Page 21 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“I’m in my senior year at Boston College, currently working on writing a novel for my senior project.”
“Really? That’s ambitious for such a young woman,” Chloe Smith, one of my favorite sports reporters comments.
“How old are you?” Mike Foley, the sports reporter for theGlobe,jumps in and I could smack the fucker.
Vivvie freezes up and I’m not shy about showing my disapproval.
“Isn’t that the kind of question that’s forbidden? You know better than to ask a woman her age. Tell him, Chloe. He needs lessons in etiquette.” That gets a laugh because I knew it would, but I know they won’t rest because they’d love to tag me for dating an underage woman, especially if we’re seen out drinking.
“I’m twenty-one,” she says. “Don’t worry. I’m older and wiser than I look.” That gets even more laughs and some respect because she’s confronted the issue head-on while I’m acting like the overprotective boyfriend. That works. Luckily, because I don’t know if I can turn off my protective instinct where Vivvie is concerned. I feel responsible for her. Fuck, I am responsible for her. No matter that none of this was my idea, I signed on for it, so now I need to handle it.
After the press gets done with us, Ham approaches me and Vivvie with a couple in uniform. They’re the ones who were on stage earlier with their little girl who has brain cancer.
“I wanted you to meet Lieutenant Collins and his wife, also Lieutenant Collins only prettier,” Ham says. “They’re not only representatives for St. Jude’s, they’re also proponents of Veterans’ shelters and I think they could use your help with their cause.”
We talk to them, listen to their pitch about homeless veterans and the need to support local veterans’ shelters. But they didn’t need to sell me. They had me at hello. Vivvie gives them encouragement and understanding about their kids. And then I learn something new.
“One of my older brothers was in the service and was wounded,” Vivvie says. “He has a few fingers missing, but he’s one of the lucky ones because he has a big family to help support and take care of him. I admire the efforts and support given at the Veterans’ shelters. I’d love to visit and help out.”
The pretty Lieutenant Collins says, “Can we get you in for a visit at the Boston shelter, Finn?” She mentions a date.
Consulting my mental calendar, I note it’s on a day after a game when the team won’t have practice. A Sunday afternoon. Normally I’d take a nap and eat like a pig and then go prowling, but not on that day.
“I’m in.”
“Vivian, have you been to the shelter in Boston before?” Mrs. Collins asks.
“Yes, but it’s been a while. It’ll be nice to get back there. The men and women there are so inspiring to me.”
“I’m sure you’re an inspiration to them, too.” Mr. Lieutenant Collins says. I don’t miss the gleam of admiration in his eye as it lands on Vivvie’s creamy cleavage. My fists tighten and I give him the most benigndon’t even think about itlook I can manage.
Mrs. Collins laughs. “Don’t mind him. He means well, but I’m afraid he’s spent too much time away from civilized company.”
“I’m sorry if I—”
“No worries,” Vivvie says before I have a chance to add my two cents about what I think about his fucking uncivilized behavior—in spite of the fact that my own locker room talk would qualify as damn fucking uncivilized.
With the Veterans’ shelter visit scheduled and contact information exchanged—they get Ham’s number, not mine, and definitely not Vivvie’s—we stay for a few dances and another round of media questioning. She’s tense as the same questions are repeated over and over.
“I feel like I’m being quizzed and giving them the wrong answer so they keep asking,” Vivvie whispers.
“I’m a student at Boston College,” she says aloud with gracious patience for the tenth time tonight.
“If you don’t mind, guys and gals of the media, it’s time for us to go home,” I say.
“Are you living together?” one of the women broadcasters asks with an outstretched microphone.
“No.” We both say it at once and I feel her flinch in my arms. I laugh and it’s genuine enough. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“There’s the chippy goalie that we know and love,” Foley says. I feel like giving him the finger even if he is the number-one sports reporter in Boston. But I don’t.
“We wouldn’t have it any other way, would we?” Vivvie says, her chin jutting out as if to dare anyone to disagree. A deep spear of heat surges through me, bringing an almost dizzying well of pleasure up from some unplumbed depths because I don’t remember having such a feeling before. The goddamn mouse is protecting me. Albeit from some mild shade from a decent reporter who isn’t likely to do any damage.
I keep an arm around her as we make our escape. Lucky for us Gossip Girl isn’t around, but even the regular media have been unexpectedly curious about my “mystery date,” as they’ve dubbed her. Next week she’ll be the mystery fiancée. Or maybe they’ll be curious about something or someone else. Please God.
I give her a squeeze, then lean in and kiss her temple, murmuring for her ears only, “Thank you, babe. I owe you.” I can feel her heat rise and that gives rise to an appendage of mine that I’ve been successful at keeping under control for the most part tonight. But that’s all over.
“Let’s get out of here.”
