Chasing Stanley Page 4

  “It won’t be a problem. The lesson’s not until the afternoon.”

  “Thank God.” Marcus held up two boxes of tea, shaking them. “I’ve got some plain old Lipton that’s probably five years old, and some echinacea that’s supposed to help with colds but does diddly.”

  “I’ll take the echinacea.” Delilah worried perhaps Marcus might not be the best person to talk to about Jason. Maybe she should run it by one of her girlfriends at the dog park. The problem was that, like her, they preferred the company of canines to people, so their track records when it came to romance weren’t exactly stellar. Marcus was a man; he’d be able to analyze guy behavior for her. Plus he was always going to dance concerts and gallery openings and parties. He knew how people in the non-dog world operated. Delilah’s idea of a good time was cozying up on her couch with her dogs and a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, watching Animal Planet.

  “Why do you think he likes you?”

  “Well, he wanted to know all about my dogs and how I got into the dog walking business. Then, when I told him he should get a Halti at the pet shop, he said, ‘Maybe you could come with me.’ ”

  “So, you’re thinking he might want to put the moves on you while perusing pooper scoopers.”

  Delilah scowled. “I know you think you’re being hilarious, but you’re not.”

  “I’m sorry, kitten.” He patted the top of her head. “Continue.”

  “That’s it, really. Any thoughts?”

  “How were you with him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Which of your two anxious personalities came out: Betsy Blurt or Babbling Brook?”

  “I think I may have babbled a little. I’m not sure.”

  “Well, if you babbled and you still think he likes you, then that says something.”

  “Like what?”

  Marcus sighed. “Hard to say, since I haven’t actually met him.”

  “Great.” Delilah slumped against the wall. “You know when a dog thinks she’s Gwen Stefani, but you can’t give me any insights on male behavior.”

  Marcus pursed his lips. “This is what I think.”

  Delilah waited.

  “Asking you how you came to be a dog walker could just be basic human curiosity—or he might like you. Similarly, asking you to go to the pet shop with him could be because he’s nervous about buying the right collar—or he might have been flirting with you. My question to you is: Does it matter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s say for the sake of argument he does like you. Are you going to do anything about it? If he asked you out, would you accept?”

  Delilah hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  Marcus put the kettle on the stove. “Then why are we even having this conversation?”

  “You’re right.” Delilah pulled up a kitchen chair. “I did take a closer look at him this time,” she admitted. “He is attractive. And nice. And he really loves his dog.”

  “But.”

  “But I can’t—I don’t—he—”

  “You’d feel more comfortable if he had four legs rather than two.”

  “Yes.”

  Marcus sat down beside her. “Lilah, you’ve got to get over your shyness—and your fear. Just because your parents’ marriage went up in flames like the Hindenburg, doesn’t mean they all wind up that way.”

  Marcus was right. All those years of doors slamming, plates crashing, and name-calling had left its mark. So had the always confusing aftermath, when her parents would make up and vow undying love—until the next time they fought. It had taken her years to allow herself to have a serious relationship, and when she did, her anxiety had blown it.

  “I’m not sure I’m willing to take the risk,” Delilah admitted.

  Marcus pushed back from the table. “Then continue living a half life.”

  His words stung. “I’m frightened, Marcus. Please don’t be cross with me.”

  “I’m sorry, babycakes.” He placed the teabags in their cups. “It just gets so frustrating sometimes! You’re this sweet, wonderful woman, yet you choose to hide your light beneath a bushel of dog hair. Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, take heed. If it turns out Halti Boy likes you and you like him, too, what have you got to lose?”

  Delilah swallowed. “My heart.”

  “You’ve already lost it to animals. Don’t you think it’s time to broaden your horizons?”

  “Don’t worry about the traffic. We’ll be in Brooklyn soon.”

  Michael Dante turned around to explain to Jason why it was taking them longer than expected to get to Dante’s, the restaurant Michael co-owned with his brother, Anthony. Earlier in the day, Jason had to suppress a grin when Michael and Ty invited him to join them for dinner. It was a ritual for the captain and head coach to take new guys out individually for a meal and pep talk.

  Sometimes Jason still couldn’t believe he was in New York playing for the Blades. Back in North Dakota, he and Eric used to lie awake in their room at night, fantasizing about who they longed to play for. Eric had a hard-on for playing for Boston. But Jason always dreamed about playing for New York, in “the world’s greatest arena.” Under Gallagher’s stewardship, the team had won two Stanley Cups. Jason wanted to be there when they won the third.

  Michael grumbled something under his breath that made Ty chuckle. “I hope you don’t talk like that in front of your kids,” he said.

  “I do, but usually it’s in Italian, so it doesn’t matter.”

  Jason leaned forward. “How many kids do you have, Cap?” He wanted to show them that he wasn’t nervous, even though he was. It was the right question to ask; if it were possible to bottle and sell the look of pride transforming Michael’s face, Jason would be set for life.

  “Two, with one on the way.”

  “How old are they?”

  “Dominica’s six, little Anthony is four, and the baby is due in January.”

  “Michael’s trying to start his own hockey team,” Ty ribbed.

  Jason glanced between the two men. “Your wives work together, right?”

  “Right,” said Ty. “They run their own company, FM PR.”

  “Though Theresa’s dropped down to part-time, what with the kids and all,” said Michael. He glanced back at Jason. “You looking for a publicist?”

  Ty shot Michael a warning look. “That’s the last thing he needs.”

  “I was making a joke. Relax, will ya?”

  Ty grunted and looked out the window.

  “How ’bout you, Coach?” Jason’s voice sounded a little too chipper to his own ears, so he toned it down a bit. “You’ve got one kid, right?”

  Ty nodded. “Patrick. He’s five.”

  “Shoulda named him after me,” Michael put in.

  Ty just rolled his eyes.

  Jason sat back. The rapport between the two men was comforting. He knew from watching them at practice that they had immense respect for each other, but it was nice to see they were friends as well. In Minnesota, the new coach and longtime captain could barely stand each other. The effect on team morale was devastating. Jason was convinced it was the reason the Mosquitoes hadn’t made the playoffs in two years. Loyalties were divided when everyone’s attention should have been focused on winning.

  “So, has your big brother been showing you the sights?” Ty asked.

  Jason frowned. He knew the conversation would get around to Eric eventually. It always did.

  “Bigger than me by three whole minutes,” Jason muttered.

  His gaze caught Ty’s in the rearview mirror. Ty looked surprised. “I didn’t know you two were twins.”

  “You been living under a rock or what?” said Michael, weaving in and out of traffic like a lunatic. Ty shot him a withering glance before resuming eye contact with Jason.

  “Eric’s a great
hockey player,” Ty continued.

  “I’m better.”

  “Yeah?” Ty sounded amused. “We’ll see.”

  Jason had never been to a place like Dante’s. Photos of priests and paintings of gondoliers lined the red walls, while the tables were draped in red and white checkered table-cloths. The decibel level was loud but relaxed; people were genuinely enjoying themselves as they ate. Floating above the din was the sound of Italian love songs piped through the sound system. Jason immediately felt comfortable; it had a real family atmosphere.

  He, the coach, and the captain were no sooner seated than a large, swarthy man bounded out of the kitchen, heading straight for the table. There was a big smile on his face as he playfully grabbed Michael in a headlock.

  “You here to bust my balls or what, Mikey?”

  Michael pushed his brother away with a choke. “Jesus, what are you cooking back there? You stink!”

  “I’m cooking fish, cafone. Anchovy sauce and other delights.” He gave Ty a hearty pat on the back before looking at Jason with unmistakable sympathy. “Is this the latest sacrificial lamb?”

  Michael’s expression was reassuring as he turned to Jason. “Pay no attention to that man behind the apron.” His attention shifted back to his brother. “What do you recommend tonight?”

  “To start? Crostini bianchi—that’s ricotta and anchovy canapes.”

  Michael glanced around the table. “That okay with you guys?”

  “Fine,” said Ty.

  Jason just nodded. The only time he’d ever had anchovies was on pizza.

  “Next?” Michael prompted.

  “Tagliatelle with Bolognese sauce. As a side I’d recommend breaded, fried finocchio.”

  Jason felt lost. “What’s finocchio?” he asked Michael.

  “Geppetto’s other son,” Anthony replied.

  “Enough with the wisecracks,” Michael said to Anthony. “It’s fennel. It’s good; trust me.”

  Anthony folded his arms across his chest. “We all set, then?”

  “I am,” said Michael. He looked at Ty. “You?”

  “You know me: I need a fix of Anthony’s scungilli before I can even think of anything else.”

  “You got it,” said Anthony.

  “You?” Michael said to Jason. Jason wondered if the anxiety starting to mount inside him showed. Michael’s voice seemed unusually kind.

  “Whatever you recommend is fine with me.”

  Anthony gave a curt nod. “If that will be all, gentlemen, I will repair to my humble kitchen to slave over a hot stove for your pleasure.”

  “Who the hell are you kidding?” said Michael. “It’s for your pleasure.”

  Anthony shook his head. “See the thanks I get?” He disappeared behind the swinging doors of the kitchen.

  “Don’t let Anthony unnerve you,” Michael said as soon as his brother disappeared. “He may come off as a wisecracking SOB, but inside he’s a pussycat.”

  “Yeah, like Torkelson,” Ty added wryly, taking a piece of bread.

  Every player in the NHL had a story about Ulf Torkelson, who had recently been acquired by the Blades in a trade with Ottawa. Jason himself had tangled with him on the ice a few times, and the notorious Swede had put an end to Paul van Dorn’s career. Jason was glad he’d now be playing with Ulfie and not against him.

  “How are you adjusting?” Ty asked.

  Jason shrugged. “Great.”

  “You all moved in?” asked Michael. Jason nodded, reaching for a piece of bread. He was starving, but he hadn’t wanted to dip into the bread basket until Michael or Ty had done so first. “Where you living?” Michael continued.

  “Upper West Side.”

  “Nice.”

  “Don’t take the subway,” Ty warned. “Use the car service.” He jerked his thumb at Michael. “Mikey D over here used to take the subway so he could mingle with his peeps. He was always late—till I started fining him. Do not make the same mistake.”

  “I won’t,” Jason promised.

  The banter was easy through dinner, with Ty and Michael asking him questions about growing up in North Dakota and, of course, about playing for the Mosquitoes. It wasn’t until dessert came (some kind of cheese fritter drenched in honey) that they got down to the crux of the matter.

  “You’ve got a reputation as a hard worker out on the ice,” said Ty. “Which is good, because we’re a team that prides itself on excellence.” He took a sip of sambuca. “Want to know why I won three Cups in St. Louis and two here in New York?”

  Jason hated being put on the spot this way, but he had no choice but to respond. “Skill. Hard work. Dedication. A burning desire to win.”

  Ty nodded approvingly. “What else?”

  Jason drew a blank. He felt like a dolt.

  Ty nudged Michael in the ribs. “Tell him what else.”

  “Discipline. In all areas of your life, hockey has to come first. Always. Before partying, before hanging out with your friends, before everything. Capisce?”

  “I hear you,” said Jason, squirming with irritation. He’d spent the first sixteen years of his life dreaming of making it to the Big Apple, and now they were telling him to live like a monk?

  “I don’t like guys who are distracted,” Ty continued. “You need to live hockey. You need to eat and breathe it. It has to be the only thing you think about. The only thing you dream about.”

  Ty flashed Jason his trademark glare, and Jason shrank in his seat. That look made grown men want to dive for cover. It was fierce and unforgiving.

  Michael smiled. “All we’re saying is: Don’t forget your priorities. Because if you slack on this team, both of us are going to ride your ass so hard, you’re going to wish you’d never been born.”

  “You got a girlfriend?” Ty asked.

  “Not right now,” said Jason.

  “Good,” Ty said emphatically. “Less distractions.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Girlfriends are fine. Just make sure—”

  “The team comes first,” Jason finished for him, trying not to chafe. These guys had wives and kids and managed to juggle it all. Why couldn’t he?

  CHAPTER 03

  “Do you always lay your head in a girl’s lap right after she walks in the door?”

  Delilah clucked her tongue. She had no sooner entered Jason’s apartment and sat down than Stanley hopped up on the couch beside her and laid his massive head in her lap. He looked so comfortable she hated to move him, but she had to. Stanley had to learn getting up on the furniture was unacceptable. Delilah delicately pushed him off her, rumbling the word “down” in her most commanding voice. Stanley gave her a dirty look and grumbled, but he did as she said.

  “Let me guess,” she said to Jason, who watched in amusement as the scene unfolded. “You let him up on the couch to watch TV with you.”

  Jason rocked on his heels. “Well . . .”

  He looked like a little kid caught in a fib, Delilah thought. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he ever asked her on a date. All that “Don’t look too eager/Wait till he calls/Let him chase you” stuff her mother was always preaching confused her. Delilah had never been good at this; in fact, she found it excruciating.

  Besides, who was she kidding? Why would a hot pro athlete want to go out with her? She wasn’t gorgeous. She wasn’t rich. She was a bumbling blurter. To top it all off, she knew bubkes about sports.

  “I got that thing you told me to get.” Jason disappeared into what Delilah assumed to be his bedroom, returning with the Halti, holding it out before him as if were a noose.

  “Stanley, come,” Delilah coaxed. Stanley came. “Good boy.” She gave him a slice of hot dog then pulled out another. “Stanley, sit.” Stanley sat. “Good boy,” Delilah repeated enthusiastically, feeding him another treat. Delilah slowly extended her free hand to Jason.

  “Halti,” she whispered.

  Jason passed her the Halti.

  “Rub Stanley’s belly and tell him what a wonderful boy he i
s,” she told him.

  Jason knelt before Stanley, doing as Delilah said. Stanley lapped up his master’s praise, barely making a fuss as Delilah put the Halti on him. “Good boy!” she boomed, giving him another treat.

  Jason rose to his feet. “Well, that was easy.”

  Delilah took off the Halti and handed it to Jason. “Your turn.”

  Delilah sensed Jason’s anxiety as he took the Halti from her. He seemed to be stalling, staring down at it as if it were some puzzle to be solved.

  “You okay?” Delilah asked.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to choke him.”

  “You’re not. That’s the whole point. This is a better way to train him than a choke collar.”

  “Maybe you could help me?”

  Delilah was caught off guard. “Help you how?”

  “Help me guide it onto his muzzle. Just until I get the hang of it.”

  Delilah swallowed. “I could do that.”

  Delilah gently placed her hands over Jason’s. Together they guided the Halti onto Stanley’s muzzle. “See?” Jason’s hands beneath hers felt strong and warm. “It’s easy.” Delilah withdrew her hands, discreetly trying to wipe them off on her jeans; she was afraid they’d been sweaty. “You try.”

  Jason’s gaze lingered on her a long time before he began slipping the Halti on and off Stanley on his own.

  “How am I doing?” Jason asked.

  “Great. Let’s take a five-minute break, and then we’ll start putting it on him and attaching his leash.”

  Delilah stared at Stanley. Jason stared at Stanley. Stanley looked from one to the other. Seconds passed. Delilah nearly jumped when Jason abruptly turned to her.

  “How did you get into this again?”

  Same question as last time they’d seen each other, when Delilah had cut him short. Determined to prove she could hold a conversation without running on at the mouth like a ninny, she smiled.

  “I’ve always loved dogs. Like I told you, I got my first dog when I was five, and I trained him. The rest is history. By the time I was in high school I had my own business, walking and training dogs. I guess you could say it was my destiny.”

  Jason laughed appreciatively. “I hear you. There’s only one thing I’ve ever wanted to do in my life, and that’s play hockey. I guess that gives us something in common.”