by Clare James
Pathetic.
I tucked my phone away, knowing Nate and I would continue the ribbing in the morning.
But morning didn’t come soon enough.
Chapter 5
SOURCE (n.):
Someone (or something) that supplies a reporter with valuable information.
Casey
The first few weeks of the hockey season flew by. When I wasn’t working, I was studying Finn Daley. It was past time to take a break from it all and earn my keep.
On Saturday morning, I went down to the marina with Zack. My big brother worked seasonal jobs because his furniture design company wasn’t enough to pay rent for his beat-down beach house. Since I wasn’t contributing yet¸ I helped him at the marina whenever I could.
I loved being near the water. Growing up on Lake Superior was all I knew, but something about this place along the river felt even more like home. The area was an eclectic group of fixer-uppers in the more hidden areas of the village; quaint saltbox houses and bungalows around the center; and elegant monstrosities on the riverfront.
I had no doubts that Zack would be in one of those someday. Each piece of furniture he built was a work of art.
We got moving on the first boat right away. It was time to winterize all the cruisers that spent the lazy summer months on the river, and with only a small window of time to do it, the work could get backed up fast. Zack started with the fluids. He made sure the gas tank was half full and added the stabilizer. Then he focused on the valves and spark plugs. I had no idea what he did with these things, but I knew the order of business.
“Hey, can you get some more antifreeze from the back?” Zack asked.
I scrounged around for it and grabbed a few jugs. I also grabbed a few more cleaning supplies I needed for detailing. Once my arms were full, I joined Zack, who was busy chatting up one of the members.
I’m not sure how he did it. Most of the members were all right. Decent really, but damn, some of them were such pompous a-holes. Zack treated them all the same though, and they all loved him. My brother got all the charisma in the family. He said I got the looks.
He was a big, fat liar.
And I don’t know what I would do without him. Our childhood wasn’t the easiest. Our parents had a shotgun wedding when Mom found out she was pregnant with Zack. It didn’t last. My father left when Zack and I were toddlers. Mom said he suffered from some sort of substance abuse problem. What that substance was, nobody knew.
Mom never recovered. I think that’s why she focused on me so much — my looks, my love life. She wanted to be sure I could hold onto a man so I wouldn’t end up like her. I wished she’d understand that I could be happy without one.
Looking at myself in one of the boats’ windshields, however, I realized she might have a point. I needed a little TLC. I wore my black-framed nerd glasses and my hair was in two tiny braids that barely grazed my shoulders, with loose pieces unraveling in every direction. I had only been at the shop a few hours and I already had dirt smeared across my face and the chest of my now dingy white T-shirt. Mom would not be happy.
“I’ll get going on the blue one,” I said to Zack as I dropped the antifreeze by his feet.
“Great. Thanks, Case,” he said, before continuing his conversation.
“Same deal as last year,” a man with an insanely deep voice told Zack, causing me to look up.
I knew that voice.
Of course I did. I listened to it in hundreds of interviews over the past few weeks.
Finn Daley met my gaze and smiled, with what looked to be a flash of recognition in his eyes. Even though that wasn’t possible.
“Hi,” he said and I felt the same zing I felt when I saw him for the first time at the X.
“Finn, this is my sister, Casey,” Zack said. “Casey, Finn.”
I held up a hand, unsure what to say, before Zack led him outside. I couldn’t believe I had been studying this guy twenty-four, seven, and here he was in my backyard.
Zack was holding out on me, and I couldn’t wait to corner him.
***
“So, you’re buds with Finn Daley,” I said when my brother returned.
“I wouldn’t say buds, but yeah, I’ve been taking care of his boat for a few years now.”
“How could you not tell me this?” I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but also knowing I had to work my sources. Who knew my brother would be one of them?
“Because of the look you’re giving me right now,” he told me. “I really don’t want my sister getting all misty-eyed over someone like Finn Daley. It’s bad enough I have to worry about you when you go to work with all those guys.”
This was news to me.
“What do you mean someone like Finn Daley? It seemed as though you really liked the guy,” I said, feeling slightly defensive of him. I had no idea why.
“I do like the guy, but not for my sister. I’ve heard some bad shit about him, Case. There was some fucked up stuff going down at his place on the ridge when he was still with the Wild.”
“He lives on the ridge?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know why he retired?”
“Why are you going all reporter on me?”
“Because Finn Daley is the biggest mystery in sports in this town, and if I found out why, it would get me out of the tight T-shirts and into the newsroom. I’ve been praying for a lead, little did I know I could’ve just asked you. Spill it, what do you know?”
“I take care of his boat and that’s it.”
“Come on, Zack. Don’t hold out on me. I’m almost a month into this stupid contract at KXAA. I need to get working on my story.”
“He’s a pretty good guy now. Likes to boat and build stuff. I get the feeling he likes the simpler things, Case. I don’t think there’s a story here; I think he was just one of those guys who couldn’t handle the fame and fortune.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Look, the guy is private. It’s one reason we get along. I don’t mention he’s a member and I try my best to be discreet. I don’t like where you’re going with this.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin things for you. I’m just going to follow the lead and see where it goes. And if it goes somewhere, maybe he’ll agree to talk to me.”
Chapter 6
Finn
Anchor/Kiki Stuart: When did you actually talk to her for the first time?
Finn Daley: It was at the marina near my home. She was helping her brother work.
Anchor/Kiki Stuart: What did you think?
Finn Daley: There are no words. Appropriate words for TV, anyway. Remember the FCC?
I needed to get a grip on this situation.
Women were making me crazy. Each new one more so than the last. My body was going through pussy withdrawal. And this girl was doing nothing to help it.
Casey Scott. Sister of Zack. Gorgeous face. Tight little body. Nice tits. Yes, she was definitely fuckable.
I cringed as the unwelcome thoughts of the old me took over my brain.
Casey didn’t deserve it. She was a natural girl. Sweet, unpretentious, and — fuck me — she wore the sexiest librarian glasses I’ve ever seen. And the fact that she didn’t flaunt her beauty, or her very feminine form, made her even more appealing.
So I waited for her at the marina like a fucking teenage kid.
“Hey,” I called out to Casey when she finally emerged by the docks after her shift was over.
Too consumed by her bottle of water, she didn’t hear me. She dropped a large box by her feet and took a long drink. I could hardly watch. Everything this girl did seemed erotic to me. I quickly adjusted myself and made my way over to her.
“Long day?” I asked, unable to shake the feeling that I knew her from somewhere.
“Not too bad,” she said. “What are you up to out here?”
Stalking you like a freak.
“Not much, just enjoying the day. You live in the area?”
“I do.
With my brother. I came down here after I graduated in the spring.”
“Really?” I said, trying to keep up with the casual small talk. “What school?”
“UMD.”
Big hockey school. Very nice.
“What did you study?” I asked, unable to stop with the questions.
“Writing,” she said, shifting her weight. I was getting the feeling my clumsy interrogation was making her uneasy.
“Very good.”
“And you?” she asked, taking over. Something I really didn’t care for.
“You mean you really don’t know?” I asked, sure her brother told her who I was.
God, I hated how pretentious that sounded.
“Kidding,” she said. “Of course I know. I went to one of the most hockey-loving schools ever. You were all people could talk about freshman and sophomore year.”
“Ugh. You make me sound so old.”
She smirked before picking up her box.
I tried to take it from her, but she jerked it away.
Her actions made me grin, and I felt another tingle of recognition I couldn’t place.
Feisty little tiger.
“It’s okay,” she said, almost in apology. “I’ve got it.”
“What’s in there?”
“Just some of my brother’s tools. I’m dropping them at the car.”
“You’re sure I can’t help you?”
“I’m good,” she said. She started to say something else, but I cut her off.
It was the most I had talked to a stranger in months and I didn’t want to blow it. Baby steps, my doc always said. Baby steps.
Chapter 7
MISLEAD (v.):
To cause (someone) to have a wrong idea or impression
about someone or something.
Casey
“Hey, babe,” Mackenzie greeted me at the studio on Sunday. “Which do you like better, the Vikings purple with the bling or the tomboy jersey?”
“Does it matter?” I asked.
“It does if I want to get my Facebook likes up.”
“Facebook likes?”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t working social media,” she said, studying herself in the mirror like usual. “Classic. Maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought.”
During my initiation, I mean orientation, I vaguely remember taking pictures and filling out a questionnaire for my social media presence. I had done nil with it. Most times, this “job” (and I say that loosely) felt more like a college club than the real deal.
Mackenzie turned on her heel, her amber locks perfectly pulled into a high tail that swung with each movement. She stuffed a newspaper under her arm and grabbed a seat on the couch. We were waiting for our weekly meeting to begin. She leaned back and opened her Wall Street Journal.
I was stunned.
“Heavy reading?” I asked, making my way onto a chair.
“Not if you’re a finance major,” she replied, not looking up from her paper.
“Oh,” I said, still intrigued. “What year are you?” If she was a finance major, she had to still be in school. Maybe she needed extra money like I did.
“Finished two years ago,” she said. “I’m studying for the Series 7 this week.”
“Going to be a stock broker?”
“Possibly,” she said. “I work at Capital International right now and just want more options.”
“Oh my God, that’s like one of the biggest Fortune 500s in the state.”
“And?”
“Well,” I began. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but aren’t you embarrassed?”
“About?”
“About all this,” I said. “Being a glorified pin-up girl. How do people take you seriously at work?”
“Well, first of all—” She tipped her head in my direction, like she was preparing to explain a complex subject to a small child. “I like being a glorified pin-up girl. I get daily marriage proposals, hundreds of compliments every time I change my hairstyle, the best seats to any sporting event I want, and the chance to do volunteer work with some of my best friends. It’s not a bad gig, K.C. It’s like a new adventure each week.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing. It’s good exposure and it’s all in good fun. If you don’t like it, there are plenty of girls waiting in line. Give it to one of them. And as far as being embarrassed at work, I’m not. People don’t treat me any differently, because I set the lines. They know better.”
“Really?”
“Really. You don’t have to be so serious all the time, K.C. You are young and smart and gorgeous. You have your cake. Remember to take a bite once in a while.”
But what if my cake was one hot piece of man that I wanted to both devour and expose for my own career?
It had been over twenty-four hours since I saw Finn at the marina, and my thoughts had been on little else since. It didn’t help that I was studying him every chance I got — I had watched almost every piece of video in the archives, as well as anything else I could pick up online. I was obsessed.
I recently discovered that after the initial buzz of his retirement wore off, there was nothing on the guy. It was like he was under some sort of protection.
Finn had completely closed himself off and become a loner, really. I needed to break through that. I needed him to open the door… just a crack.
Chapter 8
Finn
Anchor/Kiki Stuart: So how did you two get together?
Finn Daley: Well, that was a mess for a while. And it didn’t help that I thought she was a Puck Bunny at first.
Anchor/Kiki Stuart: I do know what that is, but why don’t you fill it in the blanks for those at home. What is a Puck Bunny?
Finn Daley: Those women who hang around the ice for … ah, wait. Let’s just say a Puck Bunny is the equivalent to a groupie in the music world.
Anchor/Kiki Stuart: And how did that go over? When you thought she was a Puck Bunny, that is.
Finn Daley: Not as you’d expect.
“Almost done,” Mia said, putting in the last needle. “Unless there’s anything else bothering you.”
It was only six a.m., but I was an early riser these days. I liked being in that groggy, barely awake frame of mind when Mia worked on me. With what I paid her, she didn’t complain — about the hours or the house calls.
Having money really paid off sometimes.
“There is something else bothering me,” I told her, surprisingly embarrassed.
“Tell me,” Mia said softly.
Mia had been coming out to the house to do regular acupuncture as part of my treatment. Nate got a kick out of it. He was absolutely brutal — constantly mocking me for my new alternative lifestyle. He had something to say about everything: my clean diet, the tai chi and acupuncture, even my new decor. Nate joked that I was living at a fucking spa drinking cucumber water and getting facials all day.
Sometimes he wasn’t that far off. Then again, he had never experienced the effects of tiny needles in the skin. Maybe he would’ve been a little more understanding if he had a taste.
It was life changing.
“It’s a girl,” I answered Mia’s question.
“Okay.” I heard the smile in her voice. “I can help.”
At that moment, I was a mass of needles in my face, chest, and abdomen. And now that I confessed to Mia about a girl, she had a few more places to work with. She started with my ears and I swear I felt immediate release, followed by a warm glow. Then she moved to my center, trying to rebalance the yang of my kidneys. They apparently hold the key to all things sexual.
Christ, maybe Nate was right about me.
The fact that I knew all this alternative crap was disturbing as shit. Still, I needed to do something. Casey Scott had been in my head for days. I thought the walk home from the marina was uncomfortable. It was nothing compared to the long hours of suffering with my racing thoughts, not to mention the most painful hard-on that never seemed to let up. H
opefully the acupuncture would ease my appetite a little.
I thought about calling Zack, Casey’s brother, to get more information about her. But shit, he had to know about the rumors about me. Not so sure he’d be thrilled with my interest in his sister. I hadn’t experienced feelings like this since I was sick. My brain worried Casey could be a trigger, but my body didn’t care one bit.
What were the chances, though, that our worlds would collide like this? It was like fate pushing me toward her.
Jesus, I needed to get a grip.
I let Mia finish our session and then I rested, thinking good thoughts, feeling my body heal, and basically acting like a new age pussy. I needed help.
***
“So do you want to go fishing or what?” Nate called a few hours later.
“Hasn’t Zack winterized your boat yet?” I asked. Nate didn’t live in Stillwater, but he loved the river and kept a boat out here as well. Zack took care of both of us.
“Hell, no,” Nate said. “We still have a few good weeks left and I’m not going to waste them.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Now’s not really a good time.”
“Oh shit, did I interrupt your chi or some shit this morning?”
“No, Mia just left, in fact.”
“Ah, right.” He chuckled. “So you must be all blissed out.”
“Not really,” I told him. “It didn’t help as much as I hoped.”
“Uh-oh, what’s going on?” he asked, all traces of humor gone from his voice now. I hated that I did that to him. As much as he loved to give me shit, he worried about me.
“Well,” I began, “I met someone.”
“What? When?”
“A few days ago.”
“And?” Nate was suspicious now. Ready for me to confess. As much as he wanted to be supportive, I knew he didn’t really trust that I was okay. He was always waiting for me to fall off the wagon.
“Nothing happened. But maybe I want something to.”
