A week and a Fury comeback later, of course, Tim is still neck deep in his cocaine case and I have to fly to St. Louis for the final game.
I have Lisa on video chat, filling her in on everything that's happened with Ty as I figure out what to pack. "So you held hands? For like an hour? Then what happened?"
"Then he walked me home and patted me on the back like I was a teammate. He turned away and jumped in his car and took off. Hey, do you think I need anything dressy?"
She nods and reminds me there might be some sort of victory party I need to attend. Shit.
"Juniper, I don't even know this guy, but I already like him so much better than Zack. Like, before I even knew that Zack was screwing around on you, that guy gave me the creeps."
This is news to me. "Wouldn't have killed you to say something to me about it," I say.
"Girl, you know you can't tell your friends you don't like their partner. Then I'd turn into the bitch who didn't like your spouse and you'd stop talking to me. But it doesn't matter because I like this guy. He filmed you rowing, Juney. He helped you."
"Well it doesn't matter because I can't be with him unless I figure out a way to get Tim to reassign him to another lawyer. Which I can't do if I don't ever get to talk to him--he's neck deep in this court case w the damn baseball player." I sigh. "I wish your brother and I could just swap clients."
"Tell my brother I approve of this plan," Lisa says. "Whatever gets my Juniper laid."
I hang up with Lisa and drive to the airport, where I get to go through a special security line and off to the terminal for the Fury's private flight. This will never get old. I'll admit, I am still pretty starstruck by the whole process. This whole being treated like royalty bit? I could get used to this. The players are all taking selfies with the flight crew, signing autographs. I check in with Coach and the executive team, briefly review the legal needs for the trip: none unless the guys get drunk and piss on someone's porch again. I slide my tablet into my bag and get ready to board the plane. I don't even make eye contact with Ty.
He's got his hat pulled low, his headphones on. I can tell he's deep in concentration, getting ready for game mode. I don't want to interfere with this. He's coming back from an emotional hit, his hand still looks a mess, and this game could clinch the cup if they win. No pressure, right? Ha. The air is full of it. It smells of anxiety and confidence and testosterone. I can actually smell it.
I sit way up front and spend the whole flight reading a romance novel. At least someone is getting a happily ever after.
On game night I head up to the executive suite with Matty and the Stag family. Well, all of them but Tim. Thatcher seems to have brought a date, who is not wearing enough clothing to keep warm in an ice cold arena, but that doesn't seem to be the point.
Anna Stag smiles and waves me over. "Mrs. Stag," I say, shaking her hand. "How was your flight? Are you in the team hotel?"
"Fine, fine. Timmy put me up in a fancy room. They put a mint on my pillow. Did you ever have that?"
I shake my head. "I got a bag of popcorn on the night stand, though." This friendly rapport with Ty's grandmother seems oddly inappropriate, but she's nice so I try to roll with it. She gives a harsh look to Thatcher, who shrugs and puts his arm around his date. Mrs. Stag says, "I wish they'd just get started already. I really want to watch Tyrion win this thing!"
"Me, too. Trust me!" I've had about enough of meeting with stuffy NHL officials who all think I'm a heinous bitch. Every time one of them catches my eye, I see them twitch. At all our pre-game meetings, when I bring up unsavory and questionable player discipline procedures, they wince. Good. They've all behaved like assholes. Let them think what they want about me. My client is playing tonight.
I waffle about texting Ty before the game. I don’t want to distract him when he’s doing his mental prep, but I feel a deep yearning to connect with him. He hasn't spoken to me since he walked me home after we watched the game together. I sigh and pull out my phone, typing Just wanted to let you know I gave STL legal counsel the full Juniper treatment. There shouldn’t be any funny business tonight.
Glad u got my back. He adds an emoji of a dragon. I smile.
This is what you pay me for. Good luck out there, Ty.
Thanks for being here, JJ.
God, I’m blushing like a teenager, I think. Eventually, the anthems and the speeches end and the puck drops. I only have eyes for Ty. He's everywhere on the ice, and I'm sure he's moving so fast his blades are melting the surface. It’s hard not to get caught up in the excitement of being here. Is it the high profile game or is it just Ty?
I spend the next three hours pressed against the glass of the suite, rapt. My body yearns for Ty as I watch him on the ice. He moves so gracefully, with such precision and purpose. He is aggressive and confident, and I hear him shouting out calls to his teammates, intercepting passes I didn’t even see coming.
I can see exactly why the Fury sought him out despite his reputation for fighting. He brings the Fury together, acts like the spark they all need to function as a unit. He's passionate and animated, shouting to his teammates as he glides by, calling out plays. He doesn’t score in this game, but gets 2 assists, and when the final buzzer sounds, the Fury win 3-2. The best in the league. They won the cup. I actually tear up, I'm so excited for him. I know he's worked for this since he was 3 years old and started bruising through junior hockey leagues.
And I know I don't just feel happy for him as his lawyer. I want him. I want this man who cares enough about me to help me with my athletic performance. I want the funny guy who tries to think up annoying nicknames for me. I want the man who smells like mint and pine and citrus. I want him and he's off limits.
This is his moment, but when they start the awards ceremony for the Stanley Cup, I know I can’t bear to watch as he starts partying with his teammates. I don’t want to think about him slurping champagne from the cup with some bimbo.
Amidst the chaos of celebration in the suite, I slip away back to the hotel to be alone with my thoughts. My feelings for Ty aren’t appropriate. He’s my client at the job I need...I cannot leave two jobs in one year, and especially not because of men. I don’t even know what’s going on with Ty. Infatuation? Is it just lust because I've never had a sexual experience like I had with him?
I feel terribly alone as I sink into my bed, wishing I had someone I could confide in about this. I can't call Lisa at this hour--she has a regatta in the morning. She'll have gone to bed hours ago. My feelings about Ty are so much more than just a lustful romp in a bar bathroom. We’ve gotten so close at rowing practices and elsewhere, and I can talk to him about “clean eating” and interval training. I’m desperate to be around him, to make him smile, to hear his thoughts. My tears are on the verge of falling, the knot in my throat about to give way to sobs, when I hear a knock at the door of my hotel room.