Page 138 of Full Contact

“No. There’s a place near the end where it’s quiet and sounds like it’s stopped arguing with life.”

I turned to face him. “In astrology, Saturn’s the planet of structure: schedules, rules, and deadlines.” I put my hands in my pockets. “Ask anyone in my department.”

“I like my version better,” Trier said.

We walked down the ramp into the garage. Our footsteps echoed off the concrete pillars, and Trier kept talking.

“I nearly stood during the clapping,” he said.

“I saw.”

“Thank you for bringing me,” he said.

When I pulled up outside his building, he unbuckled his seat belt, leaned across the console and kissed me. His cheek was still cold from the walk, but his mouth was warm. I slid a hand inside his open coat and found his ribs through the thin cotton of his shirt.

He took hold of my lapel and pulled me farther over the console, until the gearshift dug into my hip and I didn’t care. The windshield started to fog at the corners.

“What else is coming up?” he asked against my mouth. “In your subscription.”

“Several things.” I kissed the corner of his jaw, just above his collar, where his skin smelled of cold air. “Brahms in April. Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring in May.”

“Would I like the Stravinsky?” Trier asked.

“Based on how closely you watched the percussion tonight? Yes.”

He kissed me again, slower this time, tracing the line of my jaw with his thumb. I reached up to rake my fingers through his hair.

His phone buzzed in his coat pocket, against my wrist. He took it out without letting go of my lapel and read it over my shoulder.

“Anna,” he said. “The doorman called up to say you’re out front. She wants to know whether Peaches can have her bedtime treat or should wait for me.”

“Tell her to give the cat the treat.”

He typed a quick message and sat back. His tie was crooked, and his hair stood on end where my hand had been.

“Thank you for a great night,” he said.

I watched as he climbed out. He entered his building, straightening his tie on the way. Inside the lobby, the doorman said something to him, and he laughed.

***

Pratt stopped in my doorway while I was revising the week’s availability schedule.

He didn’t knock. He stood there in his practice sweats with his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and waited.

“Pratt.”

“You have a minute?”

“Sure. Have a seat.”

He remained standing. “What’s the protocol for a personal announcement? After the fact.”

I took my hands off the keyboard.

Pratt was our goalie and one of the team’s most valuable veteran players. I’d never seen him speak without having thought through every word.

“Do you want the team to announce something?” I asked. “Or do you just want us to know how to answer if someone asks?”