Scoring Big, page 3
Maybe I should be writing my blog posts under an alias. Maybe the people I’m applying to for jobs are googling me and finding my blog and then deciding not to hire me. I pause at this. Then I shake my head. It’s not like I’m posting porn or advocating for killing animals. I am who I am.
I do get the idea for another article, though…so that’s good. I make some quick notes. Tomorrow I’ll query a few editors about it and see what they think. Now I have a few published articles, and my blog gets the numbers it does, it’s a little easier to get their attention, but there’s never any guarantee.
I head out for a run in Central Park. I’m enjoying the park and the exercise is definitely improving my mood. I’m sweaty and gross and about to cross Central Park West when I see the hot guy who fell in front of me at the park that day hobbling toward me. On crutches. Accompanied by his daughter, that little cutie, wearing her cape, her mask dangling around her neck.
They make it to the curb and the little girl smiles at me. “Hi, Headband Lady!”
“Hello again, Clover.” I eye the guy’s crutches. “Minor injury?”
He grimaces. “We’re trying a new procedure. I just had an injection and my knee’s a little sore from it. Shouldn’t last long.”
“Oh. Okay.” The tight lines of his face tell me it’s more than a little sore. Poor guy.
“My name’s not really Clover,” the girls says. “It’s Quinn.”
“Ah. I like that name. I’m Carly.”
“We’re going for ice cream,” she tells me.
“Ice cream again?” I ask dramatically. “You really are lucky.” I pause. “Where are you going? I don’t think your dad’s going to make it far.”
He grunts.
I eye them sympathetically. “Maybe I could go get the ice cream for you? And bring it back here?” I nod at a bench near the stone wall of the park.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, as his little girl says, “Yes!”
“It’s not a problem. Go sit down.” I look at the girl. “Something strawberry, yes, Quinn?”
“Yes, please!”
“And you…” I pause, looking at her dad.
“Nate. Are you sure?”
“Of course!”
He reaches for his wallet.
“No, no. Don’t give me money. I could be a scam artist and you’ll never see me again.”
“Forty bucks isn’t going to break me,” he mutters. “Here.”
“Okay.” It’s nice that he trusts me. “What kind of ice cream do you like?”
“Surprise me.”
Eeeek. “Okay. I’ll be back in a few.”
“Get something for yourself!” he calls after me.
Ice cream right after a run? Why the hell not.
Remembering the place I used to go when I lived here in college, I cross Central Park West, jog down another block and around the corner. Yessss! It’s still there and cute as ever. And they still have my favorite, the strawberry cheesecake. I order two of those and then ponder what to get for Nate. I know nothing about him except he’s big and brawny. I end up ordering a flavor called Heavy Rock—vanilla with fudge, brownies, and cookie dough.
They’re still sitting on the bench when I get back, the crutches propped at Nate’s side. He smiles when he sees me.
I like his smile.
“Here you go!” I give him his change, then hand out treats along with spoons and napkins. We sit beneath the shade of big trees, a sea of yellow cabs streaming past us along with bicycles and pedestrians enjoying the weather. I admire the stone construction of the church across the street.
“Do you like the ice cream?” I ask Quinn.
“It’s my new favorite!”
“Where is this place?” Nate asks, looking at the cup. “Sugar Shack.”
“A couple of blocks away. I used to go there in college. They have amazing flavors. How’s yours?”
“Awesome.” He digs his spoon in again.
“It’s called Heavy Rock.”
He grins. “Okay.” He takes another spoonful, and I catch myself watching him slide the spoon out of his mouth. I drop my gaze quickly to my own ice cream. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about the Sugar Shack.”
“We have to go there, Daddy!”
I grin. “Now you can’t un-know it.”
He meets my eyes, amusement dancing in his. “Yep. Thanks for that.” He takes another spoonful of ice cream. “So what do you do for a living, Carly?”
I sigh before I can stop myself. “Nothing, at the moment. Between jobs, I guess you’d say. I’m looking, but I’m also doing some writing.” I finally sent in my article to Moxie. “That’s not enough to pay the bills, though.” I see curiosity on his face and force a smile. “It’ll be fine.”
“Of course.” I look at Quinn. “Are you on summer holidays?”
“Yes. I love summer holidays. But I like school, too. And I miss my friends Jada and Hazel.”
“Are you going into second grade?” I ask.
“Yes!”
“What’s your favorite subject?”
“I like math.”
“That’s great. That was not my favorite subject.”
“What was yours?” Quinn asks.
“English. I also loved social studies.”
Quinn nods. “Daddy hated all subjects. He says he fucking hated school.”
I blink.
“Quinn.” The warning tone of her dad’s voice has her dropping her gaze.
“I didn’t say the F word. You said it. I just said that you said it.”
Nate sighs. “I wasn’t much of a student.”
“Obviously you’re more of an athlete,” I comment.
“Yeah.”
He seems confident and fearless. He definitely has a very physical presence, and not just his size but his energy. Even with a bum leg. I’m interested in this man. As in, intrigued. Okay, also attracted. But we’re sitting here with his daughter.
Quinn chats more with me. She’s very bright. She reminds me of Amaris at that age—so open and eager to learn about the world. A pang of sadness beats in my chest. I still miss those kids.
When Quinn is finished, she hops up and goes to try to peer over the wall.
“Thanks for doing that,” Nate says. “I hate letting her down.”
“I understand. She’s very sweet.”
“She’s amazing.” The warmth and pride in his voice tugs at something inside me.
“Her mother…?” I ask carefully.
“We’re divorced. We share custody.”
“Ah. What do you do in the summer? Camps? Daycare?”
He shakes his head. “I’m off for the summer too.”
“Oh. Because of your knee?”
“No, no. I play hockey. Our season was done in May, and we don’t get back to it until September.”
“Oh.” I blink. He plays hockey. “You’re a professional hockey player?”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah. What, you’ve never heard of me? Nate Karmeinski.”
I bite my lip.
“I guess I’m not that famous,” he says sadly.
I laugh. “Sorry. I don’t follow hockey.”
“I play for the Bears.”
“Oh wow. I’ve heard of the Bears. Everyone in New York has heard of the Bears. I grew up in Buffalo where hockey’s pretty popular, too. I just never got into it.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“I went to college here, then I left for a while and came back.” That’s pretty vague. My leaving and coming back are depressing topics.
Quinn returns. “I can’t climb the wall. Clover would be able to climb the wall.” Frustration furrows her little brow.
“You just need a little help.” I jump up and lead her to the wall. I give her a boost and she clambers up to the top and hangs on with tiny arms, her cape hitting me in the face.
“I can see over! Can I sit up here?”
I cast an uncertain glance at Nate, who’s watching from the bench. I’d better not do something risky with a child I don’t even know, although I totally get how fun it would be to sit on that wall. “Maybe not today.” I give her another moment, then say, “Down you come. Put your arms out!”
She extends her arms and I swoop her down to the ground as if she’s flying.
Nate’s smile is affectionate as we return, Quinn running with arms extended and her cape flying out behind her.
“Okay pop tart, we better get you home.” Nate reaches for his crutches. Quinn jumps to help him.
My heart!
“Can I help?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks again for getting the ice cream.” He bestows a smile on me that makes me feel like I’m melting ice cream inside.
“Not a problem.”
“Are you coming, Carly?” Quinn asks, standing close to her dad. “Where do you live?”
I’m homeless. But I don’t say that. “I’m staying with a friend on 74th.” I gesture vaguely.
“Ah. We’re just down the street here.” Nate points.
I hesitate, eyeing his crutches. I don’t want him to fall again. “I can walk that way with you.”
We wait for the light to change and traffic to come to a stop before setting out across the wide street. I slow my pace, but Nate is pretty good on the crutches.
His building is close and he halts out front of the charming old structure. A driveway curves around a green space with a few small fountains and arched windows glow above the front doors. “This is us.”
“Ah. Nice building.”
“Thanks.” He meets my eyes and I see the flicker of hesitation. “Would you…like to go for coffee some time?”
I hold his gaze. I would. I really would. He’s so attractive. And it’s nice to know he’s interested, too. But… “I don’t know. Probably not a good idea,” I say regretfully. “I just moved back here and I don’t have a job or anywhere to live, even, and I should probably deal with that before I…” I trail off. “Bad timing.”
“Yeah. For me, too.” He jerks his head toward the crutches.
For some reason that strikes me as funny, and I start giggling. “You asked me to go for coffee, not run a marathon with you.”
His lips twitch, the disappointment on his face turning to mirth.
I know I shouldn’t, but… “Okay. I’d love to have coffee some time.”
His smile…wow. “Okay. Tomorrow? Quinn is going over to a friend’s place for the afternoon.”
I lift a shoulder. “It’s not like my schedule is packed. One o’clock?”
“Make it one-thirty. There’s a bakery on Columbus—Queen of Tarts. We could meet there.”
I haven’t heard of it, but I like the name. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll give you my number,” he says. “You don’t have to give me yours, but just in case…” He reels it off and I enter it into my phone.
“Okay. Thanks.” Our eyes meet again and a little shiver works down my spine. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
Heat dances over my skin. “Goodnight.” Then I call out, “Night, Quinn! No stalling!”
Quinn laughs and Nate shoots me a grin as he follows her up the driveway.
Damn. I like him. And I like his daughter. I like how they communicate, with obvious love, and how they take care of each other, even a seven-year-old girl. I like Nate’s matter-of-factness about his profession and self-deprecating comment about not being that famous. He’s confident but not cocky, vigorous but not aggressive. I want to know more about him.
Gah. But that’s not what I’m here for. I’m definitely not looking for a relationship. I need to figure my own life out before I get someone else involved in it.
It’s just coffee.
4
NATE
We arrive at Queen of Tarts at the same time. Carly lifts her hand in a small wave as she approaches me from the opposite direction, her smile beaming. Christ, she’s pretty. Today her long hair is flying silky and free, unlike yesterday when it was sweaty and scraped up into a high ponytail. She’s wearing black shorts, a black and white striped T-shirt, the same boots, and carrying a fluffy orange purse that my gaze catches on. Wild.
“Hi!” We stop face to face in front of the bakery. “How are you?”
“Great.” I move to the door but she’s there first, holding it open for me and my stupid crutches. I hop inside and pause in front of the display cases full of tempting baked goods. “Have you been here before?”
“I have not. It looks amazing.” Her gaze slides over the offerings, eyes wide.
“They have more than just tarts. Their cupcakes are good, too, and their brownies.”
“Strawberry rhubarb tart. That’s what I want.”
“You got it.” I order that for her and an English toffee brownie for myself, along with coffees. I’m annoyed that she has to carry the things to our table for us. I’m so ready to ditch these crutches.
“They even have savory pies.” She eyes the menu. “Chicken and leek. Steak and mushroom. Have you tried those?”
“Oh yeah. They’re an easy dinner.”
“Not much of a cook?” She turns her attention to me and picks up her steaming mug. Her right hand is adorned with a silver and diamond ring in the shape of a bow.
“Nope. I try more when Quinn is with me. During the season I have some meals delivered for me—healthy shit that my personal trainer makes me eat.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Quinn’s not fond of quinoa and sweet potatoes.”
She laughs. “She’d probably acquire a taste for it. I wouldn’t eat sweet potatoes when I was a kid, but my mom sliced them up and told us they were giant carrots, so I ate them. And they’re delicious!”
I grin. “Genius. I need to lie more to my kid.”
“There’s a time for it.”
She cuts into her tart with a fork and scoops up some of the fruit. “Mmmm.”
I like the sound of that. I’d like to be the one making her moan.
I swallow hard and focus on my brownie.
“This is amazing. Yours looks good, too.”
“Want to try some?”
“Yes.”
I grin at her directness and push my plate closer to her. She takes a bite-size piece.
“Oh wow. I’ll definitely be coming back here. Does Quinn like it?”
“Of course. Cupcakes are her favorite food.”
“More than ice cream?”
“Hmm. Could be tight. Also anything from Dylan’s Candy Bar. She loses her mind when we go there.”
“Definitely not quinoa and sweet potatoes. I see the problem.”
I laugh. “Yeah.”
“How’s the knee?”
“Not bad. I can lose the crutches tomorrow, probably, if it doesn’t hurt too bad.”
“How did you hurt it, anyway? Sex injury?”
I choke on my coffee. My head snaps up and I meet her eyes. She bites her lip, trying not to laugh.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I say. “I like it rough.” I give a salacious wink.
“That doesn’t surprise me. You are a hockey player.”
“Ha. The truth is, I hurt it playing hockey. But you knew that.”
“I figured so.” Her grin is so goddamn delightful.
“So…you vaguely told me what you’re doing here in New York,” I say slowly. “Did you just come back?”
“Yeah. I’ve been living in France for the last three years.”
“Wow. Okay. That’s cool.”
“It was wonderful.” She gives a half-hearted smile. “I was working as an au pair for a lovely family. Three little kids.” The smile turns wistful. “But they moved back to Canada and didn’t need a nanny anymore. So I came home.”
“Ah.”
“I don’t know many people here anymore. I’m staying with a college friend until I can find my own place.”
“So, you went to college here…where are you from originally? Oh wait, you said Buffalo.”
“Right. You?”
“Erie, Pennsylvania.”
“Ah! Practically neighbors!”
“Yep.”
We start talking about our favorite beaches and summer memories and trips to Niagara Falls. Our pastries finished, we set our plates aside and focus on our coffees.
“So you have one brother?” she asks.
“Yeah. James. He’s two years older than me.”
“Does he play hockey, too?”
“Nope. He was too smart for that.”
She laughs.
“I’m kidding. He did play hockey as a kid, but he didn’t have the talent to go pro.”
“Ah.”
“How about you? Siblings?”
“I have a sister. Sophia. She lives in Chicago with her daughter Ayla. We’re not super close.” A feel a pinch of regret in my chest. “She went to college there and stayed there.”
“Hey, James went to college in Chicago, too.”
“No way! That’s so funny. What does he do now?”
“He’s an economist at the Bank of America.”
“Whoa. Still in Chicago?”
“Yep. How about you? You said you came here for college. What did you study?”
“I was majoring in gender and sexuality.”
My chin jerks down. “Uh. Okay.”
She grins. “I know, I know. You wonder what the heck someone does with a degree in gender and sexuality.”
“I didn’t even know there was such a thing. But…” I tilt my head. “You have me curious…”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions. It’s not about learning sex work.”
“Hey! I never thought that.”
“Maybe not sex work, which is nothing to be ashamed of, but you were definitely thinking of sex.”
“I always think of sex,” I answer honestly.
She laughs, thankfully. “I kind of like thinking about it, too.”
Well, then. I feel an inconvenient stirring in my southern region. “Does a degree in sex make you good at it?” I ask casually.
“Very good.” She gives my salacious wink right back to me. She doesn’t take me seriously, and I fucking love that. “It’s more learning what it means to be a man or a woman. Or neither. And how gender and sexuality arise from networks of power and social relations.”
