Page 23 of Love on the Tracks
“Good.” I try to dull his expectations of more of an answer by chugging my water, but then it’s all gone and he’s still looking at me.
“How are things with Zane?”
“Fine. I’m supposed to meet him this afternoon, but I don’t know what we’re doing yet.”
Where is that waitress so I can order more water? And then excuse myself to the ladies’ room, because I don’t want to deal with this right now. I should’ve gone back with my team, then the talk would’ve been different. Not that there wouldn’t be any teasing or other comments about Zane, because it’s not every day one of us meets someone quite that famous, but by now it would’ve gotten old and we’d be stuffing our faces full of food while dishing on our strategies for getting out of that last turn alive and at speed.
While I can’t do that, my phone cooperates by dinging. My dad is usually grumpy about phones at the meal table, but now he looks as though he might reach over the table and pick up the phone himself. “Are you going to get that?”
I shrug, enjoying the advantage while I have it. “It’s probably Kate.”
“I don’t think so. Didn’t you just say you’re supposed to see Zane this afternoon but you don’t know what you’re doing? I bet that’s him. Why aren’t you answering it?”
My dad has somehow turned from a solidly middle-aged professional man into a gossipy middle school girl in the cafeteria. It’s cute. “Why exactly are you so keen on Zane Rivera all of a sudden? Have you finally turned into a Gamer?”
He scoffs. “You know that crap you insist on listening to makes my ears bleed, it’s . . .”
In general, my dad’s a pretty goofy guy. He doesn’t take a heck of a lot too seriously, because the one time he did, he ended up getting his heart broken. He loved my mom with everything he had, and when she died it’s like a piece of him died too. He tries to keep our life upbeat and, outside of luge, easygoing, but when he gets serious like this I can practically see my mom sitting beside him. “I don’t know that you understand what this could mean for you. In the long run. I didn’t want to say anything, because you’ve got enough on your plate, but you wouldn’t believe the sponsors I’m getting calls from. People who probably didn’t know what the fuck luge was two weeks ago, and now they’re offering you money that . . . well, let’s just say we wouldn’t have to worry about how to pay for your next sled.”
Oh. I knew, of course, that this was the point of “dating” Zane—to draw attention to myself. I just had no idea it would work so well or so quickly.
“So, I’m trying to make sure you’re taking advantage of him.”
“Dad! I’m not taking advantage of him.” All sorts of dirty things fly through my mind, my morning in bed with Zane coming back full force with all the delicious things we did. I don’t want to take advantage of him.
My dad waves me off. “You know what I mean. Take advantage of this opportunity, is that better?”
“Yes.” My mutter is grumpy, but I find my fingers edging toward my phone, and finally I pick it up. There’s only so much time left in the day, and given how long it can take to get around, with all the construction and security and traffic, I probably have a fairly narrow window to meet up with Zane. If it even is Zane. If he even wants to meet up with me.
But of course it’s him.
There’s not much going on today, but my manager scored us tickets to mixed doubles curling. You game?
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
My dad’s giddy interrogation makes me stick out my tongue before going back to my phone.
I actually love curling, and I’ve never seen mixed doubles. Does that count as PR bait? I can’t imagine there’s going to be tons of press there.
A few seconds later, he’s replying. Apparently his thumbs are as dexterous as his tongue, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I listened to him play last night.
There won’t be, but it’s close to the hockey and figure skating arenas, and there will be press milling around there. I thought we could pretend to be sneaking off to the curling. You know, make them think we’re trying to keep this under wraps. Everyone loves an undercover romance.
I should be put off because he’s clearly practiced at this—I can’t help but wonder how many women in his parade of past girlfriends were press props like me—but I can’t be. Means I don’t have to think about it, and I really do love curling.
Game on.
Zane
When Rowan meets me at the entrance to the park, I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face. She’s wrangled her long hair into braided pigtails that are draped over the front of the vest she’s wearing. She’s also got on tight jeans that show off her legs, and fur-topped boots that are frigging adorable. When she’s not looking like she could fly into battle, make life-and-death decisions in a split second, she’s cute as pie, my Valkyrie.
She looks around as she approaches and I tip my head to a crowd of photogs waiting to get into the hockey rink. We want to get their attention without seeming like we want their attention. I half wish Rowan were wearing some of her team gear, but this is better for appearing like we’re sneaking around.
I’ve got my hands shoved in my pockets because I’m a freaking moron who didn’t bring gloves to the SIGs. I mean, come on, it’s going to be cold. It’s right in the name: Snow. Ice. But I’m kinda glad when she walks up to me, close enough to kiss, and hell if I’m not going to RSVP to that invitation.
Her neck is cool, but I can feel her pulse beating beneath her skin and that makes the stupidity worth it. This morning was frigging phenomenal, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t jerk off in the shower after she left. Because I totally did. Thinking of her. Thinking of the other things I’d like to do with her.
When we part, she takes my hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and ducks her head, although I can tell—the photographers saw us and now some of them are snapping pictures while others point and try to figure out if we’re worth photographing. The answer is yes, fellows, and I want to put up a neon sign over our heads for the walk to the curling center, even though I’m hoping that once we get there, we’ll mostly be left alone.
