Page 191 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
Ford trails in last, looking deeply exhausted already.
“Why do you all travel in packs?” I ask weakly.
“For safety,” Ford says dryly.
“Against what?” I ask.
He points at Connor and Gram simultaneously.
Honestly? Fair.
Gram stops dead the second she sees me standing near the couch, wearing Daltyn’s oversized T-shirt.
Oh no.
Her eyes slowly widen.
Then they narrow.
Then widen again.
“Oh my God.”
Daltyn steps in front of me like he’s trying to block a sniper shot. “Gram.”
“She’s wearing his shirt.”
Connor gasps so loudly I physically flinch. “Holy shit. Did you two?—"
“I’m leaving,” Daltyn mutters.
“No one’s leaving,” Gram says firmly. “We’re unpacking this.”
“There’s nothing to unpack,” I say quickly.
All four of them just stare at me.
Connor points dramatically between Daltyn and me. “You slept in his shirt.”
“I had a nightmare,” I say defensively.
Connor lowers the muffin box slightly. “Oh.” Instant guilt flashes across his face.
Gram’s expression softens.
Then, because she’s still Gram, she reaches into the totebag and pulls out a giant fuzzy blanket covered in cartoon moose.
“I brought an emergency comfort blanket.” A wide smile is on her face. “Told you I have ESP.”
Dear God.
“Gram,” I say, trying to avoid looking at the blanket. “You didn’t need to?—"
“It heals emotional distress,” Gram says seriously.
“That’s not medically accurate,” Daltyn says.
“Neither was disco, but I survived the seventies.”
