Page 8 of Love on the Tracks
“It did indeed. If you weren’t America’s surprise darling before that interview, you are now. The whole country’s going apeshit for you with that Zane fellow.”
Only my dad could use the words “apeshit” and “fellow” in the same sentence and sound only slightly ridiculous. I shrug, because it’s one thing for Kate to tease me good-naturedly about the thing I have for America’s heartthrob, but it wouldn’t feel as kind from my father. “He’s a big star. I guess I’m lucky he wanted to meet me and not some short track speedskater or curler or something.”
He pauses with another forkful of red meat halfway to his mouth. “That’s true. You seemed pretty flustered by him.”
“It’s not every day you meet an honest-to-god pop star.” At the rate I’m going, I’m going to run out of carrots soon. Good thing there’s plenty of whitefish and quinoa left, although they’re less satisfying to jab with my fork.
“How about twice in one day?”
That comment sends the tines of my fork skidding across the plate, making an unfortunate screech on the china that turns some nearby heads. When I look up, my dad is looking very pleased with himself indeed. Maybe too pleased. “What are you talking about?”
“I may have received a call while you were at the track from a Stanley Johnson. That name ring a bell?”
“No. Should it?”
“He’s the manager for License to Game.”
I’m trying super hard not to get the quinoa in my mouth lodged in my throat, but I’m having a hard time swallowing. Breathing, too, for that matter. Finally I manage to choke it down. “What did he want?”
“It was a have Zane’s people talk to Rowan’s people kind of thing . . .” Yes, my dad is my people, thankfully. Not only do I trust him implicitly, but most people don’t get to pretend to be a penguin family with their people. “Stanley had a proposal for you, and I thought it would be best for all of us to talk. We could’ve done a phone call, but since Zane is obviously in town . . .”
Holy shitballs.
“What did you do?” I’m hoping my icy tone will make my dad wince, but he grins. Oh my god, dads. They’re all the same, like they consider embarrassing their kids one of their primary parental duties. Maybe I’ll stab myself with this fork instead of the carrots. Then where would he be?
“We’re meeting your beau at his hotel in half an hour. Stanley will call in and we’ll all have a chat.”
“He’s not—”
My dad waves away my protest. “Sure, sure. Eat up, because it’s going to take us about fifteen minutes to get over there and you need to get back to the village in time for the team meeting.”
Butterflies are not an accurate description of what’s flying around in my stomach. I need something bigger, more aggressive to describe them. If pterodactyls weren’t extinct, I’d go with that. Whatever they are, they ruin my appetite.
“I’m finished.”
Zane
There’s a knock on the door to my suite, and I take the opportunity to wipe my hands on my jeans. I’m not nervous, but it’s a habit. Before I open, I check the peephole to make sure it’s who I think it is. In the hall stands a man who looks a lot like a certain blond luger but with a beard. Behind him is Rowan. In jeans, a coat, and scarf. Under all those clothes, you’d be hard-pressed to tell she’s a world class athlete, but I know better.
I open the door, trying for a friendly smile. This is going to be a weird-ass conversation, and I’m going to do my best to make everyone as comfortable as possible, even though it’s strange for me too. I’ve heard of this stuff happening, but it’s never happened to me quite like this and I never thought it would. Stanley knows what he’s talking about, though, and Nicky was right. I have a responsibility, and there are worse ways than spending time with a beautiful girl to fulfill them. As long as she understands that’s what it is, because it can’t be anything more.
Mr. Andrews shakes my hand, grip not quite as firm as his daughter’s, which gives me a kick for some reason. Rowan takes cover behind him and offers me a little wave. Which feels silly, but she’s probably not used to this.
I want to take her hand, or rub her back. Tell her there’s nothing to worry about. But we don’t know each other well, and if she doesn’t want me to touch her, I won’t.
After the brief introductions, I point them to the living room. “Stanley’s going to call in a minute, you can have a seat anywhere you like. Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got any beverage you could possibly ask for.”
“I’ll take a scotch, neat,” Mr. Andrews volunteers, and I don’t miss Rowan rolling her eyes, fondly.
Walking over to the bar where I’ve got a damn good scotch even though it’s not my liquor of choice, I toss a question over my shoulder. “For you, Rowan? Anything?”
Jesus, she’s not even old enough to drink legally. Although I feel like if you’ve got the expectations of an entire country on your shoulders, you ought to be able to have a beer.
“Water. Thanks.”
I bring back the drinks just as my phone rings, setting the glasses down on the table along with a beer for myself before I pick up.
“Stan the man. I’ve got the Andrewses here, so I’ll put you on speaker and we can get started.”
