Free Crazy Thing Called Love by Molly O'Keefe Page B

Beside him, Maddy stiffened.
    “Can I take your coats?” she asked in a French accent.
    “No,” Maddy said, quickly. Too quickly. She wasn’t mad, she was just nervous.
    The woman in blue left and Maddy pulled on Billy’s hand.
    “It’s French, babe,” he said, trying to calm her down, because he wanted to stay even though she was uncomfortable. “It’s just the way things are here.”
    Vincent, at the table, stood slightly, waving Billy over.
    “Come on,” he whispered, pulling Maddy along with him. They got to the table and he shook hands around the table. It was Vincent and five other guys. Christ, talk about being invited into the inner sanctum.
    Belznick; Reed; O’Hare; Bern, who didn’t play tonight because he was injured; and Murphy. All of them with Stanley Cup rings.
    So. Fucking. Cool.
    “Who is the girl?” Vincent asked in his ear.
    “My wife.” He turned to introduce her, but Vincent stopped him.
    “Wife?”
    “Yeah. Maddy.”
    “Dude. Do you see any other wives here?”
    “Uh, no.”
    “That’s right. We don’t bring wives.”
    “But … she’s cool. I mean …” He didn’t know what he meant.
    “So’s my wife,” Vincent said. “But she sure as hell isn’t here.”
    Vincent leaned past Billy and looked at Maddy, his smile sincere. “Your husband was awesome tonight,” he yelled over the music. Maddy’s face lost some of its stern white lines.
    “Yes.” Her eyes rolled over Billy with hot familiarity and pride. “He was.”
    “Have a seat,” Vincent said, pulling out a chair for Maddy, acting all chivalrous, and Billy felt like he was getting a lesson in lying. A lesson in living two lives. “You want some steak? There’s not much else on the menu tonight.”
    “Steak is perfect.”
    Vincent lifted his hand and made a gesture to the woman in the blue dress, who vanished behind another set of dark curtains.
    Their steaks arrived. He ordered two beers and gave one to Maddy; no one batted an eye at her being underage. He touched the neck of his bottle to hers, but she didn’t smile. She drank like she was dying.
    At the front of the table one of the girls took O’Hare’s hand and led him away to a dark corner. In the shadows he saw the flash of her white skin as she peeled off her dress and danced for him.
    He tried not to be turned on, but it was impossible. The game, the invitation, the shadowy corner where the girl was dancing: all of it made Billy’s blood pound.
    “Billy,” Maddy whispered. “Let’s go. You want a dance, I’ll dance for you. But this place isn’t us—”
    “Billy!” Reed yelled from across the table. “You putPopov down tonight, man.” The other guys started talking about the fight and Billy felt himself expand under their praise. These men, these veterans of the game, they accepted him. They’d invited him into their world. Their party.
    He glanced back at his wife, whom he loved with all his heart.
    Next time he wouldn’t bring her.

Ruth didn’t let any moss grow under her ass—they were scheduled to tape Billy’s introduction episode on Friday.
    On Wednesday afternoon Madelyn declared a temporary and necessary detante and knocked on the door of the editing suite.
    “Go away!” Ruth yelled, which is what she yelled at everyone, so Madelyn walked in anyway. The room was dark, a series of cubicles off a long center hallway, with editing equipment tucked into each one. She followed the flashing lights and the dim hum of audio to the back cubicle where Ruth was sitting with James, their senior editor.
    On the screen was Luc Baker, former NHL player and one of Billy’s friends from way back.
    “How’s it coming?” Madelyn asked.
    Ruth pulled off her dark-rimmed glasses. “Good. Really good. The guys love Billy but they love making fun of him, too.”
    Madelyn crossed her arms over her chest. “Sounds great.” Her sarcasm was unmistakable.
    “It’s good-natured. Honestly. We had to find an ex-girlfriend to get anything