you still pining and crying your eyes out for him?” he asked abruptly.
She blinked, caught off guard. She wasn’t going to admit as much to Cole of all people, but she’d done enough pining and crying in high school to last a lifetime. Still, it would be pathetic if she’d met and lost the love of her life at eighteen. Her life couldn’t have ended that early.
“For whom?” she asked carefully.
“Piazza.”
“Not really.”
She’d dated since graduating from Pershing, but nothing had panned out past a few dates until Sal. It was as if she’d needed to lick her wounds for a long time after high school—after Cole.
There’d been initial shock over Sal’s betrayal, of course. But then she’d gotten on with her life. She had a low opinion of Sal, and she was still angry about being cheated on. But she wasn’t lying in bed wondering how she was going to go on—or wishing Sal would see the light and come back to her.
She’d been prepared to be hit by the despair that had assailed her after her teenage fling with Cole. So either she’d matured, or her relationship with Sal hadn’t been as significant as she’d told herself. She refused to analyze which was the case.
Cole shrugged. “Piazza isn’t worth it. He’s a cheating a—”
“You’ve never cheated on a woman?” They were getting into personal territory, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking the question.
Cole assumed a set expression. “I’ve dated plenty, but it’s always been serial. And you never answered my question about how you met Piazza.”
“Why are you interested?” she shot back before sighing in resignation. “We did meet in a bar, actually. Some teachers met for Friday night drinks, and I was persuaded to go along. He was an acquaintance of an acquaintance...”
Cole arched an eyebrow, as if prompting her for more.
“He was steady, reliable...”
“A bedrock to build a marriage on. But he turned out to be so reliable, he cheated on you.”
“What do you suggest constructing a lasting relationship on?” she lobbed back. “A hormone-fueled hookup with a woman as deep as a puddle after a light rain?”
She didn’t pose the question as if it was about him in particular, but he could read between the lines.
“I haven’t even tried for more. That’s the difference.”
“As I said, Sal appeared steady and reliable...” And she’d been desperate for the respectably ordinary. All she’d wanted as an adult was to be middle class, with a Cape Cod or a split level in the suburbs and a couple of kids...and no money worries.
Sal had grown up in Welsdale, too, but unlike her, he’d attended Welsdale High School, so they hadn’t known each other as teenagers. When they’d met, he’d been working for a Springfield-based sports management company, but was often back in his hometown, which was where they had gotten acquainted one night at The Obelisk Lounge. Sal traveled to Boston regularly for business, but he and his firm mainly focused on trolling the waters of professional hockey at the Springfield arena where the New England Razors played.
Cole looked irritated. “Sal is the sports version of a used car salesman—always preparing to pitch you the next deal as if it’s the best thing since sliced bread.”
“As far as I can tell, a lot of you sports pros believe you are the best thing since sliced bread.”
They were skimming the surface of the deep lake of emotion and past history between them. Every encounter with Cole was an emotional wringer. You’d think she’d be used to it by now or at least expecting it.
Cole shrugged. “Hockey is a job.”
“So is teaching.”
“It’s the reason you made your way back to Pershing.”
“The school was good to me.” She shifted and then picked up her handbag.
Cole didn’t move. “I’ll bet. How long have you been teaching there?”
“I started right after college, so not quite ten years.” She took a step toward the door and then paused. “It took me more than five years and several part-time jobs to get my degree and provisional teaching certificate at U. Mass. Amherst.”
She could see she’d surprised him. She’d gone to a state school, where the tuition had been lower and she’d qualified for a scholarship. Even then, though, because she’d been more or less self-supporting, it had taken a while to get her degree. She’d worked an odd and endless assortment of jobs: telemarketer, door-to-door sales rep, supermarket checkout clerk and receptionist.
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