“You toss a few samples my way before we play, and I’m willing to overlook any shortcomings on the ice, my friend.” This time Dougie’s cheers is aimed at me. I clink his glass, feeling Sunny’s eyes on me again.
“Samples? Are you a chef, Gemma?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I own a store. We focus on clean skin and beauty products. It’s just down the street from Dax’s.”
There’s a swell of pride in my chest. This is something Dax and I have in common that he likely doesn’t share with Sunny.
“Do you own Wilde Beauty?” Sunny’s eyes grow wide as I nod. “I have been dying to go in there. Work just keeps me so busy. I can never find the time. That place looks so beautiful.”
Her tone feels 100 percent genuine. No sarcasm. No envy. None of the ugly green feelings that are currently bubbling in the pit of my stomach.
“And what do you do, Sunny?” I ask because it’s the polite thing to say next.
She breaks into yet another blinding smile. “I work over at McMaster.”
“Sunny’s a cardiothoracic surgeon,” Dax adds, although he doesn’t brag as Dougie did earlier. He says it more appreciatively.
McMaster. The children’s hospital. Could this woman get any more perfect?
“Yeah, between work and curling and volunteering at the animal shelter, I don’t get a whole lot of time to shop.” She squeezes my arm again. “But I’d really love to visit your store. I will make some time to come see you, Gemma.”
In this moment, I get it. The appeal of Sunny Khatri. Why Dax wants her as a friend. Hell, I’m beginning to think I want her as a friend.
The phone on the table in front of her vibrates. She picks it up, swipes and types, and then holds it out for us to see. “I swear to god I say the word work, and it sends out some sort of bat signal. Unfortunately, I need to go in. I’m gonna try and see if I can get an Uber. It was lovely meeting you, Gemma.”
If I were a good person, I’d be disappointed for her that the night was cut short. But I’m not. I’m too happy that this might mean I get some more time with Dax without the shinier, newer model sitting next to me for immediate comparison.
However, Dax also gets to his feet. “I can give you a ride. It’s late.”
It takes every single shred of my self-control not to shout out, No! Stay here. Hang out with me.
I watch him clap both Brandon and his cousin on the back and throw a friendly wave in my direction. “It was nice to see you again, Gemma.”
He turns to follow Sunny, who is headed for the door, but stops when Larry intercepts him with his appetizer platter.
He takes the plate from Larry’s hands and returns to our table, and for the briefest of moments, my heart fills with the hope that maybe he’s changed his mind and decided to stay.
“Any chance you’re hungry?” he asks me. “Dougie and Brandon won’t eat carbs, but I swear this place makes the best mozzarella sticks in town.”
I manage a nod.
He sets the plate in front of me, then jogs to catch up to Sunny, disappearing with her out the door.
I stare down at the wings and wedges and four brown blobs of cheese on my plate, garnished with a lone leaf of limp romaine lettuce. The only consolation is the single side of marinara sauce.
I need a drink. Not to cope with my problems with alcohol, but to wash down the bitter disappointment climbing up my throat. And the cheese.
However, Dougie and Brandon have drained the last drop from the pitcher. I excuse myself to the bar, checking out the line of taps for possibly the first time in my life. I’ve never ordered anything but Hurry Hard at the club. I thought it was Dax’s favorite. But when I really think about it, it’s actually not that great of a beer, and since I’m on my own tonight, I figure I might as well order what I want.
“One Guinness, please,” I tell Larry. He gives me a leery look but grabs a glass and pulls the tap without argument. Larry is a good bartender, and Guinness is a pain in the ass to serve due to the two-part pour. Knowing it will be a minute or two before my beer is ready, I excuse myself to the ladies room.
I don’t need to pee. I only need a moment to splash a little water on my face. I collect myself and stare at the mirror to ensure I’m still me. It’s not a given anymore.
Two gray eyes stare back from the reflection. They look the same as they always have. Maybe a little tired. Dimensional travel will do that to a girl.
When I return to the bar, I feel a little more composed. I catch Larry’s eye. He takes the perfectly poured Guinness from the base of the tap and slides it down the bar top toward me.