Page 20 of Big Stick Energy
“Not a chance. I don’t even know where they’re going to live.”
“He’s buying a house,” Eric says, so I guess it’s nice that one of us knows where my brother is moving. “Maybe my mother knows if there’s a registry.”
“Would she?” I suppose that info might be buried somewhere in my inbox. It’s been a busy month.
“Yeah, hang on. I’ll ask her.” Eric puts his phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom,” he says a moment later.
“Eric!” The connection is so loud that both of us wince. “Are you on your way home soon? We’ll do lunch at the graveyard. You haven’t visited your brother in ages.”
His gaze flips up to mine, checking to see if I heard that. And the look of surprise on my face probably confirms that I did.
Lunch at the graveyard?
“You can stay the week…” his mother chirps.
“I can’t,” he says quickly. “I mean, I’m coming for the shower. But I’m not going to linger.”
“Eric…”
“Mom, I’m busy. I’m supposed to…” He hesitates, and I see frustration flicker over his features. What could he possibly be busy doing during a week when he’d been expecting to play in the finals?
Am I a terrible person for enjoying this awkwardness? “Shaving your playoff beard?” I suggest. “Fumigating your hockey bag?”
He glances at me again, and then his eyes light up. “… I’m busy practicing my dance-off number.”
There’s a peal of joyous laughter from his phone. “You can do thathere.”
“No, I can’t.” His voice rises in panic. “Because it’s a duet. I’m practicing with my date, and then I’m taking her to the beach. She’s had a tough month, too.”
We lock eyes, and this pronouncement sort of hangs in the steamy Florida air for a split second.
I won’t lie, the sound of Eric Tremaine referring to me as hisdatemakes my belly flutter. Even if he did it for nefarious purposes.
Then his mother takes a sharp breath. “Your DATE! Oh, Eric! I can’t wait to meet her! Tell me everything!”
We’re still staring at each other, but Eric’s eyes widen in anoh shitkind of way. “Uh, Mom? Gotta go. The bus is here. I’ll call you back. Love you!” He ends the call and then takes a deep breath. “Okay. Well. That escalated quickly.” He tips his head back and gazes up at the vaulted hotel ceiling. “God. What have I done?”
“In the first place,” I point out. “You failed to ask about the wedding registry.”
He groans.
“And now your mother thinks I’m…” I can’t actually say it aloud.
“My date for the shower,” he says quietly. “God, Darcy, I’m sorry. That was really…”
“Ridiculous?” I let out a nervous laugh. As if Eric didn’t turn up in my dreams. Regularly.
“I was going to saypresumptuous.” He rocks back on his heels. “Oh God, I shouldn’t call her when I’m hungover. You don’t have to be my date. I can call her back after my headache lifts.”
Ouch.“Did you take something for that?”
He shakes his head.
I dig into my bag, producing the kind of Mary Poppins arsenal that keeps the Legends running—Band-Aids for the rookies’ blisters, Advil for the veterans’ aches, throat lozenges for my boss’s constant shouting, melatonin for jet lag, earplugs for when DeLuca snores on the plane, and—at the very bottom—an ancient protein bar that’s probably toured more cities than Beyoncé.
I fish out the Advil and hand it to Eric.
“You are a queen. And you don’t have to be my date. I…
