

“Are you sure you’re studying journalism? Not law?”

“Positive,” she says with a wide smile.

“Well, the fuck if I know.” I lift my drink. “Frankly, I’m kind of drunk at this point, so I don’t think I’m in the right mindset.”

“Great, so why don’t we talk this over tomorrow when you’re fresh?”

“Not quite sure you understand how hard it is for a thirty-one-year-old to bounce back from a night out.”

“You’ll be fine.” She grabs her clutch and pulls out her phone. “Here, enter your phone number and your name. What is it again? Simon?”

“Silas,” I say. “Jesus Christ, every hockey fan in the city is crying right now that you got it wrong.” I type my phone number into her phone.

“Ooo, sorry, Mr. Big Shot. Wasn’t aware you were so popular.”

“You need to pay attention more. My face is on quite a few billboards around the city.”

“That’s cute,” she says, patting my cheek. “I’ll text you tomorrow, and we can figure this all out. Bring your best proposal.”

“How can I bring a proposal when I know nothing about you?”

“That’s fair. Umm, let’s see.” She hops off her stool and straightens out her dress. “I like working out. I like sandwiches. Like all kinds, especially ones with lots of meat. I enjoy interior design and reading books. I also really like anything concerning lifestyle trends. Oh, I love a good face cream. Anything to keep those thirty-one-year-old wrinkles away, you know?” She presses her finger to my brow, and I swat her hand away.

“When you have to skate on the ice with two-hundred-pound men, you’re bound to get wrinkles.”

“Don’t quite see the connection, but hang out with me, and I’ll get that face looking fresh.”

“What the fuck? It does look fresh.”

“Okay.” She smiles at me. “See you tomorrow . . . Simon.”

“Silas,” I call out.

“Yeah . . . Silas.” She twiddles her fingers at me and takes off toward her friend.

I’m pretty sure I’ll regret all this when I wake up, especially the three glasses of Scotch.