Home > Valentine's Hearts (Owatonna U Hockey #5)(2)

Valentine's Hearts (Owatonna U Hockey #5)(2)
Author: R.J. Scott

“Ugh.” My head dropped back to the brick wall. Mr. Roma was no help at all. “I bet an Early Girl tomato plant would have had better advice.”

My phone buzzed against my ass. Hoping it was Ryker calling before he entered the dressing room to say he was sorry, I lifted an ass cheek and yanked the cell free of denim. I was monumentally disappointed to see that it was Adam Isaksson calling—my boss and lead on the Bygenta study. The millionaire tech giant was all about sustainability, and determined to change the world—I felt honored to be part of this new future at inception, and he valued my input on all levels.

“Hey, Adam,” I said as I flipped open my laptop and found the document I’d been typing before the Ryker/chow mein interruption.

“I’m glad I caught you. Do you have that proposal for Bygenta done?”

I looked at the mostly blank screen. I had two paragraphs. Did that count as done? Doubtful. My gut began to churn.

“I’m working on it.”

“Good! Finish it up then bring it to me and we’ll polish it tomorrow. They’re eager to see our results so far over in the main office. I’ve told them about the incredible work that this team, and you in particular, have been doing. I’m calling everyone to ensure all the data has been double and triple-checked. After we’re done we can grab dinner somewhere and discuss your future with Bygenta Agrochemicals.”

On some surface level, it was nice to have him speak so highly of me. I’d been working my ass off on this project, and Adam had been supportive of all the time and energy I’d put into my work. Unlike Ryker, who only bitched about my job. Still, if I went to his place to work tomorrow Ryker would come unhinged. I sensed that Ryker disliked Adam for some reason he wouldn’t cop to.

“But tomorrow is Sunday. I have plans with Ryker to ride out to the ten bakeries he has on his wedding list and—”

“Jacob, I know it’s the weekend, and I’m sorry for calling you in, but this is too big a chance for you to miss out on. If it’s any consolation, I had to cancel a dinner date with my mother in Tempe. And you know how much I love spending Sundays with her.”

Yeah. I did know. Adam Isaksson was close to his mother and spoke of her with great affection. I’d learned a lot about Adam over the past few months of this massive study. If I could just wrap this job up with a stellar report, Adam had promised to drop my name when he reported to the main Bygenta office in Switzerland. Maybe I’d get a higher position with more pay, then Ryker and I could stop fighting over cash all the time.

Now I felt doubly shitty. “Sorry. I know this sucks for all of us. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Jacob. Tell Ryker I’m really sorry for ruining your plans.”

“He’ll understand.” I lied a huge lie. Even Mr. Roma knew it and was judging me in silence as only a tomato plant can. “See you tomorrow.”

I cut the call and then let my phone slither down my chest to my leg, then onto the cement. Great. This would not go over well. We’d had Christmas and the twenty-sixth off together, but that had been caught up in Skype calls, and visits, and turkey, and tomorrow — the one day Ryker had off before a Canadian road trip — I get called into work to prepare for some asshole from the main office in some other country. Gazing at Tucson’s arid mountain backdrop, I longed for Minnesota and the soft lows of cattle. It was seventy degrees in January. No way would I ever get used to the lack of seasons.

I missed snow and cold so much I could taste it. This city and this small apartment were chafing at me. I needed a big farmhouse, acres of corn and soy to tend to, cattle to milk, calves to bottle-feed and raise. I needed a dog.

“Nothing personal, Mr. Roma.” I reached over to pat his green leaves. There was no wagging tail or lick of my hand. Blowing out a breath that puffed up my cheeks, I opened my laptop, rolled my head, winced at the cracking of my neck, and dove back into the world of dry data and ass-kissing. This whole Arizona experiment was not working out as I’d envisioned.

 

It was midnight when Ryker got home.

I was waiting up with a sour stomach, a fake smile, and a tray of chicken tenders right out of the oven. He’d had a very bad game, monumentally bad, according to the play-by-play man, not that I saw all of it, because reports waited for no man.

“Hey,” he said after tossing his jacket and tie to the back of the couch.

“Hey. Sorry about the loss. Boston is always tough,” I said while sliding his tenders off the cookie sheet and onto a plate. He eyed the tenders suspiciously. “I knew you’d be down after a rough game so…” I waved at his favorite food then served him the plate. “Blue cheese or ranch?”

“Ranch. I really shouldn’t be eating this kind of stuff,” he whispered as he lifted a tender from the plate and broke it in two. “I’ll be doing ten miles on the treadmill tomorrow.”

“You’re pretty dedicated to your diet. A treat every once in a while won’t hurt.”

He smiled then blew over the half a tender, sitting on the kitchen counter. I unscrewed the lid to the dressing then squeezed a big dollop onto the edge of his plate. He rewarded me with a smile—the most beautiful smile on the planet. I’d better cherish it because once I told him about tomorrow it would be gone.

“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said. I had to look away. I’d never been good at deceit. “What?” When I worked up the courage to glance back, his brow was furrowed like a well-worked wheat field. “You might as well tell me.”

“Don’t get mad.” As soon as I said it I knew it was stupid to say that. His sleek eyebrows dropped into a ‘V’. “I can’t go visit bakeries tomorrow because I have to go to work.”

There was a harrowing span of like fifteen seconds where he said or did nothing. Then he flung the dish of chicken tenders to the counter.

“It’s Sunday. You don’t work on Sunday. We set this up five weeks ago because it was the only Sunday I was home and not playing.”

“I’m sorry, I am! I just… Adam called and said we need to get this update into Bygenta and—”

“Fuck that project, fuck Bygenta, and fuck Adam! This is our wedding, Jacob! Do you even care about it at all?!” His gaze snapped with anger and pain.

“Of course I care!” I fired back, feeling like a lowlife bastard.

“Do you? Do you really care? I’m killing myself with the planning and playing hockey and all you do is shoot down and shit all over everything I propose. What the hell kind of wedding do you want? Do you just want to go stand in front of some JP?”

“Maybe! At least that would be sensible. We’re supposed to be saving for a house, Ryker! And kids. How do we plan to make all of that happen when we toss every penny we have into this stupid wedding?”

“Nice, so it’s ‘stupid.’ Good to know.”

“I never said the wedding was stupid.” Fuck, I had said that. Shit. This was spiraling out of control quickly. “I didn’t mean the wedding is stupid. I want to marry you. I want us to have what my parents have and yours have. It’s just all this pomp and circumstance is… well it’s stupid. You’ve fallen into the trap.”

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