“I see. Well, I’m glad I wasn’t stereotyping.”
“Don’t fret so,
padroogah
. That’s ‘friend’ in Russian.”
“I figured.
Padroogah
,” Lennie repeated slowly, trying to mimic his accent.
Sebastian laughed delightedly. “Very good! You are a natural! Maybe there’s some Russian blood in you somewhere!”
“My last name’s Buckley, and my mother’s maiden name was Pearse. There’s no Russian in the genes, believe me.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Lennie took a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Why were you looking for a woman to hang around with?”
Sebastian laughed. “Because I play on a sports team! I have more than enough male friends! It’s a nice change to spend time with a woman.”
“I get that.” Lennie paused. “Can I ask a favor of you?”
“Questions, favors—you’re very demanding,” Sebastian teased.
“You sure you don’t mean pushy?”
“Maybe pushy. But that’s all right. I like women—I mean women friends—who aren’t shy. So what is the favor?”
“Can you take your sunglasses off? I hate not seeing your eyes.”
Sebastian seemed surprised. “Oh. All right.” He pushed the glasses back so they were atop his head. “Better?”
Lennie gave a controlled smile. “Much.” Control was important right now. She didn’t want to reveal how attracted she was to him.
The
tour ended, and they disembarked with the rest of the passengers.
“I had fun today,” Lennie said happily.
“Me too.”
She became aware they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing exasperated New Yorkers to go around them. “We should move.” They moved off to the side, standing in front of the City Sights office. “Want to get together again sometime? Maybe next week?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Great.” Lennie’s heart was beating a gleeful tattoo. “How about I pick what we do? I already have something in mind.”
“What’s that?”
“A surprise.”
“You’re a woman of mystery, too, eh?”
“I can be.”
We’re flirting. He can deny it all he wants, but we’re flirting.
“I am on the road the beginning of the week. Why don’t I call you when I get back?”
“Sounds good.”
Sebastian nodded, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. “Good luck with school this week.”
“Thank you. Good luck on the road.”
He put his sunglasses back over his eyes. “See you.”
“Yup.”
They started off in opposite directions. Lennie had taken only a few steps when she impulsively called his name and ran back to him. She hesitated a moment, then gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before turning around and melting back into the crowd. She could feel him watching her as she made her way up the street. It had been a bold thing to do, but she had no doubt that if it was the wrong thing to do, he’d let her know next week. In the meantime, she’d never in her life been so glad she’d told a lie.
Four
“Yo, Vladimir Putin, good game tonight.”
Sebastian nodded appreciatively at Eric Mitchell’s compliment. The Blades had just won at home against Washington, 3- 2. Sebastian was “in the zone,” as his American teammates called it, the whole night.
The players were sitting at their usual table at the Hart, and Sebastian found his gaze drawn to the table where he and Lennie had first spoken. Another couple was sitting there now, clearly in love, holding hands. Sebastian felt a small, unwanted pang of envy. Ever since Lennie had kissed him, he’d been confused.
It had stunned him when she’d softly pressed her lips to his. That was no platonic kiss, and he was glad. He’d known from the night they met that he was attracted to her, and the bus trip confirmed it. Her intelligence, her sense of humor, her boldness—these were all things he liked in women. But did he really want to go down this road? Sebastian threw a shot of whiskey down his throat. He couldn’t believe how much time he’d spent thinking about Lennie during his downtime while on the Blades’ recent road trip. Her soft brown hair, her dancing brown eyes, her body. She was petite, but not bone thin. She had a nice-sized bust and curvy hips. He liked his women with a little meat on their bones.
His women
. This was not the way he should be thinking.
His teammates had, of course, asked him about his “date” with Lennie. He’d made a point of correcting them, saying it was an “outing” with his new friend. He’d wanted to punch Ulf when the Swedish bastard had sniggered. When they asked if he was going to see her again, he was vague. If he told them she said she was going to surprise him, sexual innuendos would fly fast and furious.
Talk settled into shop. Sebastian and his teammates were in the middle of discussing Lou Capesi, the head of Blades’ PR, who was trying to convince them to do a stud muffin Blades calendar, when one of the men from the table next to theirs came over.
“Hey, guys.”
“Hey, Quinn,” said Eric.
“Just wanted to tell you guys you played great tonight.” He looked at Sebastian. “You especially.”
“Thank you.”
Quinn gestured at the table where his friends sat. “If you guys ever want to hang with us, just pull up some chairs. The more, the merrier. And I promise, it’ll all be off the record.”
“Cool,” said Eric.
Quinn nodded, and sauntered back to his table.
“Who’s that?” Sebastian asked.
“Quinn O’Brien,” said David. “His parents own this place, and he’s a hotshot reporter at one of the local papers. The other guys work at local newspapers too.”
“You ever see his sisters?” said Ulf. “Hotties.”
“Yeah, especially that redhead who’s married to the Irish guy,” said David. “The thin, well-dressed one is some high-powered lawyer. I think she’s divorced, but I doubt any woman with a brain would want to date a pig like you.”
Everyone laughed while Ulf scowled. “You know, I’m gettin’ a little tired of you assholes ragging on me all the time—especially you,” he said, pointing to Eric. “Once upon a time you were Leader of the Pussy Patrol.”
“The key word is ‘was,’” Eric said smugly. “Some of us grow up eventually.”
“You’ll die of old age before you grow up, dickface,” Ulf answered, eliciting laughs from everyone at the table, including Eric.
They
made an early night of it since they had practice the next day. Sebastian was on his way out the door when a crazy lady with a parrot on her shoulder pointed at him.
“You,” she barked. “I want to talk to you.”
Confused, Sebastian looked to his teammates for help, but as soon as they realized they weren’t the ones singled out, they high-tailed it out the door. Not knowing whether he should be more afraid of the woman or the parrot, Sebastian steeled himself and walked over to the bar. “Can I help you?”
“You’re damn right you can,” she said, draining her cocktail glass and putting it down on the bar with a resounding slam.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” the parrot screeched. No one seemed the least bit bothered.
“Shut up for a moment, Rudy,” the woman commanded. She looked Sebastian up and down, her lips pressed together in disapproval. “Keep away from my niece. She’s got enough on her plate without finding herself tangled up with some Russky heartbreaker. I know your Commie ways.”
Sebastian was completely baffled. “Excuse me, but I don’t know what you are talking about, ma’am.”
“Lennie is my niece.”
“Ah.” Lennie had made no mention that the parrot woman in the bar was the aunt she was living with. Now he knew why: the woman was
shapinaya sobaka
—crazy.
“I know all about you chatting and charming her, and your bus ride around the city on Sunday. I’m warning you right here and now: you try anything funny, and you’ll have to answer to me—and Rudy.”
“Lennie and I are just friends.”
The aunt snorted. “Till you get her drunk on Stoli and have your way with her.”
Sebastian was getting angry. “Excuse me, Missus—”
“Colgan. Mary Colgan.”
“Mrs. Colgan, as I said, Lennie and I are just friends. And even if we weren’t, this really is nothing of your business,” Sebastian said politely. “Good night.”
He could hear Lennie’s aunt spluttering behind him as he walked out the door. His teammates were huddled together outside the pub, eagerly waiting to know what that was all about. Sebastian told them the crazy harpy was Lennie’s aunt and that she had something against Russians. They all burst out laughing so hard they couldn’t even make jokes. Sebastian knew he’d never live this down. But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was realizing he might have just made things difficult for Lennie.
“Please
tell me you’re joking. Please.”
Lennie was sitting on Christie’s couch, queasiness creeping up her throat as Christie told her about her aunt calling Sebastian over to the bar and threatening him. Of course, her aunt had been on her butt about Sebastian from the moment she got home on Sunday after the bus tour. Lennie shut her down by telling her that if she didn’t drop it, she was going to move out. She knew it was a harsh thing to say; but if the past two weeks were a preview of what living with Aunt Mary was going to look like, there was no way she’d be able to endure it. Since then, her aunt had been watchful but silent on the subject of Sebastian.
“Not joking,” Christie said grimly. “Your boyfriend concluded by telling her that even if you were going out, it was”—Christie broke into a bad Russian accent—“ ‘nothing of her business.’ ”
Lennie groaned and put her face in her hands.
“I notice you didn’t jump right in to say, ‘He’s not my boyfriend, ’ ” Christie observed dryly.
Lennie lifted her head. “He’s not. Yet. But I want him to be.” She told Christie about kissing him; how she knew it was bold, but it felt like the right thing to do.
Christie looked uneasy. “But what are you going to do if he really, truly, just wants to be friends?”
“Die of a broken heart.” Lennie twirled a strand of hair around her finger nervously. “Seriously, don’t you think if he really just wanted to be friends, he would have set me straight right there and then when I kissed him?”
“It doesn’t sound like you gave him a chance to!”
Lennie’s shoulders sank. “True. Okay, but don’t you think that if it bothered him, he would have called me during the week to tell me?”
“I don’t know. Who the hell knows how guys’ minds work?”
“I guess I’ll find out Saturday—if he still wants to see me.”
“What are you guys doing?”
Lennie perked up a bit. “I’m surprising him. There’s supposed to be this really great weekend flea market on the corner of West Twenty-fifth and Sixth Avenue. I thought it would be fun; we could just walk around, talk, and look at stuff. Plus, I’m sure I could probably pick up some cool threads I can wear, or tear apart and make into something new.”
“Maybe . . . if you have time . . . you could make something for me sometime?” Christie asked shyly.
“I would love to!” Lennie said excitedly. “You do dress kinda drab.”
Christie’s face fell. “Thanks a lot.”
“I can fix that,” Lennie said confidently. “Don’t worry.”
“Are you going to talk to your aunt about what she said to Sebastian?”
“I think I’ll let it go for now. If he brings it up, then I guess we’ll deal with it. I
am
going to lie though my teeth to my aunt about seeing him again, though. I’ll tell her I’m studying up at the library at FIT.”
Christie checked her watch. “Shoot, I’m gonna be late for my shift. I expect a full report, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Lennie smiled bashfully. “I hope this doesn’t sound dumb, but it’s nice to have a girlfriend to talk to.”
“Me too. I spend most of my days with a pack of immature assholes. But at least some of them can cook.” She stood up. “Catch you at the Hart, maybe Monday night?”
“Maybe even Sunday. Ciao.”
This can’t be the place,
Sebastian thought as he stood at the corner of West Twenty-fifth Street and Sixth Avenue, waiting for Lennie. Since they’d agreed to meet at noon, he thought perhaps her “surprise” might be a well-known diner of some sort she’d heard about, and they were meeting for lunch. But no: it was a huge, open-air market.
She was two minutes late. Not a crime. He stood and watched the dense, eclectic crowd move from booth to booth filled with junk. He didn’t understand it. Why would anyone want to buy someone else’s castoffs? He glanced at some of the items in the nearest stall. An ashtray in the shape of South America. An old picture of a man in what he thought might be a World War II uniform. A hideously lifelike stuffed monkey. Completely mystified, he quickly ducked across the street to a small deli to grab a cup of coffee. Deli coffee was the best, he’d discovered. Going to Star-bucks seemed crazy to him. What kind of a fool paid three dollars for a plain cup of coffee, even if they could afford it?