Page 51 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“You’re crazy,” I say. “And you too Katy kid, but I love you anyway.” They both stare at me and I don’t know what’s stopping me except maybe wistful memories of cooking with Dad and the fear of diluting them. Heaving a breath, I go for it. “If I take cooking lessons that means you and your bastard husband will have to come for dinner when I invite you and you’ll have to eat my food.”
“Anytime.”
“And you,” I say to Harper, “will have to take lessons with me. No arguing.” Because I can see the protest on her face. She pauses a beat then smiles.
“I’m not crazy. You won’t see me turning down cooking lessons. But I’ll split the cost with you.”
“No, you won’t. But let’s not argue about that now. It’ll ruin the sauce. Let’s break out the wine and celebrate our new hobby because you know it’ll keep me off the streets.” She laughs. The world tilts because that’s the only way to explain that off-kilter feeling I’m getting.
Katy speaks up, “Just don’t go all obsessive about learning to cook.” She turns to Harper. “Did he ever tell you about the time he learned to play pool after losing badly once?” She rolls her eyes. “He spent the entire summer between sophomore and junior year of college playing pool every single day after skating, read every book written about playing pool, and made a makeshift pool table for practice at home. Drove Mom crazy.”
“Paid off though. Now I’m pretty good. The pool table is the one thing I miss from my loft in NOLA.”
“Yeah, sorry we had to put that in storage,” Harper says. “But you can make sure you have enough space for a pool table when you look for a new place for when the season’s over.” The flash of regret in her eyes at the mention of the season ending does something to me, connects with the matching regret tightening my chest at the moment. Because when the season is over, Harper is going back to the Big Apple with her promotion and bigger and better deals.
The meal doesn’t turn out half bad and I spend more than half my time trying to make Harper laugh. It works more and more with each sip of wine she takes, but I don’t dare push her to have more than her one glass limit because I’m not that asshole.
After we all share in cleanup, Harper says she’s going to see about getting someone to come to the townhouse for private cooking lessons starting the next week, one day a week in between my hockey schedule for six weeks. She retreats to her bedroom and says good night.
“It’s only eight o’clock,” I say.
“I’ll let you and your sister catch up. I have work to do. That’s what I’m here for.” She puts on a professional smile but I see the regret in those brave green eyes of hers. She’s used to being the workhorse carrying the burden for her family and for the Jett agency.
Harper disappears down the hall to the guest room—her room—and I watch that sweet ass of hers every step of the way. Before I let myself go there my sister speaks up.
“Oh my god, she’s perfect for you. I love her. Have you slept with her yet?” Katy’s excitement is shocking, even for her.
“No—what are you talking about? It’s not like that. You heard her. She’s here for work only.” Even I don’t believe my unenthusiastic words. Katy nods and goes into thinking mode, the kind where I can practically see gears turning like she’s a cartoon character.
“I can see your dilemma, but we can deal with this. Maybe she could get a different job. Or she doesn’t even have to work.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Don’t do this. Don’t get crazy ideas about—”
“Then tell me you don’t have it bad for her because I know you do. You’ve never treated a woman with such reverence before. You hardly flirted with her at all. You did everything but bow down to her and kiss her toes.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind—pardon my French.” I don’t want my sister to get the wrong idea about me and Harper, but damn it if I know what the right idea is.
Because right now I’m proud of myself not inviting Harper to stay in my room and honestly, if I said that in front of my sister, she’d roll her eyes at the expected behavior. But I don’t. and I think that’s what might cause some confusion. Fucked if I do, fucked if I don’t.Don’t I wish I could get fuckedfor real.
The next morning is game day and I need to get into my hockey head so I leave the two women and all the associated drama to themselves. Taking a cup of coffee, I leave super early.
“I’ll see you both later. After the game.”
