Page 45 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“She’s a pathetic, worn-out slut. Finn doesn’t talk to her. I think maybe he should. Unresolved issues have more of an effect on him than he realizes.”
She takes a big scoop of food with her fork and spoon and eats with gusto, but I can tell she has more to say—call it learning on the job—and I brace myself.
“Did I mention the rest of the guest list for Sherry’s dinner party? Caroline Reed will be there. As well as your parents, me and Joe. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” She puts down her fork and studies me.
Likely she’s staring because I can feel the blood seep away from my brain to somewhere else. Or maybe my heart stopped altogether. My hand flutters to my chest to make sure it’s still beating. It is. Fast. The shock passes, but the panic stays. It’s milder than it would have been a month ago. I’m learning so much on this job. Like how to handle nasty people and nasty surprises and bosses with sick senses of humor. But to her credit, Mary’s face betrays a trace of concern under the amusement and a stoic determination that are always there in an odd symbiotic partnership.
“Don’t worry, Viv, it’ll work out. Caroline won’t let anything happen to Finn.”
Should I mention I’m worried about my parents? I decide not to. I only hope they don’t drag me home and lock me up after a dinner with the Boylstons. I only hope they don’t see through my fake fiancée role and blow the charade. And I really hope they don’t worry too much.
“I think you’re right. Caroline’s his mother and has those protective instincts in her.” And Finn admitted that she’d gone to all his games. That’s a very telling fact. Not that I’m a psychologist, but I am a romantic and I have no choice but to believe it.
* * *
Finn sendsme a text first thing in the morning letting me know he’s back in town. He’s heard from Mary about the dinner the Boylstons have arranged. Darn. As I pull off the covers and stumble from the pullout couch, the most uncomfortable bed I’ve ever slept in, I wonder how early I need to get up to beat Mary to the punch. One of these days, I want to be the one to let Finn know what’s going on in our relationship, fake or not.
Instead of texting him back, I ignore the bubble of nerves sizzling in my chest and my gut, making me feel like a walking cauldron of boiling stew. Before I let said nerves talk me out of it, and before I add coffee to my nerves, I pick up my freshly charged phone from the kitchen counter and punch in his never-before-used number.
Putting it to my ear, I lean on the back of the couch, clutching my robe as if he can see me in my very unglamorous flannel pajamas spotted with pink kittens. The phone only rings once before he answers it as if he already had it in his hand.Waiting for my response?
“Well look who’s calling,” he says. “My fiancée finally honors me with an actual phone call. I honestly wasn’t sure you knew—”
“Good morning, Finn.” There’s a smile in my voice, reflecting perfectly the smile on my face at his teasing.
“Is it? What’s Mary thinking, agreeing to this Boylston dinner?”
“We can handle it,” I say.
“I’d rather handle you,” he says in that low voice that sends vibrations to my core.
“That could be arranged,” I manage to respond in a strained whisper, almost hiccupping with the wild flock of beastly butterflies fluttering my insides into a frenzy.
“Getting bold, aren’t you, Vivvie? Before we get too sidetracked, we need to come to an understanding about this dinner. I’ll go. You’ll go. I can’t stop my mother from going, but there’s no way in hell you need to put your parents through that. Just because Sherry’s inviting them doesn’t mean they have to attend.”
“You’re right. I’ll talk to Mary—”
“No. Don’t ask Mary’s permission. They’re your parents and this is your life.”
He sounds like he’s standing up for me, but I’m not entirely sure if it’s for my sake or his.
“Wow, you really don’t want to meet my parents, do you?” I chuckle unconvincingly. Then I wait a beat of silence for his response. And another.
“You testing me, Vivvie? You think I have selfish motives? That I’m not concerned about you and your parents, only concerned for myself?”
“Well—I—”
“You’re right. You should assume I’m a selfish bastard, because I am.”
Now I know I’ve hurt him because that was a defensive lash. It hurts like heck even as I tell myself he doesn’t really mean it. Because now I also know he really is concerned about me. Maybe not so much for my parents because he doesn’t know them.
“And you’re right,” I say. “I’m not inviting my parents. I’m keeping them out of this.” And I’m especially keeping my brothers out of this. So far they haven’t said a thing because they’re not into sports celebrity gossip.
“Good. I got you and Grace tickets on the boards.”
“What about your mother?”
“Mary or Ham or someone else is arranging her tickets. I’ll see you after the game.” He pauses and I know he has something else to say, but I’m not ready for the sexy growl of his voice. “Wear my jersey. The one I’m sending you today.”
“I will.” He ends the call and, with my heart thundering, I smile because we’ve ended on a very promising note. He’s sending me a special jersey. His.
The rest of the day I’m going to be playingwill he or won’t he, wondering whether he’ll take me up on my bold suggestion.
