“Maybe they know you’re both Canadian and thought you might feel better together.” Her eyes widen. “Or it’s a setup.”
“Oh my God,” I groan. “I’ve heard that about Sami. Meddlesome in relationships.” I lean in. “That’s how Brady and his fiancée met.”
“Natalie Banks?”
“Yeah, supposedly Sami set them up as roommates, and they hooked up and now they’re getting married.” My tone is hateful and filled with disgust. I hate Brady Coldwell.
Sukii’s answer is the opposite, “Oh my God, what if that happens to you? What if Sami matchmakes you and you end up marrying Lawrence? Two Canadian success stories, and you both play hockey—”
“Uhh, can we keep that between us this weekend?” I ask quietly. “I don’t want them to know we are anything beyond Stan’s assistants.”
“But you’re not Stan’s, you’re in charge of the NHL contract.”
“No, Victor is,” I correct her. “I’m his assistant.”
“Yeah, but he rarely comes home from Europe.” She rolls her eyes. “We both know the NHL is yours. What if they recognize you? Loads of people do.”
“No, hockey players are narcissistic, and they don’t know who anyone is beyond the models they want to bang. Their world is everything to them.” My eyes dart to the players who continue to glance this way. “And I don’t want them to know I play hockey. It always gets weird. Girl hockey players are a joke to them.” The admission makes my face steam more. “It’s hard to do your job and be serious when everyone is laughing at you.”
“Mum’s the word.” She zips her lips. “But I still think you should have sex with him.”
“That’s not a good idea.” I steal a glimpse at the hockey players again as Lawrence gets up from his table and peers around, visibly confused about direction.
The server points him toward us. He smiles and walks by.
“But I should apologize.” I wait a minute, trying to summon bravery. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Sukii as I stand and follow him. We can’t spend five days with that as our introduction, and it’s better the conversation is had straightaway and in private. I don’t need one more thing looming over me right now.
When I reach the hallway where the bathrooms are, he’s gone. Did he sprint for the bathrooms? I stare at the doors for men and women and decide to wait and go over what I should say.
But standing in the dimly lit hall outside the bathroom begins to make me uncomfortable. Realizing how this must look gives me a bit of anxiety.
I’m already tense so it only takes a second of discomfort for my face to be blazing hot and I’m sweating again. God, why do I keep sweating? I lift my arms and ruffle my blouse to air it out. At least I still smell like deodorant.
The thought of him coming out of the bathroom to find me here sweating causes the sweat to pour more. This is a terrible idea. Why did I think I should follow him to the bathroom and wait for him after peeking at him naked?
This is my worst idea ever.
Deciding to abort but hearing footsteps coming from the restaurant, I push into the ladies’ room to hide, gasping when I find Lawrence standing and peeing in the toilet.
My mouth drops, again.
My heart races, faster.
My villainous eyes drift to the reflection of his penis and I’m staring at his cock, again.
And I’m frozen.
And sweaty.
“You again?” he says with a bitter chuckle. “You’re a stalker, aren’t you? A puck bunny who snuck into the wedding?” He’s staring at me in the mirror and for some reason my lips won’t work. “I’ll tell you a secret, I don’t normally go for the puck buddies. But I could do this. Just let me finish up here.”
I manage to tear my eyes away from him, pointing to the woman on the door. “This is the ladies’!” I shriek.
“The men’s was busy.” He shrugs and finishes with a few spurts of pee. He tucks himself back into his pants, and I’m stuck watching the entire act.
“Why don’t you ever lock the doors?” My voice is shrill and I’m humiliated.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ever knock?” He calmly washes his hands. “Look, it’s cool that you wanted to watch me pee, but fair’s fair. It’s my turn now. So come on in and close the door. Unless you want to leave it open like you did for me.” He dries his hands and folds his arms, leaning on the counter with that smug grin.
Realizing I did just hold the door open and watch him pee, I gasp.
Fuck!
Finally able to move, I run for the exit at the side of the building.
My mind is racing and my body is pins and needles.
Instead of going back to Sukii, I run to the boathouse and stare at the small lake, pacing and panicking and wiping my face.
How can I be this unlucky?
Or even better, how can I get a car to come get us so we can go home?
But there are no cars. No phones. No internet. No escaping. And I don’t even have an apartment right now. Or a boyfriend to cry on the shoulder of.
“Red!” a voice shouts after me.
For a second I’m certain I’m hallucinating. This is all a bad dream, like when you’re naked at school and then you wake up. I pinch my arm hard but when I glance back, he’s there. Lawrence Eckelston is running after me. And he doesn’t appear happy. Unfortunately, I can’t blame him for that. Had it been him walking in on me naked and watching me pee, I would have murdered him already.
I want to fall into the lake and sink but it’s shallow and weedy, and I don’t like when things touch me in the water.
“We didn’t finish our conversation!” he shouts. “I need to ask you something.”
“Oh God,” I whisper and spin back to the water, focusing on the reflection of
