Cara paced around her apartment. She had so much adrenaline coursing through her body she decided to go for a run. But first, she decided to text Mark about the weekend.
Cara wrote three different messages, deleting each one: too pushy, too ambivalent, too silly...why was she having so much trouble writing a simple text?
Cara put down her phone. Most of the men she'd met gave very clear signals. They were interested in her body, her association with J&H or both. Mark didn't seem that interested in either - well, maybe her body a little since he did seem to enjoy the view at Angelo's. Could he really be so reserved? It was his ambivalence that made her so unsure, that made her act awkward around him when she was normally so confident.
She picked up her phone and pulled up his contact. She typed, hearing the cool voice in her head that she hoped came through in the text. "Hey Mark, Saturday works best for me, say 7:30? Dinner would be great, your choice. Let me know if this works for you, C."
Cara read it twice and hit send. She stared at the phone hoping for an instant response but a blank screen stared back in return. "humph!" she huffed and went to her bedroom, tearing off her work clothes along the way. She threw on her running shorts and tee and tied her hair back in a pony tail. She laced up her Nikes, grabbed her iPod and keys and headed out the door, purposely leaving her phone behind. Otherwise she knew she would check it every few minutes, and she wanted to enjoy her run.
As she pulled the door shut behind her, her phone pinged with a text from Mark: "Sounds great Cara see you then."
Mark smiled as he sent the text. He slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and pulled on his Timberlands. He hoisted his hockey bag onto his shoulder, grabbed his stick and glanced back at the living room to make sure everything was in its place. He left his brownstone hoping to find a taxi that would pick him up with all his gear.
The team had a great practice. The mood on the ice and in the locker room was joyous. Even the coach was pleased. "Looks like you assholes are ready for next week," he said as they peeled off their equipment. A week from Friday the NYFD would play against the NYPD in the Garden. The event generated thousands of dollars in charitable donations for the Fallen Heroes Foundation, but to the players it was a grudge match first and foremost. The NYFD had won this particular event the last two years in front of a packed house. The trophy made its rounds around all the firehouses in the five boroughs. The game would be a battle.
Mark left feeling tired and happy. Playing hockey had saved him throughout his life. It gave him a home when he hated the one he lived in, a family when he rebelled against the one he had. And it was a perfect outlet for the frustration and anger that came with being a Chambers.
If things worked out with Cara, maybe she would come to the game. His smile broadened as he hailed a taxi heading home.