Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (24 page)

Turns out the
food was pretty good.

The
waiter refilled my coffee mug and took away our empty dishes with a
perfect, professional smile. I wondered briefly if he’d trained in
HR with Donna from
Canada-Pharm
then banished that horrible place from my mind and turned
back to my dinner companion.

There is a
thing that women can do with their appearance that I’ll never
figure out. Despite looking exactly the same they manage to look
completely different at the same time. I’m not sure if it’s a hair
or make-up thing? Different style of clothing, different coloring?
Whatever. On this night, Cathy had gone out of her way to be
unrecognizable as CTV News and Weather Correspondent Cathy
Greenburg. And yet I never would have mistaken her for somebody
else.

Fascinating.

And with that
said … Wow.

Dark slacks
with heeled boots, a purple low necked sweater just off one
shoulder with a matching belt. Her hair loose in that intentionally
messy kinda way.

Yeah.

Hot.

“What?” She
asked, catching me staring.

I cleared my
throat as the perpetual train of embarrassment continued. “I was
just wishing I had a grown up wardrobe hidden somewhere in my
closet.”

After I had
frantically made some soup and salad for Mom the pursuit of
appropriate dinner attire went into overdrive down in the basement.
After disregarding every item that could be mistaken for jeans, tee
shirts or basically anything I ever wore on a regular basis I
emptied my entire closet onto the bed and frantically rifled
through clothes that hadn’t seen the light of day in years.

So of course,
nothing fit right. Not even close.

I settled on an
old pair of brown slacks that must’ve been from my fattest days
(seeing as how I almost never need a belt) and a black collared
shirt that I was terrified would rip at the seams when I squeezed
my shoulders into it. Even if I had thought about wearing a tie my
neck would’ve prevented it.

But it kinda
made me look like I had muscles, so it was worth the
discomfort.

So long as I
didn’t move too suddenly.

Cathy’s dimples
re-appeared. “You look fine. Even if you stole that shirt from a
seventeen year old boy’s closet.” Her eyes twinkled as she said it,
taking away the sting.

I shrugged very
slightly, feeling the material pull in the middle of my back. “Yeah
well, I didn’t have time to go shopping.”

“Where
do
you shop,
anyways?”

“Wherever’s on
sale, usually.” I admitted wryly, giving myself the once over. “I
might actually have been seventeen the last time I wore this.”

Cathy laughed
again.

I couldn’t
remember the last time I had been out for something as simple as a
quiet dinner with friends.

It was
nice.

Made me feel
good. Relaxed.

“So, thank
you.” Cathy said suddenly, inclining her wine flute towards me
while her other hand motioned to the restaurant around us. “My boss
- asshole that he is – surprised the hell out of me today by
calling me at home. Which is why we’re out tonight,
celebrating.”

“We’re
celebrating a boss call? That’s rarely fun.”
“You’re telling me. When that happens I usually end up coming into
work. I hate the weekend shift.”

I stifled a
sigh, thinking about what my weekends usually were filled with.

“But he
surprised me. Can you believe he actually complimented me on my
extended piece?”
“That’s great.”
“I thought so too. Sure, he was a prick about it.” Cathy scrunched
up her face, deepening it as far as she could make it go and added
in a husky smoker’s rasp. “Dammit, Greenberg now I need a new
weather girl.”

“Wait, he fired
you?”

“Nope. He moved
me to the Investigative Team.” Cathy beamed proudly, almost dancing
in her seat. “Can you believe it? I am finally an Investigative
Journalist!”

My mind flashed
back, seeing a younger and less fancily attired version of Cathy
sitting across from me in Mr. Cox’s journalism class. The face was
a bit rounder. Her eyes less jaded. But the eager and excited
expression was identical.

“It’s about
damned time, missy” I said quietly, bringing my coffee mug to her
wine flute with a clinking-thunk sound in salute. “I always knew
you’d make it.”

Her smile was
brilliantly white and genuine.

I hoped mine
didn’t look sad.

The waiter
retuned and Cathy saved my hurting wallet by politely declining the
dessert menu. I took a complimentary coffee refill.

“How can you
drink that so late at night?”

I checked the
display on Cathy’s smart phone from where it sat on the table.
“It’s only eight-thirty.”

“When are you
going to sleep?”
“When I’m tired, I guess. It’s not like I need to work
tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I guess
not.” Her eyes became penetrating and pointedly avoided looking at
where I’d been shot. “How are you feeling?”

Good
question.

“Good and bad,”
I replied non-committedly, rubbing at my chest unconsciously with
my free hand. The scarring felt noticeable through my shirt but not
ridged or painful.

“How so?”

I grimaced.
“Sleeping’s rough. Dreams. That sort of shit.” I drained my coffee,
debating on what I wanted to say. What I wanted to admit to. What I
wanted to admit to myself. “I got no regrets, but things are weird
now.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. I’m used
to working. And working out. Having free time to rest and relax is
odd.” Having things blow up on me is odd too. Wait, who said that?
Shut him up! “It’s a bit of a lifestyle change.”

Cathy smiled
lightly, her eyes twinkling. “You don’t think you deserve a
rest?”

“Maybe I don’t
want a rest. Might force me to think about things. I don’t like
thinking,” I lied as I glanced around the restaurant. All the fancy
people enjoying their fancy dinners. Seeing them all made me feel
like such a poseur, trying to fit in. Something that I never wanted
to do.

“What?” She
asked following my gaze.

I grunted
softly. “Just thinking I shoulda met you back at
Sal’s
.”

“I told
you I can cover the bill.”
“No, not ‘cause of that.” Not
just
because of that.

“What
then?”

“
It’s
just …” I was at a loss for words.

Cathy leaned
towards me conspiratorially. “This isn’t your scene.”

“Fuck, no.” I
laughed, quite relieved. “It sure as hell isn’t.”

The waiter came
by with the bill and a perfect smile. Cathy tried to reach for it
and I cut her off by gently grabbing her hand and giving her the
mildest version of my death stare. It took a few moments but
finally she relented. A few seconds later I realized I was still
holding her hand and released it abruptly, grabbing at the bill
guiltily. Hoping to bury my teenaged flush in the teeny tiny paper
worth more than my water bill.

“Sorry,” I
muttered, cueing up one of my trademarked funny voices. “Don’t want
anyone running to Captain Max and giving him the wrong idea.”

The silence,
she did get awkward.

I looked up at
Cathy, found her staring down at the folded hands in her lap.

“Did I say
something wrong?”

She shook her
head, but hesitated before she did.

“No. Not
really.”

The Neanderthal
in my belly started to stir, growling possessively.

“Are you
sure? ‘Cause if there’s something going on I don’t care what he
means to this community I will be more than happy to
…”

“No, nothing
like that.” Cathy broke in assuredly, waving off my sudden
overprotective urge with a smile.. “Max is a perfect
gentleman.”

I waited for
her to elaborate. She didn’t, so I prodded. “But?”

Cathy
grimaced and sighed, looking around the room. Clearly paranoid
about eavesdroppers “Max
is
a
perfect gentleman. And everyone in town knows it.” She motioned to
the surrounding restaurant vaguely. “Every single person here knows
who Max Poulin, Captain of the
Winnipeg
Jets
is and what he means to this City. His dedication
to the team, his charity work and his career is second to
none.”

I thought about
that for a second, frowning.

“And that’s a
problem?”

She gave me a
frustrated look and took a deep draught from her wine before
continuing. “You wouldn’t think so, but it is. Just when I started
getting used to being recognized for my work on CTV – even only as
the weather correspondent – suddenly all I am known for is being
Captain Max’s girlfriend.” She shook her head with a sigh.

“I don’t
understand.”

“Neither do I,”
Cathy admitted ruefully, swirling the last of her wine dejectedly
in the crystal flute. Her pursed lip dimples were back in full
force. “It shouldn’t bother me that other women give me jealous
eyes, or send spiteful emails to my boss because I’m dating him. It
shouldn’t bother me that when Max and I are out in public other
women will try to hand him their phone numbers and give me catty
looks.” She sighed again, staring down at her wine. “It shouldn’t
bother me that other media types and officials – never mind friends
and family – try to lean on me to talk Max into taking part in
their personal pet projects.”

I waited for
her to continue, but she appeared to have talked herself out.

“But it bothers
you.”

“Damn right it
does.” She laughed bitterly.

I suck at
relationships.

I suck worse at
relationship advice.

Especially when
I might have jealousy issues.

“So why date
him?” My voice might’ve been a touch cold.

She
flushed slightly. Guiltily. As if realizing where she was and who
she was talking to. “Because he
is
a perfect gentleman. Polite. Respectful. Successful. Handsome
as it gets. Great in … Any woman would be lucky to have him.”
Cathy’s gaze drifted off slightly in some sort of memory, the happy
dimples on her face appearing though the smile seemed less mirthful
this time around. A slight flush rising in her cheeks.

Yeah, I really
wanted to hear that.

So it must have
been the Neanderthal in my belly who spoke next.

“Plus,” I said
pointedly, my poker face firmed up by my faintly bitter tone of
voice. “Dating him is good for your career.”

Cathy blinked,
her eyes snapping back to mine. Anger and guilt all in one
glance.

I met her gaze
unflinchingly even as I peeled off a number of bills to leave for
the waiter. My poker face up at full power as conflicting emotions
swirled in my brain.

“Yes.” Cathy
admitted quietly, he face flushed for an entirely different reason
now. “Yes. There’s that too.”

The Neanderthal
in my belly roared with triumph, but thankfully the rest of me was
in control and was wise enough to feel shame.

Chapter
21

“I’m sorry.
That was uncalled for.”
“The truth is rarely uncalled for, Joe.”

“Not in my
experience.”

We stood up
from the table and I motioned to the waiter to collect the tab. I
tried to move gingerly as my shirt was definitely becoming
uncomfortably tight across my chest and back. The way my luck had
been going I was terrified that the buttons would burst over my
belly and give the patrons staring down their noses a show they’d
never forget.

I helped Cathy
with her coat and held the door on our way out. You don’t have to
be a hockey team Captain to have manners you know. My grandmother
would’ve been proud.

It was chilly
outside, hovering just above freezing so the roads were wet and
slightly slick. There was very little traffic, given it being a
Sunday evening and the downtown festival series had yet to get
started.

I walked Cathy
to her Passat with my hands jammed into the pockets of my battered,
leather bomber jacket. Part of me felt like a complete idiot,
regretting my words and petty jealousy while the rest of me was
pleased. Shitty ending aside this was the best night out I’d had in
months. Maybe years.

We got to her
car and I stepped back, letting Cathy open the door herself. I
plastered my small smile on my face.

“Thank you,”
she said sweetly. Possibly sadly. “I really was going to treat you.
I really owe you for helping me out.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I said gently. But firmly. I gave her
a guilty grin. “It was great to get out. To see you again.”
She smiled faintly, maybe a touch sadly. “Yeah. It was nice. Let’s
try not to wait twelve years between visits anymore.”