Page 13 of Right Man, Right Time
I nod. “And what is this assignment she speaks of?”
Ollie rolls her eyes just as the bartender places our drinks in front of us. I offer a thank you and bring my glass to my lips as she says, “Just the stupid end-of-the-year assignment for our internship that’s worth all of my credit.”
I nearly spit out my drink as I attempt to swallow, choking on the burning liquid. After a few coughs, I say, “Internship? As in you’re . . . in college?” When she nods, I mutter, “Jesus Christ, please tell me you’re of age.”
Her brows narrow. “Of course I’m of age. All college students are, you nitwit.”
Huh . . . she’s right. They are.
“How old are you?”
She tilts her head. “Twenty-one. How old areyou?”
“Thirty-one,” I answer.
“Ew, you’re in your thirties?”
The fuck?
“It’s not like I said I was sixty,” I snap.
“Still . . . thirties, so old.”
“It’s notthatfucking old,” I shoot back. Although, I’m starting to really feel those long nights on the ice lately.
“Still, ten years difference? That means when I was born, you were hitting the double digits. You could have been my babysitter. You’re a decade older than me, a near generation. Ew, I kissed an old man.”
“You kissed anexperiencedman,” I point out, growing irritated. “More than I can say for your ex who looked like he still watchesRugratson Saturday mornings.”
“What’sRugrats?”
“For fuck’s sake,” I say, dragging my hand over my face. “So what are you doing in college still? Getting your master’s?”
“No, bachelor’s in journalism, heading into my senior year of college.”
Jesus fuck.
She’s so young.
So fucking young that Iknowmy boys would ask me what the fuck I was even doing talking to her. They’d give me so much shit if they knew.
“Bachelor’s.” I nod, trying to convince myself she’s way too young and I should just send her on her way. But as my phone dings next to me with incoming text messages, I’m reminded of my dilemma.
Sarah.
Sarah is back in my life even though I don’t want her to be.
“So you have an assignment?” I ask before taking a sip of my drink to help wash away my worries.
“Yeah. It’s the end-of-the-year article we need to write to earn our credit. Candace decided who got what topic, and as you can imagine, she deliberately gave me hockey as my assignment, knowing I know nothing about the stupid sport.” Not reading the crowd around her, that’s fine. “I hope her teeth fall out.”
I chuckle. “I could help you with that, you know. Since I play hockey and all.”
“But really, how experienced are you?” she asks.
“Pretty experienced. It’s my job.”
“Like . . . you’re a professional hockey player? I thought you were just, I don’t know, some club player or something people knew.”
