Page 36 of Slap Shot Surprise
I meant to tell you, I asked my dad about that relative who was the bootlegger.
Oh really? What did you find out?
Some cool stuff. Turns out, it was the great-great-grandfather I was named after.
Giuseppe?
Yes. But he went by Joe too.
That’s very cool.
My dad said he and his wife ran whiskey from Canada into Detroit. They used to bring it over in boats in the middle of the night.
Stop it, really?
That’s what my dad’s noni told him.
That’s incredible!
It reminded me of you.
I stared at the screen while heat rushed my face. He hadn’t just forgotten about me—that was good, right? While I was trying to decide how to respond, he texted again.
See you in a couple days.
I liked his final message and set my phone aside.
Then I ran to the bathroomand threw up.
Late Saturday afternoon, I checked into my hotel and sent Joe a text that I’d arrived in the city. He asked if I wanted to come over to his place and we could decide from there what we wanted to do, and I said that was fine. He sent me the address and let me know he’d leave my name at the desk so I could come right up.
I ate a handful of crackers to settle my stomach, cleaned up a little, and jumped in an Uber.
Joe’s apartment was in a Gold Coast high-rise, and when I gave my name to the concierge, I was shown to the elevators. As I rode up to the sixteenth floor, I couldn’t help thinking about the elevator ride up to his hotel room at The Pier Inn. His mouth and hands all over me. His voice in my ear. My stomach was just as jumpy this time around, although for a much different reason.
The doors opened and I walked down the hallway to his door. Taking a deep breath, I said a little prayer and knocked. When he pulled it open a moment later, I felt the air rush from my lungs. I’d forgotten how handsome he was.
“Mabel Jane Buckley.” He opened his arms and moved forward to give me a hug, clasping me tightly to his chest. He smelled fresh and clean and masculine, and he felt slightly damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. “It’s good to see you.”
Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to be swallowed by his embrace, taking comfort in the solid warmth of his chest. “Hi.”
After letting me go, he shut the door behind me. Hiseyes roamed over my blue floral skirt, the white T-shirt I’d tied at the waist, and my sneakers. “You look great.”
“Thanks. So do you.” He was barefoot and wore jeans and a plain black T-shirt that hugged his muscles.
He messed with his hair. “Sorry I’m a little wet, I just showered. Can I get you something to drink? Beer or glass of wine or something? I don’t have champagne, but I think I have a bottle of white somewhere around here.”
“Maybe just water?”
“Sure. Come on in.” As we left the entryway and moved down a hall to the right, he swept an arm toward a bedroom on the left. “So, this is my place. Guest room there. Bathroom here.” He gestured to an open door on the right, through which I saw shiny white marble with gray veins. The hall ended at a partially closed door, which he pushed open. “My bedroom.”
I gave it a glance—king-sized bed, huge TV screen mounted on the opposite wall, massive windows with the blackout shades down.
He turned left again, leading me into a huge open space with a kitchen at one end and a living room at the other. The outer wall was a curved bank of floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning panoramic view of the city below and Lake Michigan beyond.
“Wow,” I said. “What a view.”
“Yeah, that’s what sold me on this place. I like being able to see the water.” He went behind a marble-topped island and opened a stainless fridge. Pulling out a bottle of water, he handed it to me. “This okay?”
