Twisted Wrister: A Next-Door-Neighbor Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 7)

by G. K. Brady

  Seemingly ignoring her comment, he tossed back, “What’s Mom doing?”

  Amanda splashed creamer into her cup. “Working on her pumpkin pies.”

  Michaela’s eyes darted around the room before giving Blake a suggestive look meant for him alone. “Does your mom know we have plenty of whipped cream?”

  The look he returned could have ignited a forest fire. “Thought it got used up.”

  “I got more when I was at Costco two days ago.”

  He quirked a devilish eyebrow, matched by an equally devilish grin that held all sorts of tummy-fluttering promise. “Tell me you set some aside.”

  Amanda fake-gagged. “Please! Keep your coded messages to yourselves. I don’t want to know what they mean because ew! Just ew!”

  “Those two are pretty obvious, huh?” Fiona called from where she rested against James’s shoulder.

  “Obviously disgusting,” Amanda groused.

  “Shouldn’t you be next door helping Mom?” Blake scoffed.

  Helping, Michaela was pretty damn sure, meant supervising, but she stayed out of it. Not her family, not her fight. Lord knew she had plenty of … Nope, not thinking about work. Not today.

  Amanda shrugged just as a knock sounded at the front door. “Probably her now.”

  It turned out to be April instead, with a covered baking sheet and an insulated bag strapped over her shoulder. Amanda took the pan from her while Michaela took the bag and her coat. “What did you end up bringing? It smells wonderful! And how’d you get into the lobby?”

  “I brought Korean barbecue short ribs—for those who want something besides turkey—and someone was leaving as I was coming in and held the door for me. Thanksgiving cheer and all that.” April grinned.

  Michaela introduced her around until April’s eyes landed on Blake and bugged out. Michaela had warned her he’d be here—in case she needed a drool bib—but hadn’t mentioned anything about their … whatever it was. It’s a relationship. We have a relationship, even if it’s not of the long-lasting variety, with him being skeptical of romance and all. And damn it, I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.

  She plunked April’s heavy bag on the counter with an oomph. “What’s in the bag? Rocks?”

  April reached inside and pulled out two bottles of Veuve Clicquot. “There’re two more.”

  Michaela’s eyes widened. “Oh wow! Kinda fancy for a throw-together Thanksgiving meal, isn’t it?”

  “Hey!” Blake grumbled. “There’s nothing ‘throw-together’ about this meal—at least not my portion.”

  “Didn’t mean to ruffle those man feathers of yours, big guy.” Michaela went up on tiptoe to kiss Blake’s cheek, and he leaned down to accept it, his gorgeous mouth curling up. While April busied herself hauling out the other bottles, she shot her a questioning side-eye.

  Michaela had Amanda help her pull down champagne glasses while James sauntered over to open a bottle and pour it out in equal measures.

  Michaela handed glasses around and turned to April. “Do you always serve good champagne with ribs?”

  “Definitely not, but I figured we needed a special bubbly today so we could make an extra-special fuck-you toast to the bastards at Steadman, Hart & Fast.” April raised her glass, and Michaela nearly choked. After taking a sip, she gave Michaela sad eyes. “HR contacted me yesterday after Steadman had his little chat with you. I’m so sorry, Miss Micky.”

  Blake’s glass was poised mid-lift, but he looked all kinds of confused—for good reason. “Sorry for what, and who are we telling to fuck themselves and why?” While others laughed—though they didn’t know exactly what they were laughing at—and tipped their glasses back, he set his down, untouched, and frowned. “M? What’s going on?”

  Just then, DeeAnn pushed through the front door, her watery eyes zeroing in on the bottles like a missile on its target. “Ooh, I got here just in time! I love champagne!”

  Michaela felt Blake’s body tauten like a steel cable ratcheted up to maximum tension. The day had just jumped the track from homespun fun to double disaster.

  Chapter 28

  These Rails Lead to Crazy Town

  M did a spectacular job avoiding Blake’s gaze—and his touch—for the next hour while they finished preparing the meal. Truth be told, he wasn’t trying to pin her down as much as he would have liked because he was busy running interference between his mom and her next drink. He even tried watering down her champagne with some of the sparkling apple juice M had bought just for him, but it didn’t seem to prevent her careening into drunk-as-a-skunk territory.

  Amanda had been of little help, finding various excuses to duck back into his condo alone, and he was torn. One part of him wanted to shield his sister from their mom’s unpredictable behavior, while another part longed to turn over babysitting long enough to take a calming breath and find out what had happened to M. His mother’s over-the-top outbursts of laughter signaled her level of intoxication and had him grinding his molars so hard he thought he might crack one. He was wobbling along a tightrope twenty feet above jagged rocks.

  One of his wishes was granted when M and Fiona moved off to set the large dining table beside a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Micky, it’s all going to get cleared up,” he overheard Fiona say as he ambled over. “In the meantime, enjoy this unexpected vacation. Think what all you can get done. Get your Christmas shopping out of the way early, for instance.”

  “Vacation?” Blake parroted.

  Apparently, neither woman had known he was there because their heads turned in unison, their eyes saucer-wide.

  Fiona shoved the rest of the cutlery she held into his hand and mumbled, “You’re up,” before hurrying away. M stood across the table, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

  He frowned. “What’s going on, M?”

  The utensils she held slid from her hand to the tabletop. She crossed her arms and pressed fingers from one hand against her forehead. Her curls bobbed, and her shoulders shook. Alarms blared inside of him. Was she crying? He dropped what he held and rounded the table to pull her against him. “You’re freaking me out here,” he confessed as he laid a kiss on her hair.

  Hands curled against his chest, she looked up at him with eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “I was trying to forget what happened and enjoy Thanksgiving. I didn’t mean to mess up anyone’s day with my problems.”

  The condo was an open concept, but where they stood offered a sliver of privacy from their friends and family, so he pulled out a chair and sat, tugging her into his lap. One hand cupped her head while the other wrapped around her waist.

  “I want to know, M. Please tell me.” A warrior surged inside him, ready to slay any demons or dragons threatening to hurt her. He tucked her close, as if his embrace could protect her from any volleys headed her way. In that moment, he realized he would put himself in harm’s way without a second thought in order to save her, and though he’d never felt that way about anyone before, it all came so naturally with her.

  She sniffled, then, in a voice muffled by his shirt, said, “Mr. Steadman put me on a three-week unpaid leave yesterday and reassigned April to a different attorney.”

  What? He cradled her head in his hands and tipped it up so he could see her eyes. “The fuck? Why?”

  “For the past few weeks,” she stuttered as though fighting tears, “it seems everything I touch at work blows up, and it’s causing the firm a lot of problems.”

  “Like what?”

  A screech reached his ears, and he cringed when he recognized his mother’s voice.

  “How could you have voted for him?” she screamed. “The man’s a Communist! He’s the worst fucking president we’ve ever had! Thanks to idiots like you, we’ll all become Chinese citizens!”

  “Oh shit,” he and M chorused. She scrambled from his lap and followed him as he headed into the fray. His heart executed a cliff-dive when his eyes landed on his mother. Her arms flailed and
spittle flew as she stood over a seated James and Fiona and continued her rant. In one hand, she gripped a beer bottle with just enough liquid that drops flew as she swung her arm. Though he couldn’t see their faces, he didn’t need to. April and Amanda shrank back against the kitchen cabinets as if they could fold themselves into them, their faces twin expressions of horror, mirroring the way James and Fiona must have looked—and the way he felt.

  “Mom!” he barked. When she didn’t acknowledge him and barreled ahead, he repeated himself with a sharpness that got everyone’s attention.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and if looks could have been daggers, he’d have been sliced to ribbons. “How dare you take that tone with me! You think you’re some fucking hot shot? Well, you’re not! You’re nothing but a spoiled, ungrateful bastard who always took your father’s side, and you did it without knowing the whole story!” The last five words came out in a vicious snarl. “You need to show me some respect, Blake!”

  Horror, embarrassment, and anger, along with a healthy dose of hurt, collided inside him as he fought to keep his bearings and box up his roiling emotions. He dragged a hand over his jaw, his adrenaline pumping, his mind ricocheting as he tried to grasp for the quickest solution to end this shit-show. To his utter surprise, while everyone stood mute and frozen, M stepped forward, took his mother’s arm, and said something in a voice too low for him to hear. His mother blinked, then turned her gaze to M. Her body seemed to sag. Speaking in soothing tones, M removed the beer bottle and handed it off to Amanda, then guided his mother toward the other end of the condo where M’s office and the master bedroom lay.

  As soon as his mom disappeared from sight, they all let out a collective breath. James and Fiona popped up, looking all kinds of apologetic.

  “Blake,” Fiona blurted, “I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to upset her.”

  He put aside his own mortification to reassure her they’d done nothing wrong, that they weren’t responsible for his mother going ballistic. He looked around at four shell-shocked faces. “I don’t know what to say except Christ, I am so sorry. She can be volatile when she drinks, and I thought”—he darted his eyes to his astonished sister—“we had her under control. Obviously, I was wrong.”

  Of the people gathered around him, he’d wanted to impress Fiona most, and he hadn’t even recognized that desire until this moment. He’d wanted to measure up in her eyes and show her he was worthy of her best friend. Well, that dandy plan had just gone up in an epic fireball.

  He pushed out a long, deflating exhale. “I’d better go see …” he said lamely, flicking his index finger in the direction M and his mom had gone. Within a few strides, he heard their soft voices coming from M’s office. “I have it right here,” M was saying.

  His mother clapped. “Oh, I can’t wait!”

  Hanging on to the doorframe, he peeked in. His mother sat in front of M’s desk, and M was running her fingers over a row of books on a tall shelf. She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. “We’re having some girl time. Maybe you and Fi can finish setting the table and get everything ready?”

  His mother followed M’s gaze, turning slowly in her seat until her eyes found Blake’s. Her face positively lit up. “Michaela’s going to read my horoscope! Isn’t that fun?” Her pendulum had swung from one side to the other.

  His mouth dropped open.

  “We’ll be out in a little bit,” M assured him. Then she gave him a tiny nod as if to say, “I got this.”

  But for how long? They were on borrowed time, and he nodded back and returned to the kitchen with urgency. “Hey, can I get some help here? The sooner we get food into my mom, the sooner I can get her home.”

  Everyone sprang into action … everyone except Amanda, who was nowhere to be seen.

  Fiona seemed to read his mind. “Your sister said she needed to grab something from your place. She’ll be back soon.”

  He didn’t know how much time passed before Amanda reappeared, or until his mother and M emerged from the shadowed hallway, arm in arm. His mother spoke to M in whispered tones like she was a teenage girl sharing a secret with her bestie. M wore a patient half-smile as she listened to whatever the hell his mom was saying. If he hadn’t fallen under M’s spell before, he certainly was wholly captivated now.

  By the time they sat down to dinner, his mom was as docile as a newborn kitten, but Blake still sat on pins and needles—and judging by their expressions, so did their guests—waiting for the powder keg that was her personality to detonate once more. M seemed to make it her personal mission to ensure that didn’t happen, and as he watched her wheedle his mother, gratitude and pride swelled inside him. He didn’t even care that her wheedling skills might extend to him. She could maneuver him all she wanted, and he’d happily follow her anywhere.

  Ferguson had been right about one thing: Blake had it bad—real bad. And he was okay with that.

  “I’m going out at eight,” Amanda announced as she helped James clean up the dishes. The oven clock read 5:30. Blake was seated on the couch, splitting his attention between the muted football game and Fiona, who stood to one side chatting about the destinations she and her husband had visited. The tension that had shrouded them throughout dinner had hitched a ride right out the door with his mother when M took her back to his place to put her to bed … like a child. April had cleared out not long after, leaving the four of them, and Blake was ready to swap Amanda to get M back.

  He arched an eyebrow at his sister. “On Thanksgiving?”

  “Yeah. A little post-turkey celebration before we hit the stores at midnight for Black Friday.

  “Are you serious?” he retorted.

  “Dead serious. So don’t worry if I’m not back by the time you get up tomorrow morning.”

  He must have looked confused because Fiona patted his hand. “It’s a real thing. Not my cup of tea, but lots of people enjoy it.”

  “Would you at least go stay with Mom before you go so Michaela can get back to her guests?” And spend a little time with me instead of babysitting Mom? “I’ll take over when you’re ready to go.”

  He sipped his club soda, his strongest drink of the entire day—actually, since the night he’d gotten sickeningly plastered. After a series of self-inflicted lectures, he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, nor had he been tempted. Watching his mom today was a sobering reminder he was better off without the stuff.

  Amanda snapped a kitchen towel on the counter. “You got it, bro.” After saying her good nights to James and Fiona, she headed out the door.

  James joined him in front of the TV, and Fiona tilted her head as though contemplating him. Her focus shifted to Blake, and she sprouted a little half-smile that made him nervous.

  “I feel like I’m being evaluated for something,” he finally said.

  “No, I did that hours ago.”

  His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “For what?”

  James put his hand to one side of his mouth and whisper-shouted, “For Michaela. Haven’t you heard? Those two are Siamese twins.” He chuckled lightly as he turned back to the TV screen.

  Blake swallowed, his throat dry, and awaited his verdict. Fiona broke out in a big grin. “You pass.”

  Shoulders he didn’t know he’d tensed eased a few inches.

  “You more than pass,” she continued. “I’ll tell you what I told Micky-Dub: she done good.”

  Her stamp of approval nearly wiped out the bad taste his mom had left. He’d apologized a dozen times, but they’d shushed him and compared stories about their drunk uncles or cousins or grandmas.

  “Everyone’s got an alcoholic in their family,” James had declared. Some of his stories had been almost—almost—worse than DeeAnn’s meltdown today.

  Blake dipped his head and thanked Fiona, unsure what to add, when M waltzed back through the door. Every nerve in his body came alive, and he launched himself from the couch to pull her into an embrace.

  Looping her arms around his shoulders, she lau
ghed. “What’s that for?”

  He nuzzled her neck and trailed kisses over her soft skin. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  He pulled back to look into her sparkling eyes. “For what? For being wonderful. For doing what you did for my mom. You saved the holiday for Amanda and me, and I suspect for everyone else too.” He bobbed his head toward Fiona and James.

  Her gray eyes turned smoky. “Yeah? Maybe you can show me how thankful you are by getting me a vodka.”

  “Haven’t you had a few martinis already?” He cringed inside at the accusation in his voice.

  “I have, but now I want another one.” Her eyes drifted toward the Sub-Zero, where the vodka was chilling. “If you don’t want to get me one, that’s fine. You can show me how thankful you are … later.”

  He dropped his forehead against hers and sighed. “I have to be in by eight.”

  She dug her fingertips into the muscles spanning his upper back. “Because it’s a school night?” Her voice was low and sultry.

  “No. Because Amanda’s going out, and someone has to stay with Mom.”

  “Want me to stay with you?”

  Absolutely. Yes. “You should stay here with your guests.”

  A throat clear had them both turning toward James and Fiona. “Your guests are going to watch TV in their bedroom. Guess that means the place is all yours for at least a few hours.” She stood and held her hand out to her husband.

  Confusion crowded his features. “We are? But there’s no big screen—”

  She leaned down and bit his earlobe. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

  James let the remote drop from his hand onto the couch. He hopped up, turned, and waved, a shit-eating grin all over his face. “Guess the missus and I are watching in the bedroom. Keep the noise down, children.”

  “We might say the same thing to you,” M threw back.

  After they were gone, she ran her hands over Blake’s pecs, and his dick stirred. “Gee. I wonder what there is for us to do?” She gave him an innocent look that was anything but, and the stirring transformed into a full-on stiffening.