Page 32 of The Do-Over Girl

“And you haven’t heard back?”

“Not yet, but we—”

“I’m certain a more personal touch by Nash, maybe even some arm twisting, would help get commitments.” The chair aims his squinty eyes at me.

I don’t say a word.

“I needto refine the sales pitch,” Kali says.

“We’ll get the NHL stars to show up for the game and bring some shine along with their money,” Archie says, slapping my back. “Don’t you worry. Nash, here, will see to it.”

Fuck.

Kali says, “I’ll call the Portsmouth Whalers and Brawlers PR offices and the NHL Alumni Association. We still have time. The game is planned for after the state championship, assuming we play in the state tournament and go all the way.” She flicks a look in my direction with one of those subtle flirty smiles of acknowledgment that speaks directly to my dick.

“That’s a plan,” the chair says. “Between you and Nash, I’m sure we’ll have a stellar line-up at the benefit game. We’ll convene again in a month.”

He bangs his gavel, and I stand. Last one in, and first one out. That’s how I handle meetings with suits every single fucking time because I’m not one of them.

I wait outside the building for Kali. One thing I learned from this meeting is that whatever I end up doing in my post-playing career, it will not involve me being one of the suits holding meetings like this one. I’ll have to send my old Coach a thank you text for helping me eliminate a whole swath of careers from my crowded landscape. No boards, no corporate suites.

That leaves broadcasting, spokesperson, and coaching. I’m leaning toward coaching, and since I don’t need the money, it doesn’t have to be at the pro level. Maybe college. Or perhaps even high school.

Nah, that’s crazy. On the one hand, I’m way overqualified for high school kids’ level of hockey, but on the other hand, I’m way underqualified to deal with their issues.

These kids need someone who can teach them about life beyond hockey. That ain’t me.

Kali finally comesout after everyone else has left except Nikki, and when she sees me, she stops short.

“Let’s walk.” I motion for her to join me on the sidewalk.

“Let’s talk,” she says, and I hold in the groan because I know there’s something coming I’m not going to like. “Tell me why you’re so reluctant to help recruit players for our benefit hockey game. I’ve been puzzled about it because you’ve otherwise been generous and supportive of the cause.”

“I have a better idea. Let’s enjoy the cool ocean breeze, and if you get a chill, I can keep you warm.” I’m taking a chance. It’s fifty-fifty whether she’ll laugh or tell me to fuck off—not in so many words.

She laughs, a small, soft laugh that fades on the breeze, and I see her shiver. “You’re right. Why ruin a pleasant evening doing what we’re supposed to be doing here?”

Her easy sarcasm makes me smile. It’s the old Kali, comfortable and easy with me. I move closer to her side as we walk and put an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into me. “Guess you’re too shy to admit you want me to keep you warm.”

The warm breath of her laugh strikes a chord in me—the one that leads directly to my dick.

“You’re not getting off that easy, Nash. Tell me what’s up with your reluctance to reach out to your friends? You were a defenseman for the Brawlers for years. You must have lots of friends who owe you for protecting their back.”

“It’s not like that,” I say without thinking, on the verge of a confession. Fuck.

“Tell me what it’s like.” Her words are soft and pleading and filled with that same loving compassion she’s always had—or that’s what my needy soul imagines and reads into her breathy voice.

I heave a sigh. “You’re a tough woman for such a softy.”

“I only look soft on the outside. I have an iron core.”

I nod. She nudges me with her elbow, and I crack a smile.

“Alright, alright. It’s not a big deal. I just…” I have no idea how to explain why I don’t feel connected to the guys from my playing days, but I give it a shot. I let her turn me inside out for no good reason, the same as I always did. Does this mean I trust her? I shake my head.

“Once I retired from hockey, I felt like my connection to the guys was gone. I mean, that’s what connected us in the first place, so once a guy left the team, it’s like he disappeared, and the connection disappeared. Then it was my turn, and since I got hurt at the end of last season and knew I wasn’t coming back, I disappeared.”

“That’s crazy, Nash.” She stops walking and faces me, her eyes all soft, worried, and deeply searching mine.