The Right Fit

Chapter 14

He switched the bouquet to his hip and looked at her sideways. She was wearing a blue button up sweater decorated with tiny daisy flowers; there was a butterfly brooch on the collar. He was momentarily distracted by her curves. “I don’t understand.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stay here.”

Antony leaned into the apartment. He placed the vase on her kitchen counter, then quickly stepped back, taking his spot in the doorway again. She returned with flushed cheeks, marching toward him with his cell phone stretched out in front of her like it was something unsavory.

She handed him the phone and put one hand on the door. He wondered if she was getting ready to slam it in his face. When she explained about the caller id’s a pulse of relief washed through him.

“Not wife,” he said. “She’s my ag—” he had to stop himself from saying agent. “She’s my aging auntie. She likes to keep tab on me.”

“I don’t think so.” She started to shut the door. “Wait! I can prove it,” he said, pressing his palm

against the door. There were a few seconds when Antony saw all the luck of the previous game disappear. He pictured his career slipping away. A weight of urgency pushed him to take a chance.

With his heart hammering, he did the only thing he could think of to convince her he was single. Trying to keep his hand from shaking he called the contact for the number labeled thewife. He hit the speakerphone and held it out toward her.

She leaned closer, tucking a wave of hair behind her ear. There was a heady mix of shampoo and something lemony.

“Yeah?” Jax answered.

Antony’s pulsed thudded in his chest. “Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded normal.

“Yes. And don’t be late this time. What are you doing today? Have you been to the gym yet?” Her voice was flat, almost military. Typical Jax.

“Ah, oui. And now I’m going out with friend.” He stared at the woman. She finally looked up and met his gaze. A warmth spread from his stomach all the way to his toes.

“Fine. Hey, good luck tonight.” Then Jax hung up. Antony didn’t say anything, too worried he’d spoil

Jax’s perfectly ambiguous answers.

Still, the woman wasn’t ready to concede. “And your sex slave?” she said, pointing to the screen.

He should have been expecting that. After all, it was that call that made him leave in the first place. A heavy guilt swiped away any anticipation he’d been enjoying. “That is long story. But it is not sexy…it is stupid. Nickname, from long ago.” And a story she’d never hear, he thought to himself. He didn’t owe her the whole truth, after all.

“I see.” Her tone was quietly unsure, much different from the anger when she first opened the door.

Antony sensed victory, but he had to be careful.

She looked at the couch, prompting him to do the same. His jacket, hat, and watch were in a pile on the table beside the lamp. His skin grew warm remembering the last time he was in her apartment.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she said. Then she picked up his items and handed them back. “Sorry you had to be out in the cold.”

He took the pile. “I have lots of jackets.” She nodded but stayed quiet.

A knot of unease tightened between Antony’s shoulder blades. He imagined the game clock ticking away the seconds of opportunity. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Antony,” he said. Then he added before he chickened out. “Antony Laurent.”

There was a brief moment of the floor opening up under his feet, putting him into a free fall. He could imagine Jax’s voice, angry and unrelenting in his ear. “She’ll sell her story to the first gossip rag that finds out you play for Toronto!”

But the opportunity to let their brief encounter— and her—slip into history had passed. This relationship, whatever it was, had infiltrated his life, even his on ice life. The woman’s expression remained the same, no flutter of her eyelashes or widening of her smile, the way most women do when they recognized him.

“Nice to meet you, Antony,” she said. Then her hand slipped into his, and he gently squeezed back. “I’m Maxine.”

“Just one name? Like Drake?”

That got a smile out of her and he felt triumphant. “No.” She shook her head. “Nicholls. Maxine Nicholls.”

Maxine. Maxine. Maxine. He liked how it sounded inside his head. There were a few more seconds of silence. Then, because he had nowhere else to go in this conversation, he asked, “Are you thirsty?”

“Excuse me?”

“I owe you mojito.”

Her expression clouded over. “No thanks, I hate that club.”

“Me, too. I know better place. A nice lunch place.” Then he bowed at the waist and brought his face closer to hers. “Would you like to go?”

Her mouth opened then closed. Then she asked, “Now?”

“Oui.”

“For lunch?” “Oui…yes. With me.”

She pursed her lips then moved them to the side of her mouth, clearly debating her answer.

Antony smiled at her expression, it seemed completely without conscious thought, a habit. He imagined her doing this same thing standing in the grocery store trying to decide which cereal to buy. Then he wondered what kind of cereal she liked. Then he pictured her leaning over the kitchen counter, a spoon full of cereal rising to those perfect lips, a small drop of milk caught on the corner of her mouth. He’d lean forward to kiss it away—

“Yes,” she finally said.

He snapped out of his daydream. “Oui?” “Um…oui,” she smiled and even laughed a little.

Her hand pulled at the bottom of her sweater. She took notice of his leather jacket and dress pants. “Should I…do you mind if I change?”

He actually loved the sweater that showed off her curves and then he let an impish impulse take over. “Oui,” he said. “There’s strict dress code.”

“Oh?”

“No girdle thingies allowed.”