The plane starts to descend, and I hate as my stomach rises into my chest with the speed. I hate this part of air travel. Goes with being a football player I guess, but I've never liked takeoffs or landings. I always feel like my guts are about two seconds behind the rest of my body in any big change of direction.
Thankfully, the flight gets down quickly and we taxi to the gate. My seat was business class, which sucks, but I guess it's better than the poor schmucks in economy. I get off the plane and go to the immigration line, where the customs officer looks over my passport. "Work visa, huh?"
"Yep."
He eyes me for a second. “Wrestler?"
I laugh and shake my head. "Sorry, that I leave to you guys. Football. For the Fighters."
The customs officer nods, and stamps my passport. "Good luck. Hope you enjoy Toronto."
"Thanks. Uh, which way to the baggage terminal?”
I'm surprised when the guy actually turns around and points instead of mumbling or just dismissing me. Maybe there is something to this reputation of Canadians being nicer than Americans. "Turn right at the end of the hall, that'll get you there. The signs are overhead."
"Thanks," I reply, tucking my passport back into my bag and heading off. Looking around, I'm feeling good. I'm a bit rushed on my schedule, I've only got two days to settle in before practice starts on Monday, but I’m excited. Friday afternoon, Saturday, and Sunday. Not a bad time to get the hang of a party town.
I turn right like the customs official told me and head downstairs to the baggage carousels. I look for my flight number on the screen, noting that they've already got bags moving according to the display, and head down to carousel fourteen. I packed light, figuring I'd pick up most of what I needed in Toronto. A little bit of clothes for going out, some personal items, and I'm good to go.
I find my two bags quickly and look around, wondering what to do next when I see a girl holding a white sign that says "T. Paulson" on it, looking my way. She's wearing a pair of slacks and a polo shirt from the Fighters, and while she's cute, the outfit does nothing for her. Her face and hair are cute, with high cheekbones and shiny black hair that makes me think she could at least be partially Indian . . . or First Nations. Someone, somewhere used to prefer that term.
"Tyler Paulson?" she asks, and I smile. She's shy, which is a shame, because she's prettier than she lets on. She just wears her shyness like a cloak, hiding behind it. "I'm April Gray . . ."
She says her name like I'm supposed to know who that is, but when I give her a blank look, she continues. "Anyway, I'm with the Fighters. I'm your personal assistant."
"Thanks, I remember Mr. Larroquette said he was going to assign someone to help me out. Tyler Paulson, but I guess you already knew that."
“Of course,” April says quietly, and I wonder how long she's been doing this — she doesn’t seem too confident in her job. Football players tend to be outgoing, and a shy pretty girl like her could get run over easily, especially by a quarterback. Thankfully, I'm not as much of an asshole as I let on. "I'll be working with you throughout the season, to help you off the field. Most of it will be during the first couple of weeks, but I’ll be here the whole season if you need me.”
"That sounds great, I can use the help. Let's get going, shall we?"
April nods and reaches for my wheeled bag, but I take the handle before she can. "It's okay, I think I can haul my own bags. I need an assistant, not a maid."
She nods again, her eyes barely coming off the floor, and we go out to the parking lot, where she hands me the keys. I barely notice, grinning at what I see. "A 'stang? How'd you know? You guys even picked out the right color. Or was that luck?"
"No, not luck," April says as I open the trunk and put my bags inside. "I asked for electric blue."
I slam the trunk closed and give April a smile. "Who told you my favorite color?"
She shrugs and goes around to the passenger seat. "I figured you'd like to drive. I can give you directions to the hotel. It's not too hard."
"Okay," I say, getting behind the wheel. They rented me an eco-engine? This thing must go zero to sixty in about five minutes. "Wow, worried I'd wrap this around a pole or something? I think my grandmother's car has a stronger engine."
"The team wants us to be as careful as possible," April says, "so the team tries to balance it with what players want. I . . . I tried."
I look over, and see that she’s actually nervous. I start up the Mustang and rev the engine once, humming. "Well, the interior's nice — I can dig it. Thank you,” I say, trying to ease her worry.
I pull out, and look over to see April giving me a strange look. "What?"
"Nothing," she says after a moment, even though I can tell there is. It's like she keeps expecting me to say something. "If you turn right, you can get over to the Gardiner Expressway that takes you downtown. I chose a hotel close to the stadium to help you out, but you’re free to change if you want.”
"Speaking of that, what do you recommend?" I ask. "I lived in the athlete's dorms at Western."
She's relaxing, maybe because I'm asking her stuff that she's obviously prepared for as she pulls another packet out of her bag. "It depends on what you are looking for. Downtown, especially around Yonge-St. Clair is nice, and close to the stadium. I'd stay away from directly around the waterfront, just because you'll want some separation from work. But if you really want to be by the water, New Toronto is nice too."
"Well, we'll talk about that later. Here's the Expressway.” I spent most of the drive looking around as we make our way toward the stadium. I see a plane descend, and I realize the island just off the coast has a couple of runways. "Hey . . . what's with the other airport?"
"They only have ferry service, and it's a city airport," April explains. "Pearson's the best option for coming into the city."
I shrug, I come from LA with enough airports to confuse anyone, and we keep going. "The stadium looks kinda small from here."
"So far, but next season it's going to expand to fifty thousand seats, which makes it equal to the old home. The team used to play at the Sky Dome, but the team moved out of there starting this year."
"Why?" I ask. April sounds surprised that I'm asking, but listening to her talk, she knows more than she lets on.
"Uh . . . well, it's just my opinion, but . . ."
“Wait," I say, stopping her. "If you're going to be my personal assistant, I don't need you to sugar coat stuff. Just give it to me straight."
She swallows and nods. "Okay. The stadium's newer, and it has a grass field. A lot of players didn't like the turf at the Sky Dome."
"I don't like turf either," I muse. "Hurts like hell to get tackled on it after a while. All right. Well, where's the hotel?"
I follow April's directions, and find that it's decent, even if it's not quite five-star. Checking in, I see she’s still looking at me strangely, and I turn to her, curious about what's going on. "Anything else?"
“No, I guess not," she says, looking at her phone. "Uhm, I went ahead and scheduled an appointment with the real estate company at nine tomorrow. I know that it's a bit early by your body clock, but, well . . . is that all right? We can meet here at eight thirty?"
I nod. "Yeah, sure. What about this evening?"
April shrugs. "Whatever you need."
I think about it for a moment, then shake my head. I need sleep, and I've got two nights still to get my feet underneath me. "No, I'll be okay. Oh, one thing though. Tomorrow, maybe after the real estate agent, can you take me to get a cellphone?"
April smiles, and again I'm struck by her familiarity. Who does she remind me of? "How about I get you one this afternoon, on my way back to my place?"
"Sure. Nothing too fancy, just a regular phone will do for now.”
"Okay, Tyler. See you tomorrow."
I go up to my room and lay out on the couch. The team rented me a suite, which is kinda nice, even if it does have that hotel room feeling. Fuck it, just for a few days. I
pull out my laptop and plug it in, connecting to the room's Wi-Fi. Opening my email, I'm happy to see a message from my friend, Duncan, who sent me some photos of his wedding to Carrie. They also skipped his graduation, using the time to get married and get an early start on their honeymoon before they settle down in Jacksonville with the Wildcats.
I go through the rest of my email and send off a message to Cory Dunham, a second-hand introduction that Duncan had given to me. The man handles Troy Wood and Duncan Hart’s money, so mine should be no problem.
I close my messages and think for a minute, wondering what to do. According to the clock, it's nearing nine, but my body is still on West Coast time, which says that it's just about dinner time. I'm not really hungry yet though, and I've gotten used to skipping a meal when I change time zones, it seems to help my body adjust better.
I grab the remote and flick through the channels, noticing I have HBO on demand — might as well catch up on Game of Thrones. There's some bad, bad women in that show, and I just haven’t had the time to keep up.
Still, as the action heats up and the blood starts flowing, I can't get April out of my mind. Who in the hell does she remind me of, anyway?
Chapter 4
April
I guess I shouldn't be all that upset. I mean, like I told myself just a few hours ago in the airport, it has been a long time. A lot happens in our teenage years, and recalling the names or looks of people you spent a couple of weeks with at summer camp is really stretching it. Other than Tyler, I can't recall how any of the other people in camp really looked, and I'm not even sure about some of the names, really.
Still . . . he was my first kiss, dammit! I mean, maybe I'm not his, but he's still mine! And he didn't even think about how in the hell I was supposed to get anywhere from the hotel, since he kept the keys to his rental car, thank you very much!
At least Toronto has a good mass transit system, but still, a wave of dark depression threatens my mood for the rest of the afternoon as I go back to the Fighters offices, verify the appointment with the real estate company for tomorrow, and get in my own car to go. The ten year old Nissan isn't very good, but it's all I can afford right now, and the price was right — totally free. It was my Mom's car before the early onset Alzheimer's got its hooks into her mind and she lost her license. Dad tried his best, but he's been in hospice for the past six months himself, which in the end means that I have a used car . . . and no parents, really. I'd rather be walking.
Despite my foul mood, I stop by the electronics store, looking over the models. Tyler said he didn't want a high-end phone, something cheap and just for voice and texts I guess.
"Excuse me Miss, can I help you?"
I turn my head and see the store clerk, a young woman about my age who's got that sort of empty, 'hey, I'm smiling because it's my job' sort of smile on her face. I did a couple of retail jobs when I was in school, I can understand. "Well, I'm looking for a phone. A friend is here from the States, and wants a simple phone. No data plan."
"Simple, huh? Well, there aren't too many phones like that any more . . . let's see."
In the end, I picked out something I think he’ll like and head back to my apartment. I open Tyler's phone and start the drudgery part of my job, the little things that I made sure to write down. First, I programmed in the phone numbers for the team offices and Coach Blanchard, the Fighter's head coach. Next, on a whim I turn the camera on and take a selfie, smiling and tagging it to my phone number.
That night, while I'm laying in bed, I'm still not able to get Tyler off my mind. He's so handsome, and my body remembers the feelings it had years ago. If anything, the desire is even more acute for me because I actually know what it’s for, and what it can lead to. The idea of Tyler and I sends warm shivers down my spine and pools in my belly, until I remember the look in his eyes when I was just about to ask him if he remembered me from summer camp. It was a look of total non-comprehension, and my question died on my lips before it ever came out.
Still, I can't get him off my mind, and as much as it hurts, I'm looking forward to tomorrow.
"So the next property is a little closer to the stadium than what you originally said you were interested in, but it's so convenient, right next to the expressway, and you have a tremendous view of the Lake as well," the real estate agent, a stacked blond who's been flirting with Tyler since the moment she met him at the office, glows as we approach the tall white high rise. "Best of all, the rent won't break the bank, the owner only wants sixteen hundred a month."
"That's better than the last place, over by the university area," Tyler notes, looking up. "They wanted another eight hundred a month. What's the difference?"
"This building isn't as new, and it doesn't have the wrap around balcony," the agent says, "but on the other hand, you won't have as many girls interested in a place like this."
Oh my god, can it get any more ridiculous? I clear my throat, and look at the packet the agent's given to both of us, me more as an afterthought. "The rent includes utilities?"
"Except for hydro, yes. Oh, and one other difference, this unit has only one bathroom, but that shouldn't be a problem for you, right?”
"Right," Tyler muses, looking up again. "Well, let's check it out."
We take the elevator up to the tenth floor, and I'm jealous as soon as I walk in. Freshly laid parquet flooring, a nice sized real kitchen with a door and a pass through island, a dining nook that is big enough to not intrude on the living room area, and two bedrooms? I know my place isn't the worst, but this makes my place look like a craphole.
"The views are nice," Tyler says as he looks out of the balcony.
"It is," the agent says, pushing close enough to Tyler that her breasts are pushing against his arm. He notices, and while he gives her a little smile, he still steps away from her. She's not his type, I can tell that for sure. "On the other hand, the place downtown . . ."
"Was eight hundred dollars a month more," Tyler finishes. "Excuse me for a moment. April, can I talk to you in the bedroom?"
His words, even though I know they’re innocent, cause me to blush again, and the real estate agent gives me a knowing smile even as she stares daggers into my back so hard I can feel them. I follow Tyler into the bedroom though, where he closes the door. "What can I do for you, Tyler?"
"Honest opinion . . . which is better, this one or the more expensive one?"
"From a team perspective, they would like you more toward Downtown. Low crime rates, smaller space, less chance of you getting in trouble."
"But?" he says, his eyebrows quirking.
"But you took one look at the water and the parks, and you made your decision," I finish for him. "You like having that much nature visible outside your door."
Tyler gives me another look, one of the ones that I've come to understand means that he is pleasantly surprised. I want to tell him that it's not because I have magic powers but because I remember so much about him, but I just can't seem to. He obviously doesn't remember me anyway, so what's the point of looking like a schoolgirl with a crush?
"Okay," Tyler says after a moment. "So what's next?"
"Next . . . well, you need furniture for this place, and your car is just a short term rental, so we need to get you a longer term replacement. Even though the stadium is going to be just a five minute walk from here. You could walk to work most days."
Tyler thinks about it, then shakes his head. "I think I'll keep the car still. Is there any way we can get another Mustang?"
"Let's find out."
The real estate agent isn't quite as happy as she had been when Tyler says he'll take the apartment, as she's got to be losing out on a bigger bonus for it, but still, Tyler's sexiness is magnetic, and I notice that she writes another phone number on the back of her business card that she hands him after he signs the rental agreement.
"Once the Fighters transfer the deposit, the keys will be available for pickup," she nearly purrs as she slips the card into his shirt p
ocket. I'd expected Tyler to be wearing just a t-shirt like most of the new players, but instead he's wearing a Tommy Bahama button down Oxford casual and looks amazing in it. "But I think I can let you do some mental decorating now. Call me if you have any problems."
Tyler gives her a knee weakening smile and she almost floats out the door as he and I look around. He's excited, and I realize that for him, this is the first time he's actually rented his own place. When he turns around on the balcony and is sporting a ear to ear grin, I can't help but return it. "This is pretty fucking awesome!”
"Tyler, as someone who's rented her own apartment for a while, trust me, the charm wears off," I reply, shocked at my forwardness. I've never been this forward with the other players, I'd just let them run wild. That's probably been part of my problem, actually. Maybe I am following Mr. Larroquette's advice, or maybe it's just because it's Tyler.
Tyler's grin doesn't falter, and he waves me toward him, turning around to lean against the railing of the balcony, and giving me a nice view of his butt. "Come on April, look at this," he says, his eyes looking out over the lake. "Isn't this a great view? And you're right, I'll be close to the water. By the way, why'd you say no water yesterday?"
"It's great now, but come the end of the season and through winter, the wind off the lake can be chilly," I answer, leaning on the railing next to him. "Toronto's pretty cold in winter. Hope you like snow."
"I guess I can put up with it for a few weeks, before the Cup, you know? Off seasons back in Cali, come up here in spring . . . hell, it'll be nice weather year-round for me."
His words throw ice water on the reality of my situation, and I swallow deeply. "Yeah, I guess that'd be nice."
Tyler blinks, and realizes what he just said. "Yeah . . . sorry about that. I'm not trying to throw shade on Toronto, just . . . ah hell, you know."
"I know."
Tyler's grin comes back and he looks at me. "Let me make it up to you. I noticed down the block from the hotel the other day there was a pretty nice looking club. Do you ever go out clubbing?"
Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance Page 3
