Pittsburgh

Whilst I woke up at 5am every weekday morning, weekends were completely different. After waking up close to eleven o’clock, I rolled out of bed, showered, dressed and headed out to the Thai place a block away from my apartment building. Though last night had been a completely new experience for me, sticking to my usual Sunday ritual brought my head back down from the clouds and back down to earth.

After making my order and joining the small group of people standing around waiting for theirs to be ready, I pulled out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and clicked on the Facebook app, scrolling through my news feed to pass the time. Quickly losing interest, I instead checked my unread emails, noticing that I had one from Debra, Rockwell’s assistant. Tomorrow’s lunch meeting was scheduled for 12:30 at an Italian place not far from the office building that I knew was frequented by a lot of business people. I smiled to myself, relieved that everything had worked out, and in my favour no less. It was only a matter of time before Mark announced that I would be promoted, and I could come home to my parents with the good news.

Heading back to my apartment with my lunch in one hand and my phone in the other, I couldn’t help but check it every few minutes, wondering how soon it would be until I heard from Geno. Stop it, I told myself firmly. Do not become one of those girls who obsess over when a guy was going to call them. Putting my phone back into my pocket to avoid any further temptation, I walked the rest of the way home thinking about tomorrow’s lunch meeting in an attempt to distract myself from thoughts of Geno.

By four o’clock I was sitting in front of the T.V, painting my toenails as I half-heartedly watched a re-run of Friends. My buzzing phone, which I had left on the coffee table, startled me, almost causing me to knock over the bottle of nail polish. I picked it up to see a number I didn’t know flashing on the screen.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hi Audrey? Is Geno,” said the voice on the other end.
Not believing that he’d be calling me the next afternoon, I tried to keep my voice even and casual. “Hey Geno,” I replied. “It’s so great to hear from you. How’re you doing?”
“I is good, you?” he asked. I was starting to take a real liking to his accent.
“I’m great,” I replied, standing up to pace as I usually did when I talked on the phone.
“I want know if you come to game on Tuesday? Get you tickets?”
I stopped pacing, mild shock washing over me as I processed what he said. “Tuesday night?”
“We play Minnesota; smash them!” he told me enthusiastically.
Guilt welled in the pit of my stomach; I was incredibly flattered that he wanted to see me again so soon, but I knew I would be useless at work the next day if I didn’t get the work pilling up on my desk done. “I’m sorry Geno, I’d really love to go, but work nights just aren’t good for me.” I half expected this to be the last conversation we’d ever have.
“Call in sick? Come celebrate win with me?” he replied, almost convincing me to give in and cut work.
“I’d love to Geno, trust me; that sounds far better than the load of work I have to get through.”
“You come to game on Saturday then?” he bargained. “We play Buffalo again.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his efforts to get me to a game. “Saturday I can do.”
“Great! I get you ticket, and you come out to celebrate after we win?”
I laughed. “How could I say no to that?”
“Good, good. I see you Friday Audrey.”
“Sure thing Geno, I’m looking forward to it… To seeing you again.” I faltered, wishing I didn’t sound too keen.
“I excite to see you Audrey,” he replied, dissolving my worry.
“See you Saturday.”
“See you then,” he replied, hanging up.
I tossed my phone onto the couch, a permanent smile fixated on my face.

***

Monday’s meeting with Rockwell went as smoothly as possible, and by Wednesday, Mark had called me into his office to tell me that I had gotten the promotion. From then on, with the amount of work I had to finish before officially starting my new role in two weeks time the rest of the week passed quickly. The next thing I knew, it was five o’clock on Saturday, leaving me only a few hours to get home from my Pilates class, change and head to CONSOL Energy Center.

I hurried home, showering quickly and changing into the Penguins supporter shirt, dark blue skinny jeans and black knee-length boots that I had already laid out on my bed. I bought the shirt yesterday, opting not to wear a jersey; I thought it would be way too lame for me to wear a Malkin jersey to the game, and I didn’t want to show any preference to the other players in front of Geno. I fixed up my hair, tying it into a slick high ponytail and put on some light makeup. Grabbing what I needed to take to the game, I slipped on fitted black jacket and locked up my apartment, heading outside to the waiting cab. This time I could relax into the backseat without the nagging need to cinch a deal hanging over my head.

Section 107, Row H, Seat 7. I glanced up and down at the ticket in my hand, walking awkwardly down the steps to Row H, then shuffling across the people who were already seated, apologising profusely for making them stand to let me get to my seat. When I reached it, I sat down and exhaled in appreciation of how much more electrifying the atmosphere was sitting here than it was in a corporate box. By the time the players skated out to deafening cheers from the crowd, I vowed to never watch a game from a corporate box again. My eyes kept flickering to Geno as I passed through the motions of watching the players warm up on the ice and line up to sing the national anthem. By the time the crowd was seated and the puck dropped, my eyes were glued to him; even when his line wasn’t on the ice, I couldn’t help but search out his hulking figure seated amongst his teammates, sipping from a water bottle or chatting to the player next to him, his focus as intent on the game as mine was on him. Predictably, Pittsburgh was all over Buffalo once again, and whilst the game didn’t end in a shutout, the Penguins had outscored the Sabres by five goals, one of which was Geno’s.
I made my way to the locker room once again, this time managing to do so without getting lost. The usual scrum of reporters, fans and eager women were waiting outside, and I stood on the outer fringe, waiting for Geno. After a while, the crowd petered out and the players started to leave; some giving me a quick smile, others not even glancing twice. Just as I was hoping that I didn’t seem too desperate, waiting in my Penguins supporter gear out the front of their locker room, Geno walked out in a dark blue suit. I smiled as he noticed me, walking over with a grin on his face.
“You my good luck charm,” he told me, bending down to brush his lips against my cheek. “Always win when you come watch.”
I blushed, both at the comment and the kiss; as light as it was. “That’s because you’re such a great team!” I replied.
Geno chucked. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, sure. Is it okay if we swing by my place quickly so that I can get changed?” I wasn’t quite sure where we’d be going, but I knew that what I was wearing wouldn’t be appropriate for wherever we ended up.
“Of course,” Geno said, putting his hand on the small of my back and gently leading me towards the parking garage.
A few women glared at me, one muttering under her breath just loud enough so that I could hear.
“Slut.”
Though the ugliness of the word stung, I tried my best to brush it off; it was said out of jealousy and spite, not truth.
“Hey Horny! Where we going?” Geno called out to a hulking blonde figure ahead of us, who appeared to be on the phone.
“Cavo!” he shouted over his shoulder, moving the phone away from his ear. “Hey Audrey!” he added once he noticed me. “You joining us?”
“Sure am!” I replied, smiling that he had remembered my name. Had Geno talked about me to his teammates, or was Patric just good with names?
“See you two there then,” Patrice called, resuming his conversation with whoever was on the other end of the call.

Geno and I walked to his car, causally chatting about the game. Once we reached his car, again we went through the ritual of him opening the door for me, and drove out into the chilly Pittsburgh night, the music on Geno’s stereo playing low as we fell into a comfortable silence. I used this time wisely to plan what I was going to change into, now knowing we were heading to Cavo. I’d been there a few times with some girls from work, and once when a few old friends from Sydney came here to visit, so I was fairly confident I could dress appropriately for the venue.

As we pulled up outside my apartment building, I realised I couldn’t just let Geno sit in the car and wait for me. “Would you like to come inside whilst I quickly change?” I asked, hoping that he didn’t notice my voice was at a higher pitch than usual.
“Yes, I would like,” he replied with a smile, killing the engine and getting out of the car.
As we walked down the path to my apartment building, I prayed that I hadn’t left anything embarrassing lying around; it totally skipped my mind that Geno would actually be in my apartment building at all. The thought made heat creep up my neck, flushing my cheeks. I hoped Geno didn’t notice as we entered the building.
“This is it,” I said, slipping my key into the keyhole and opening my apartment door. Flicking on the lights, I did a quick scan for anything that could potentially be embarrassing. As long as Geno sat on my couch and didn’t move, it should be fine.
“It very nice,” Geno said, looking around the room with interest. “You have picture with bridge,” he noted, pointing to a photo frame sitting on the nearby mantelpiece.
“Yeah,” I replied with a small laugh. Geno really seemed to be taken with Sydney Harbour Bridge – probably because that’s really all he knew of Sydney. “That was taken a few years back when I did the bridge climb with my parents.” I picked up the photo, smiling down at myself wedged between Mum and Dad, the three of us smiling under the large white helmets we had to wear.
“You climb bridge?” Geno asked with awe. “You climb bridge in Australia?”
I laughed. “Just this one. It’s not an Australian pastime to climb bridges or anything.” I put the photo down. “Would you like a drink or anything whilst I change?” I asked him.
“No thanks,” he replied, looking at the other photos clustered on the mantelpiece.
There was me at my university graduation, standing in front of the giant quadrangle at Sydney University; a picture with my mum and dad taken last Christmas; myself and my friends from Sydney, our tanned bodies lined up on beach towels at Manly; a five year old me crying next to Rocky the Rooster, the Sydney Roosters’ mascot, whom I was terrified of; so many memories from my life back in Sydney.
“I’ll be super quick, I promise,” I told him, leaving him to look through the photos.
Dashing into my bedroom and shutting the door, I opened my wardrobe and sorted through the potential outfits, finally settling on a form-fitting white dress, with navy and aqua detailing. Taking off my current outfit, I slipped on the dress and searched for my only pair of white heels, slipping those on too once I found them. I grabbed a glittery gold clutch and put the essentials I’d need – phone, money and my ID – into it, giving myself a once-over in the full-length mirror. I let my hair out of its ponytail, combing through it with my fingers to style it around my shoulders and down my back. Once I’d spritzed myself with my favourite night-out perfume – Guilty by Gucci – I left my bedroom, crossing to the bathroom to touch up my makeup. I lined my eyes with black eyeliner and smeared on a dark red lipstick, before giving myself the all clear.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I apologised, even though Geno couldn’t have been waiting more than fifteen minutes.
Geno looked up from the picture he was studying. “You look beautiful,” he said.
The way his gaze trailed down my body, stopping at my hips, made me want to close the distance between us and kiss him hard on his soft lips. Instead, I thanked him for the complement and hoped he couldn’t see how rapidly my heart was beating.
“We get going?” he asked, putting down the picture frame.
“Sure thing,” I replied, excitement and nerves coursing through me.
I did a quick check to make sure everything was switched off before locking up the apartment. As I tossed my keys into my clutch, Geno slid his hand into mine, giving it a squeeze as we crossed over to the elevator. I looked up into his dark eyes, barely able to contain the smile spreading to my lips.

As the elevator doors closed, I wondered to myself how – in just two weeks – I was holding hands with Evgeni Malkin, on our way to celebrate a Pittsburgh Penguin victory.