Brooklynaire

by Sarina Bowen

  I give her a giant smile that’s more confident than I feel. “Hello, Linda! Are you ready for game five?” And then I hold my breath, wondering if she’s the kind of mom who’s sure that nobody is good enough for her baby boy. But I don’t let go of Nate’s hand. I hold on tight. He gives mine a squeeze and greets his father.

  I watch Mrs. Kattenberger’s gaze travel down to our clasped hands. Then her eyes widen.

  And then? She smiles like she’s won a prize from Oprah. “I am ready,” she says. “Let’s do this. Sit down; I’ll get us both a beer.”

  I watch her trot over to the beverage table and some of the tightness leaves my chest. It seems Nate’s mom isn’t going to be an issue. One down. The whole world to go.

  The next two hours are not relaxing. Our boys are fired up but Dallas isn’t going to give up the game without a fight. I forget about behaving like Nate’s arm candy and instead do a lot of yelling at the ref. “SLASHING!” I scream during the second period. “That’s a two-minute minor at least!”

  Nate chuckles without taking his eyes off the ice. He’s smiling, in spite of the lack of a penalty called on Dallas! People always remark on what a stoic guy Nate is while he’s watching hockey. But tonight I discover that it’s worse when he’s sitting right next to you. I’m foaming at the mouth and he’s calmly sipping his third Diet Coke.

  Nate’s mom makes small talk during the intermissions, but I’m too keyed up to do more than ask generic questions about how she’s been. I nod and smile at all the right moments. I hope I do, anyway.

  My team is two and a half games from winning all the marbles, and I cannot contain my nervous energy.

  The game goes to overtime, and I’m completely strung out. Until Trevi sinks a goal in the overtime period, and every Brooklyn fan in Dallas jumps to her feet with glee.

  “YAY!” I shriek. “Thank you, baby Jesus!”

  Nate laughs and then hug-tackles me.

  * * *

  I put Nate’s parents into a car after the game. They’re headed to a different hotel than the one where the team is staying. And if I’m not mistaken, Mrs. Kattenberger’s hug is extra tight. “Goodbye, sweetie. Hope to see you again soon,” she says.

  I’m too keyed up from the game to get into the waiting limousine. There will be an impromptu party in the lobby of the hotel, and the idea makes me feel twitchy. “Can we walk back?” I ask. It’s only two blocks.

  “Sure,” Nate says immediately. He takes my hand, and we set off down the street. The limo follows us, of course. Nate’s security guys are always watching. Someday I’ll get used to it, right?

  “About this party.” I don’t know how to phrase my request in a way that doesn’t allow all my neuroses to pop out at once.

  “I won’t stick my tongue down your throat, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Nate squeezes my hand. “I know you’d rather ease everyone into the idea.”

  “Right! Exactly. I don’t want it to be scandalous. Except later. Privately. When you see my new underwear.”

  Nate stops abruptly on the sidewalk. “New underwear?”

  “You bet. And we won tonight, so I’m going to launder it carefully and wear it again for games six and seven. It’s my lucky underwear. Obviously.”

  “Obviously.” Nate’s smile is amused. He puts his hands up to my face and shakes his head. “I’m going to make it your getting lucky underwear as soon as I can. Maybe we can sneak past the party.”

  We can’t, and he knows it. But right there under the street lamp he kisses me very thoroughly anyway. I grip his shoulders and sigh as he tastes me. It’s the kind of kiss that lets me know that tonight is a big deal for him.

  And for me, too. It’s the night I get over myself and enjoy Nate, instead of worrying what it all means.

  He sighs as he draws back. “That will have to hold me for an hour, I guess.”

  We walk the rest of the way to the Ritz, and Nate drops my hand to follow me through the revolving door. He doesn’t pick it up again, probably out of respect for easing people into this new thing between us.

  “Hey!” Castro and Trevi call from a roped-off area at one end of the lobby bar. “Look who’s here.”

  I don’t know if they mean me or Nate. He skipped tonight’s press conference again. I would too, if I were him.

  “Good work tonight, boys!” he says, and they hoot in reply. We move further into the bar area, and the players fall quiet as the team owner approaches. He and Coach Worthington are the only two men who can bring a total hush to the locker room just by showing their faces.

  “This man needs a beer,” O’Doul says, waving down the bartender.

  “Two,” Nate says, and I try not to turn red as Nate hands me one before taking one for himself. “I’ll buy a round, guys,” he says to more applause. “And there’s something I want to say.”

  “Speech!” Leo Trevi hollers.

  Nate smiles and takes a sip of his beer. “First of all, I want to thank you for participating in my top-secret, multi-year conspiracy to exact revenge on a Dallas hockey player. Those of you who were in on it will get your bonus checks just as soon as you win the Cup on Saturday.”

  A good-natured howl of laughter erupts in the bar.

  Nate swigs his beer and waits for it to die down. “In all seriousness, it’s never fun to have your personal life hashed out in the press. But people have talked a lot of smack about our team from the beginning. We’re too young. We’re too uppity. Repositioning the franchise will be a disaster. You’ve done an impressive job of ignoring that noise, and focusing on what really counts.”

  The players and their families applaud, and I feel a little flutter in my chest. Focusing on what really counts is at the top of my to-do list, too.

  “That article in the post was totally wrong, anyway,” Nate adds. His grin turns devilish, and I wonder whether he’s about to add, it wasn’t our bed, it was the kitchen table. But no. “I bought a hockey team because I wanted to watch you guys kill it out there tonight. And—contrary to the news reports—I would like to personally thank Bart and Juliet Palacio for their intervention in my personal life. Because if they hadn’t found each other, then I wouldn’t have this fine woman right here in my life.”

  My brain is still processing that sentence when Nate steps to the side, puts an arm around my waist, and kisses my cheek.

  The bar erupts. Georgia and Lauren let out matching shrieks, and I distinctly hear Castro’s “what the fuck?” and O’Doul’s sudden laughter.

  Weirdly, I could swear that at least a few voices say, “Oh, finally.”

  My whole body flashes hot at the unexpected attention. I experience a brief moment of terror and discomfort, but then it sinks in that nearly everyone I know is beaming at me. Someone has called for champagne, and since we’re at the Ritz, where everything goes smoothly, I hear the sound of corks popping only seconds later.

  To the sound of cheers, I slip an arm around Nate’s waist. And then I pinch him. “What happened to easing them into it?” I mutter.

  “I’m buying drinks. Duh. That eases everything.”

  Leo Trevi stands up on a barstool with a pint glass in his hand and a spoon. Which he starts banging on the glass. “Kiss!”

  “Oh, Christ,” I mutter. Then I put a hand on Nate’s chest and stand on tiptoes. I kiss Nate’s smile only once, but I make it a good one. Then I point my finger like a gun at Leo Trevi and cock the safety. “That’s it. That’s the whole show. Ask again and your luggage goes missing on the flight home.”

  “Fuck,” he says, hopping down. And everybody laughs.

  29

  Nate

  June 17, New York

  Back in Brooklyn, we lose game six in freaking overtime. Could happen to anyone. My guys look good the whole game. Confident. But it isn’t quite enough to end the series.

  So we’ll have to do it in game seven. That’s just the way it is.

  But I’m so distracted. All I want to do is watch practice and listen t
o Coach Worthington drop his gruff pearls of wisdom.

  We’re this close. I can taste it.

  Just to complicate matters, my investment bankers come up with a third bidder for the router division. Out of nowhere, a hardware manufacturer wants to edge out the competition for this business unit.

  Stew just rolls his eyes when I give him the news. “If you made up your fucking mind already, you wouldn’t have this problem, bigshot.”

  No kidding.

  But my indecision hasn’t been the only problem. Alone in my office, I grab my phone and tap Alex’s number. “Hey you. Look. I want to do this transaction with you, but we have to move fast. And you have to show your face, because there’s a new complication. For the love of God, call me back so I don’t have to put your picture on the back of a milk carton.”

  In the outer office, Lauren is busy scheduling more meetings, which I’m too distracted to attend, and ordering lunch so I don’t turn into a whiny brat when my blood sugar drops. Outside my window, my sweeping view of Manhattan’s skyline is obscured by heavy clouds. It’s a rainy June day, and the hockey season is one game away from its thrilling conclusion.

  And I’m about to spend several hours listening to accountants drone. Kill me already.

  I’m finishing up a big bowl of spicy noodles when there’s a tap on the door. “Come in, especially if you’re Rebecca.” Becca said something earlier about coming to Manhattan and maybe swinging by around noon.

  “Sorry,” a female voice says. But it’s not Rebecca’s. When the door opens, it’s Alex’s face that appears.

  “Hey!” I stand up because this is good news, too. “Finally! How goes it with you?” I toss the trash from my lunch into the bin beside my desk.

  Alex gives me a tight smile. She closes the door behind her and crosses to the visitor’s chair opposite my desk. “Nate, I’m here to ruin your day.”

  “What?” Women have ruined my day many times before, but they are rarely so direct about it. “Well. At least take off your jacket first. Or—should we step out for a cup of coffee?” I could use an espresso to push me through today’s meetings.

  Slowly she shakes her head. Alex looks as tense as I’ve ever seen her. If this were an episode of Sherlock, she might have a bomb strapped to her body beneath that raincoat.

  “Spit it out, pal,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m pregnant. But it’s probably not your baby.”

  Six times. That’s how many I roll this pronouncement through my head to be sure I’ve heard it right. I can feel the blood draining from my face. And yet I’m somehow able to focus on the fact that it matters very much what I say right now. I don’t yell, it was once in twelve years, and we used a condom! I don’t yell at all.

  “Pregnant,” I say carefully. But it’s probably not mine, she’d added.

  Probably might mean she’s 51% sure. Or—if I’m lucky—she’s certain out to three standard deviations. Somehow I managed not to voice this question. “Congratulations,” I add gently. Then I wait for more information.

  Alex offers me another tight smile. “I know you well enough to hear your gears turning over there. I’m…88% sure this isn’t your problem. I was briefly dating Jonah after we…” She clears her throat. “But I need to ask you a favor. I need to rule you out before I approach him.”

  “Rule me out,” I say stupidly.

  She closes her eyes and then opens them again. “With a paternity test, Nate.”

  “Oh. Okay,” I say quickly. “Whatever you need.”

  “Breathe, Nate. This isn’t on you. But I need your help anyway.”

  It’s still twelve percent on me, though. “I’m good,” I say. “Tell me what to do.”

  From her handbag Alex extracts a blue box with big letters on it. You might mistake it for a new toothpaste package, except for its bright label: Paternity test.

  “I need you to take this, even though the chances are slim.”

  My brain comes back online while she’s opening one end of the box. “You need to ask me, because you can’t ask him?”

  Her fingers pause on the cellophane wrapper. “I don’t want to discuss it with him unless I’m positive I have to. He’s not a good man.”

  “Oh shit, Alex.”

  Her eyes redden. “I know, okay? I know. I’ve made more mistakes this year than I can count. This is absolutely the last conversation I ever wanted to have with you. But even though I’m pretty sure you’re off the hook here, part of me wishes you weren’t. I can’t have a child with a man who hit me.”

  I actually choke on nothing. “How bad was it?”

  She shakes her head. “Believe me, the one time he did it was the last time we were in the same room together. He was just with me to try to get to my father.”

  “Oh shit,” I say again. Alex’s father is a famous venture capitalist. Lots of assholes would want an easy in there.

  “I called him on it and he backhanded me. That was the end of it. Until now.”

  “So…” I can see how this will play out. “If the baby is his, you’ll end up funding his startup anyway, in exchange for some legal document that says he’s giving up parental rights.”

  She nods, and her expression carries a weariness that I wished I never had to see on the face of my poor friend.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. The silence between us is heavy with sadness. “Let me get one thing straight, since I’m not great at picking up social cues. Are you not here to discuss the router transaction?”

  Her eyes widen, and then she smiles. Finally. “You dick.”

  Snickering, I get up from my chair and walk around the desk. I lean over and wrap my arms around her. “We’ll get through this, buddy. It’s all going to be okay.”

  Alex pushes her face into my shoulder and takes a deep, shaky breath.

  30

  Rebecca

  Walking through the C-suite for the first time in two years is trippy. Everything is exactly the same, from the heavy, imported carpets to the espresso machine in the kitchenette.

  “Hey!” Lauren smiles at me from her desk outside Nate’s private office. “You’re looking snazzy.”

  A compliment from Lauren. That’s even trippier than the unchanged decor. “Thank you,” I say a beat too late. Lauren looks about a hundred times smilier than she used to. Either she’s had a lobotomy, or getting back together with Mike Beacon agrees with her.

  “Nate’s chatting with Alex Engels for a minute. Do you want me to buzz him…?” Even as she makes this offer, Nate’s office door flies open and Alex appears. She does an honest-to-God double take when she sees me standing here. Her mouth opens and then shuts again. Then she tucks her chin to her chest and walks out.

  About three seconds later she’s disappeared completely from view, hidden by the elevator banks.

  “Um…?” I say stupidly. “Was that weird?”

  “Right?” Lauren shrugs. “Where’s the fire?” Then she points at Nate’s open door. “Go right in. He doesn’t have another meeting for thirty.”

  “Thanks.” I step into Nate’s office, but he doesn’t see me. His back is turned. He stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, his hands braced behind his head. It’s a pose of male reflection. I can’t imagine what he’s looking at, either, since there’s a pea-soup fog out there, and even the river isn’t visible.

  I close the door behind me with a quiet click. “Nate?”

  He whirls around. And his face is...pained. There’s no other word that leaps to mind. He’s scowling, and a deep furrow in his forehead tells me he’s worried.

  “Hi,” I say softly, approaching the desk.

  He says nothing in reply. But in four strides he’s rounded the desk to reach me. His kiss is like a sudden storm blowing out of nowhere. Fast and fierce.

  It takes me a moment to get into the swing of things. But a kiss that hungry can’t go to waste. I lift my chin and return fire. And I grip the back of his neck to encourage him.

 
Nate makes a low, greedy sound deep in his chest. I feel it everywhere. It resonates in the same dark corner of my subconscious where my wildest fantasies live. That must be why I break our kiss and do something I never expected to do in real life—I reach down and press the button on Nate’s desk—the one that locks the door.

  His eyes flare and his chest heaves, as if he’s run five fast miles on that treadmill in the corner.

  And then he attacks me. There’s no other word that fits. His mouth and his hands are all over me, and we’re in motion. The backs of my knees hit the sofa against the wall, and we tumble onto it.

  Nate’s chest is a wall of heat, and his mouth is everywhere—my neck, my jaw, my throat. I’m overwhelmed by him, and it’s heady stuff. When his hand slips between my legs, I clench my thighs in anticipation.

  This is startlingly like my dirtiest fantasies, except… “Nate?”

  He grunts in answer, his tongue plunging into my ear.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.” He lifts my dress, and somehow my heels haven’t fallen off yet. I hope the man doesn’t stab himself. “Need you,” he says, his voice husky.

  “Have me,” I gasp.

  About two seconds later I’ve been stripped of my panties and one shoe. Nate frees his cock with the haste of someone exiting a burning building. Then he grabs my free leg, positions my bent knee under his arm, and enters me with one long, hard plunge.

  Only then does he go still. Finally he meets my eyes. His are beautiful and brown and worried. I give him the best smile I can muster, though I’m winded and a little stunned. He exhales slowly, settling onto his forearms. That’s when I get another kiss. Softer, but no less urgent. Our tongues meet, and our teeth click gently.

  “Yeah,” he pants, moving against me. He retreats and then fills me.

  My skin flashes with heat and then goosebumps. I’ve never felt so many sensations in so short a time, and the pace he sets is unceasing.

  He’s beautiful, panting in his dress shirt, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Bec,” he groans.