Page 30 of Slap Shot Surprise
“Yes.” She located her shoes, picked them up, and let them dangle off her fingers. “But would it be awful to walk out of here in bare feet? These shoes are pretty, but they hurt.”
“Tell you what—since I made you keep them on longer than necessary, I’ll give you a piggyback ride out of here.”
She giggled. “I did not mind keeping them on longer for you, since I couldn’t even feel my feet at that point, but I’ll take you up on that offer.”
I turned around. “Hop on.”
A moment later, she jumped onto my back, and I hooked my arms beneath her legs. Her arms looped around my neck. “Ready.”
I carried her out of the room, down the hall, and onto the elevator. At that hour, no one was anywhere to be seen, not even at the front desk. Outside, the night air was warm and the pavement still wet. Mist blanketed my face and arms.
When we reached my SUV, I unlocked the doors, pulled open the passenger side, and managed to back her in without her feet ever touching the ground.
I pulled up in her driveway less than ten minutes later. It was a small white house, just one story, with a picket fence and a wide front porch. Exactly the kind of house I pictured her in.
“Thanks for bringing me home,” she said. “I had fun.”
“Me too. Need a lift to your door?”
“That’s okay, I’m good from here.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “It seems weird to say, ‘It was nice meeting you’ in this situation. But it was.”
“It was,” I agreed. “I’m very glad I caught that awful flight, and we lived to see today. That was an excellent scrimmage.”
“Indeed.” She laughed. “So who won?”
“Let’s call it a tie.”
“Good idea.” Her laughter faded, and she put her hand on the door. “Well...good night.”
“Good night.” I didn’t really trust myself not to get carried away if I touched her, so I kept my hands on the wheel.
She got out of the car and tiptoed across the grass to her front porch. A light came on above her front door. After unlocking it, she pushed it open and waved before disappearing inside.
As I drove off, I started to have second thoughts about not asking for her number.
Almost immediately, I shut them down. Sure, she was cute and fun and we’d had a good time tonight, but it’s not like I was up in Michigan that often. And when I was, I was visiting my family, who lived almost two hours from here. Plus, asking for her number might have implied I was interested in more than just a good time now and then, and I didn’t want to mislead her.
But later on, as I stretched out alone in my big bed, I caught a whiff of yellow cupcake.
And it made me wish she was still here beside me.
“Hey, Dad,” I said at the dinner table the following night. “What was that story about the gangsters in your family tree?”
“Gangsters!” My twelve-year-old niece Claudia exchanged an excited look with her ten-year-old brother Benny. “I never knew we had gangsters in our family. Is that true, Papa?”
“That’s the story my noni always told me.” My dad reached over and cut up the chicken on six-year-old Gabrielle’s plate.
“Don’t gangsters, like, murder people?” Benny asked. “Are we actually related to a murderer?”
“Maybe,” I said, winking at him.
“Joey Lupo!” My mother, who had just set a plate full of arancini on the table, sent me a furious look. “Don’t say things like that.”
“He wasn’t a murderer,” said my dad. But then he paused. “That I know of.”
“So who was it?” Ellie, Gianni’s wife, asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard this story.”
“It was my great-grandfather,” my dad said. He looked at me from across the table. “The one you’re named for. Giuseppe. But he also went by Joe.”
