Page 92 of Checking It Twice
“I don’t mope.”
“You’ve been moping,” Hayes confirms. “It’s actually getting pathetic.”
“Can we just play poker?”
“Can’t,” Bennett says, appearing with a deck of cards and a look of parental exhaustion. “Shep’s having potty-training issues, which means every twenty minutes someone has to ask if he needs to go.”
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Shep streaks through the room again, cape flying, still pants-free.
“DADDY! I NEED TO POTTY!”
“Now?” Bennett looks at his watch like he’s calculating complex equations.
“NOW!”
“Okay, okay. Everybody just... deal yourselves in. I’ll be back.”
He disappears upstairs with his three-year-old son, and I’m left holding the baby while the guys arrange themselves around the dining room table that’s been cleared of everything except a few stray Cheerios and what might be dried applesauce.
“So,” Hayes says, dealing cards with the efficiency of someone who’s clearly practiced. “We need to talk about Clare.”
My stomach drops. “What about Clare?”
“Word’s out, man,” Chase says, arranging his cards. “Lucy told Ashley, Ashley told Bennett’s mom, Bennett’s mom told Lucy’s mom—”
“Damn.”
“—and now half the organization knows you brought someone home for Christmas who wasn’t completely horrible.”
The baby makes a soft cooing noise, and I look down to find her staring at me with those judgy eyes. She’s oddly calming, like holding her forces me to stay centered instead of spiraling into panic about who knows what.
“It’s not what you think,” I say.
“We think you’re in love with her,” Hayes says bluntly. “And too chicken to do anything about it.”
“I’m not chicken.”
“Then why haven’t you asked her out?”
Because I’m terrified. Because she deserves better than someone who’s still figuring out how to trust again. Because the thought of screwing this up with her feels worse than any loss I’ve ever taken on the ice.
“It’s complicated,” I say instead.
“Everything’s complicated until it isn’t,” Ty says philosophically. “You know what you need? A plan.”
“I don’t need a plan.”
“You need a plan,” Hayes agrees. “A grand gesture. Something that shows her you’re serious.”
“Like what?”
“Flowers,” Hayes suggests.
“Flowers are basic,” Ty counters. “You need something personal. Something that shows you pay attention.”
Bennett reappears, looking harried. “Crisis averted. He successfully used the potty and agreed to put on pants in exchange for ice cream after dinner.”
“We’re planning Mitchell’s romantic comeback,” Chase fills him in.
