She nodded. "Well, I really have to go."
"Okay." What the hell was wrong with him? He was totally stalling. "Guess I'll see you around."
She smiled and moved off with a wave. He watched her walk away in her spiky-heeled black boots, a slim beige coat belted around her waist, her long, dark hair bouncing.
Friends. Right.
He dragged his mind away from Katelyn and the swing of her ass beneath her coat, and focused on the discussion he was about to have with his agent. They were meeting at a steak house on North Wabash.
Tanner was there and seated when Kevin strode into the restaurant in his long black coat, radiating confidence and power. He was an arrogant ass, but he was good at what he did. Tanner had faith in him that he'd get him the best deal possible.
Tanner rose to his feet and they shook hands with smiles, then sat.
"This is my last meeting of the day," Kevin said, looking over the menu. "Got a flight back to L.A. tonight."
"When did you get in?"
"Last night. Came from New York."
Kevin had clients all over North America and Tanner was proud to be repped by the same agent as some of his other clients, all top players. "Crazy life," Tanner commented, knowing the guy racked up frequent flyer miles by the gajillions.
"Yeah. This weekend I gotta go off-line. The wife made me promise to take her and the kids away for some family time. The kids forget who I am."
"That sucks. I mean, the family time will be good."
"Says the single guy." Kevin grinned.
They ordered steaks, Tanner's with a side of steamed veggies, Kevin going for fries. "Eating healthy, I see," Kevin commented. "Good for you, kid."
Tanner shook his head. He was twenty-eight, not exactly a kid, but he'd been with Kevin since he'd been drafted at eighteen. In Kevin's eyes, he'd probably always be a kid.
"Okay," Kevin said. "Talks are going slow. I can only speculate what the reason is. Salary cap issues, likely."
"Everyone is saying they can't afford to keep both me and Boosh."
Kevin nodded. "That's what they're saying."
"Is it true? Are they trying to decide between us?"
"I don't know. They'll never say that, of course. But I saw Boucher's agent at the airport yesterday, flying out."
"Shit." Tanner looked down at the white tablecloth.
"The truth is, they could afford to sign you both, sure, and probably give you what you're asking for. But then they wouldn't have cap space to sign Pilkvist, Land, and Boyarov. They're all in the final year of their contracts and Boyarov will be an RFA. Rumor is he's asked for five years and twenty million."
Tanner nodded.
"The Aces will be hard-pressed to keep all their pending free agents."
Tanner fucking hated that. Teams changed every year, especially now with the salary cap, but the Aces had a good, solid core of guys that he liked personally and enjoyed playing with. From the sound of it, that was going to change.
"You two are both looking for big contracts. Panchyshyn in Tampa just signed for eight years, AAV of six mil. Boucher's comparable in age and skill. Rumor is Boucher and his agent want more than that."
"Boosh is good, but he's not better than Panchyshyn."
"Don't worry about him. Worry about yourself."
"I want to be reasonable. I don't want to fuck the dog by asking for way too much-something I'll never get-and end up with nothing."
"Wrong attitude. You have to be confident in what you're worth."
Tanner narrowed his eyes at Kevin doubtfully. The guy talked shit, but somehow he always came through. "Guess it's a good thing I'm not negotiating."
Kevin barked a laugh. "Too true."
"Is it those suspensions?" Tanner asked. "Are they still haunting me?"
Kevin made a face. "Who knows? I don't think so. They've never brought that up in discussions."
In his last season in New York, Tanner had been suspended five games for an elbow to the head of Stefan Collier. He'd never intended to injure anyone, he wasn't that guy, but he was big and he got physical. Then in his first season with the Aces, he'd gotten another one-game suspension for a high stick that had drawn blood and required stitches. Again, an accident, but he knew he had to be in control of his stick and he couldn't argue with it when the dude had stitches.
Since then, he'd been working hard to eliminate stupid penalties from his game and control his stick, and he'd gotten his penalty minutes way down.