My sail goes right back up. “Interesting.”
The way he laughs is happy, reflecting the bright smile in his eyes. It’s more intimate than before and, I can’t help it—I can feel myself fluttering toward him like a moth to a flame.
“Thanks for coming inside.” Ryan pours two glasses of wine. “There’s not much to do out here when you don’t know anyone.”
“What are you doing out here?” I ask. “You mentioned business?”
He hesitates.
I wave a hand. “You don’t have to answer, I’m being nosy.”
“You’re not being nosy.” He brings a glass of wine to his mouth, and in doing so, brushes against my arm. “I’m out here in talks with a new agent. My brother has always been my agent, and he’s great, but it might be time for something bigger. Jocelyn Jones mean anything to you?”
I suck in a breath. “She’s big. Well, big-time, I mean.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” he says. “We’ve met a few times, and she’s getting to know me, whatever that means.”
I give him a blank stare. “You know what that means.”
His eyes crinkle as if he’s truly clueless. “Do I?”
It’s my turn to hesitate. I don’t follow much hockey—except for the pretty faces, of course—but even I’ve heard of Jocelyn. She’s the Ice Queen slash Blonde Bitch, depending on whether she loves or hates a person.
Regardless, she’s rich, stunningly gorgeous, and usually dating someone with a famous face. “She’s dated hockey players before,” I say. “You haven’t considered that she might be trying to hit on you?”
“Jocelyn?” His forehead crinkles. “No. We’ve already talked about that—well, not about us.” He clears his throat. “One of the conditions of me signing with her is that I can’t have a love life.”
“Sorry, but that’s insane.”
He shrugs. “I understand her point. Ricky Anderle signed with her a few years back, fell in love, and ditched her midseason to move to South America. He was destined for big things.
“But love distracted him.”
“Guess you could say that. She got burned pretty bad, so now she makes a big stink about signing young players in new relationships.”
“But you’re not in a relationship,” I say. “So what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem, but it’s a tough career,” he says. “She’s right in saying that I do need to be focused on the game, especially at this point in my career.”
“I mean, I don’t like hockey but your face is familiar, so I think that means you’re doing okay.”
“Don’t like hockey, huh?”
“I’m from LA! The closest I get to snow is the fake crap at The Grove during Christmas.”
He laughs. “Well, I’m at a point where my career can go either way. If I focus and do well, the sky’s the limit. Or, I could screw up big time and blow everything and I’ll be working at Starbucks tomorrow. Not…” He stutters and backtracks. “N-not that there’s anything wrong with the food services industry.”
“Don’t worry, I work in the food industry, and I wouldn’t recommend it. For me, it’s temporary. I’m in school now, studying to be an accountant.”
He looks surprised. “Really? I would’ve pegged you for something…different.”
“I hope that’s a compliment,” I say. “Because I don’t want to be an accountant, but my dad was adamant that I finish school before doing anything else.”
“What is it you love, Andi?” The way he asks the question tells me he’s found his passion, knows exactly what he’s talking about. His eyes light up when he talks about hockey, and the way he emphasizes the word love says it all. “If you could do anything, what would it be?”
“I like to make people laugh,” I say, surprising myself with the honesty. “I’m working to become a comedienne.”
“Now that makes more sense,” he says. “You’ll be great at it.”
I blink and look down, surprised at how much his simple vote of confidence means to me. All my life I’ve been told that it’s impossible to make anything of myself in the entertainment industry, especially in such a male-dominated field.
Even my dad, who tries his best to show his love in his own weird ways, has explained in no uncertain terms that he feels strongly that I need to get a degree just in case.
I understand his point and am doing as he suggested, but the underlying message is also there: you won’t succeed in doing what you love, Andi, so find something that pays the bills.
“Hey, I get it,” he says. “Nobody’s supposed to make money playing hockey either, but look at me. I did it and believe me, if I can do it, you can do it.”
“But I don’t want to play hockey,” I say with a small smile. “I want to be a stand-up comic.”
He grins. “When did you know that’s what you wanted for a career?”
“It’s hard to describe,” I say. “I sort of feel like I was born to do it. It was never really a choice—I didn’t decide on anything. Once I uncovered what I loved to do, it was simple. For a while, it was just hiding underneath what everyone else told me to do.”
He nods, and it’s clear he can sympathize. “I’ll always remember the first time I strapped on skates. It’s magical finding something like that, something to love in all of its purity.”
“I don’t know how pure comedy is,” I say on a laugh. “But I know what you mean. You’re skilled with words, Mr. Pierce.”
“That’s not the only thing I’m skilled with.”
I eye him as I reach for a glass of the deep red wine. “Is that right?”
“I meant my hockey stick.”
“Sure you did.”
“On the ice.” Ryan takes a sip from his cup. He glances at mine, which is mysteriously half-empty after just a few sips. He refills it. “You didn’t say when you decided to become a comic.”
“When I was five, my grandpa died,” I say, my fingers tapping the glass as I stall. “I was just old enough to remember how much I loved him, just old enough to feel the hurt when I started to realize he’d never come back.”
Ryan reaches out, squeezes my hand in his. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “At the funeral, we were all sitting around the table, and my mother…it was the first time I’d seen her cry like that, all shaky, as if her entire soul was sad.”
Ryan rubs small circles with his thumb against the skin on the back of my hand. “Andi, I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay, really. I remember that day. At the dinner table after the ceremony, I made a joke, something about Grandpa being proud we’d included hot dogs at his wake, and everyone laughed, even my mother.”
I blow out the breath of air I was holding, shocking myself at how tightly the story has wound my stomach into knots. It still hurts to remember, even though years have passed. Ryan’s touch on mine helps, however, and I continue.
“I never forgot the sound of her laughter that day, or the way it felt to see my family’s eyes light up when nothing else could make them smile.”
I pause for a breath, Ryan’s hands tight against mine.
“You’ll succeed, Andi,” Ryan says. “I might barely know you, but I’ve just got this feeling.”
“How can you say that?”