#oliviah

"Hey, Olivia,” Anders cooed coolly into the phone, a grin filling his face. It was nine AM on a sweltering July morning and the Bruins’ Defenseman had already been up long enough to eat an early breakfast and head to the gym, currently finding himself in the Back Bay Barnes and Noble, green smoothie in hand, searching through the newspapers and magazines. “So I hear you’ve made the move north,” he continued, his charm oozing through the phone. It had been a strange text message, that was for sure. An old buddy from New York that he hadn’t seen or heard from in months referring to an article written by a previous hook up of his, explicitly referring to a date he’d taken her on and the subsequent night after along with the words “commitment-phobe,” “player-extraordinaire” and “a-black-book-longer-than-Lord-of-the-Rings.” Honestly, it had been a one-and-done hook up and they both knew it, and he should have known better than to get involved with a columnist who wrote about relationships and sex, but fuck she was hot, and dear God, it was fun. “I also hear I made a recent appearance in some of your work,” Anders chuckled, reading over the archived hard print in the store. “Does this mean Rupert Murdoch is cutting me a check?” he added, smirking. Unlike a lot of his colleagues would be, he wasn’t mad... more like amused. She did, thankfully, exclude any details that the average person could have used to determine it was him. And she was, well, absurdly attractive. Even if he was mad, he couldn’t stay that way for long. “I’d love to continue analyzing my sex life over lunch,” he smiled, enjoying every second of this conversation. “12:30?”