Page 11 of Instigator

Every single woman in this suite is attached to a hockey player. They’re all settled in serious, committed relationships. I’m the only oddball out.

After my divorce, I swore I would make up for lost time. But the men I’ve dated since only want me for my name or my money. The men I’ve slept with aren’t interested in anything more serious than some innocent fun. And yes, I act like that’s all I’m looking for… because I know I won’t find it anyway.

So I go after men who aren’t partner material. Good for one night, but not anything more long-term. Because I’m a forty-three-year-old billionaire in the best health of my life, and I still can’t find someone who wants me for me. Not for what I can do for them.

It. Fucking. Sucks.

A cheer goes up in the arena, and I blink down to the ice, where MacGregor and Sven Larsson are colliding in a celebratory hug. On the Jumbotron, they’re replaying Sven’s goal, an absolute beauty set up by the captain.

Fuck, that’s a pretty goal.

It’s times like this that make me miss my dad. He was a sports nut, same as me, and if I wanted to spend time with him, it was watching whatever game or meet was on TV. When we could, we’d take in a live game, but it was so much more fun to bundle together on the couch, drinking sparkling apple juice in a beer stein and eating cheesy popcorn and homemade Chex Mix.

My heart pangs, an actual physical ache, and my hand flattens against my chest, the steady beat beneath my palm reassuring me. I’m not having a heart attack, not like the one that took my dad. It’s just that the memories are so strong, sometimes I can swear I’m back in that house in Des Moines, can smell the grassy notes of his Irish Spring soap, hear his voice in my ear cheering me on.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I swallow hard, trying to force back the emotion threatening to consume me. I blow out a steadying breath, then another, until the lump in my throat eases.

Beside me, Hailey squeezes my knee. “You good?” she whispers.

I’m really not.

But she can’t see me like this. Nobody can.

So I force a smile and reach for my purse, digging out my lipstick and a compact mirror.

“I’m fine,” I say with my best attempt at a breezy tone, before applying my favorite berry-red lipstick.

Amorous. I never had time to play with makeup before. It was always perfunctory. After I sold my company, I went to the makeup counter and had them teach me everything. It’s become my signature color.

Hailey frowns as she studies me, but then there’s a commotion on the ice, and she turns her attention to the giant screen. Sinclair was on the receiving end of a nasty high-sticking, and when the blood runs from his nose, the crowd goes nuts.

Four-minute minor penalty. We’re going on the power play, boys.

As the play resumes down below, I do my best to push the melancholy away. But it lingers, hovering at the periphery of my mind, an uninvited guest I can’t shake.

The game ends in a Grizzlies victory, and I say goodbye to my friends. Upon exiting the arena, I catch a cab to my favorite bar on Dalton Street, where a certain too-young-for-me bartender can pour me a potent cocktail.

Fall is my favorite season in Boston. I’ve been here for twenty-five years now, and I’ll never tire of the way the entire city lights up when the leaves change. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg practically pours out of every café and bakery. It’s warm and cozy, despite the bite of chill in the air. All I want is to wrap myself up in blankets, curl up in front of a fire, and sip something warm while playing video games or reading a book.

In fact… I think I should do that. Right now.

I pause at the entrance to the dive bar, my hand on the door, ready to push it open. I’m not in the mood to get wasted.

Do I go for a drink? Maybe find someone to warm my bed for the night?

Or do I wrap myself in cozy blankets and dive into a good book?

Fuck it. I can drink and read.

Pushing open the door to the dive bar, I step inside and head straight to my usual stool at the counter corner. Pablo is behind the bar, and he nods to me as he continues pouring someone’s drink.

“Be with you in a sec, girl,” he calls out, and I lift my hand in acknowledgment.

There’s nobody sitting on either side of me, but that could change all too soon. And I can’t decide if I want company or not.

If only Wish were here.

But he’s leaving tonight for a work trip. He takes a lot of red-eye flights, I guess because his company is cheap as fuck, so he won’t be available to game with. And sure, I could find someone else to play with, but it won’t be the same as playing with him.