“Would you mind if I invited some others to come over and relax here too?”
“No.” I took another sip of wine. Nothing could take me out of my zone today.
“Great.” Sonja went back to the kitchen as she said, “Piper and Blake should be here any second, but I know Connor had a thing, he won’t get here for about another hour. Bear’s—”
Nothing could take me out of my zone today. Except that. “McGuire’s coming over?”
“Yeah.” She poked her head around the doorway to look at me. “Is that okay? I figured since you work together and all . . .”
“Yeah,” I started, murmuring into my glass. “I never told him I moved in. We don’t talk much.”
Sonja came back to sit next to me with a water bottle. “Sometimes the best relationships are those that challenge us.”
“That sounds like it should be embroidered on a pillow.”
“It probably is.” She smiled. “He’s a nice guy beneath all the . . .” She narrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips in an imitation of McGuire.
I choked on a sip of wine when I laughed. “That looks nothing like him.”
“Hey, hey. Sunday fun-day.” A thick Minnesota-accented voice barreled through the front door before the body did. The man had to be at least six foot three, 280 pounds easy. His arms were covered in tattoos, and his long hair hung loose below his chin. His big, cheesy grin slowly left his face when he turned to his left and spied us—me—on the couch.
Sonja stood up and punched his waiting, outstretched palm as if they greeted each other that way all the time. “Best behavior,” she said quietly to him before tipping her head to me. “Charlie, Bear. Bear, Charlie.”
I waved. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“Good.” He sat down in the corner of the couch, taking up as little space as possible with his thick legs. As if I had a disease.
“What’s your squat?” I asked, looking him up and down, and he loosened up a bit.
He scratched his chin. “Uh, three fifty, three sixty-five.”
I nodded, impressed. He was quite the specimen. I pointed to him with my glass. “You’re the ex–hockey player.”
“You’re the football coach.”
“You’re the best friend.”
“And you’re the enemy.”
“I like a man who shoots straight.” I pointed a finger gun at him.
He reluctantly smiled. “That’s me. Straight shooter.” He gave me a little brow wiggle that had Sonja slapping the back of his head. He jerked away from her, but then pulled her close to him, resting his head against her torso. “It’s the Lord’s day. No hitting on the Lord’s day.”
She ran her hand through his hair, the intimate action piquing my interest as to the exact nature of their relationship. I stored the questions away to ask later, and put my empty glass down on the side table next to me. “That sounds like something my gram would’ve said.”
“Smart woman, your gram,” Bear said with a pat to the side of Sonja’s thigh before he let her go and settled more comfortably into the couch. We fell into easy conversation. He might’ve been big, but he wasn’t nearly as hard to get to know as his friend. He, as Sonja had described him, was a giant teddy bear.
Piper and Blake showed up not too long after, and I received the same suspicious treatment from Blake when we were introduced. But I didn’t mind his glare. The pictures, truly, didn’t do him justice. Blake Reed was one good-looking man.
“Piper, you did fine for yourself with that one,” I whispered once we were alone in the kitchen.
She giggled. “I know, right? God, he’s just . . .” She bit her lip. “Sometimes I can’t believe that we ended up together. After I struggled for so long with my business and had terrible luck with guys, I never thought I’d find somebody like him.”
“Like who?” Blake popped out of nowhere, and she startled.
Piper swiveled around, putting her hand on his chest. “I told you, you have to stop sneaking up on me like that. It’s not good for my heart.”
He pouted slightly, saying, “Sorry, Sunshine,” and kissed her sweetly on the neck. He hung his arm around her shoulders as she opened up a couple of her own beers. “And I wanted to apologize to you too,” he said to me. “Bear, Connor, and I have all been friends for a really long time, and we’re protective of each other. Him not getting the desk was a big bummer, but that’s not to say it’s anything against you. It’s just, he’s our friend, we have to stick up for him.”
“I respect that.” I took one of the dark bottles Piper offered me. “I’d want my friends to do the same for me. If I had any,” I added with a pathetic laugh.
Piper looked at me with such sympathy I thought she’d cry. “You have me and Sonja now.”
“I’m joking, I’m joking,” I said. “I have friends . . . a few.” I didn’t like admitting that I’d always had a hard time making friends because I put my job before most of my relationships; to avoid having an intervention, I changed the subject to the bottle in my hand. “So, what’s this?”
“That is my Platinum Blonde. Like you.”
I fingered my grocery-store-color-dyed hair as I tilted the bottle, admiring the Out of the Bottle Brewery logo, which looked like a bottle but in the shape of a woman. “I’m really more of a wine drinker,” I said honestly.
Blake took his own beer from Piper. “Try it. You may like it.”
I took a small sip and held back a wince. It was way too bitter for me.
“Don’t like the hops?” Piper asked.
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
She nodded. “Next time I’ll bring over my blueberry. It’s a new one I’m working on, much fruitier than anything I usually make.”
I shrugged. “I’ll give it a shot.”
The three of us made our way back into the living room and had just settled down for a nice chat when the front door opened.
“Aye, there he is,” Bear boomed.
Connor’s eyes took in the room, at first glancing right over me as if I were invisible before crashing back into me.
“Surprise,” I said with jazz hands.
“Gibb?”
“Charlie,” Piper corrected.
“What are you doing here?”
“She lives here,” Sonja told him.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Didn’t think I had to,” I answered.
“So, what, you’re all pals now?” He pointed to Sonja, Piper, and me sitting together. The three of us laughed at his ridiculous question.
He turned to Bear and Blake, both enthralled with something on their phones at the moment. He sat on the teal ottoman with a huff. “Traitors.”
“How was the game?” Piper asked, leaning over to poke Blake in the leg so he’d put his phone away.
Connor fiddled with his hat. “Eight–three.”
I sat forward, trying to get his attention. “Game? What game?”
He hesitated before telling me, “My brother plays soccer.”
“Your brother who was at our game on Friday?”
“How do you know my brother?”
It was really more of an accusation than a question, and the air in the living room changed. I glanced around. The others’ faces displayed varying degrees of concern or embarrassment.
“Now that we’re all here, how ’bout we get dinner started?” Sonja stood up, probably to cut the tension.
Blake hopped right up, tugging Piper along. “We got the grill.”
Bear clapped. “I’m ready for some barbecue.”
McGuire made a move to follow as they all left, but I held my hand up. “Wait. Can you wait?”
“Actually, no.” He shook his head. “I may have to listen to you on the field, but I don’t here.”
I stood up and reached for his arm, but he backed away before I got close. “What’s your problem with me?” When he didn’t answer, I stepped into his space. “No, really. What is it? I’m here now, here’s your chance. Lay
it out there.”
He breathed deep through his nose, his eyes bouncing around the room. He took his hat off and ran his hand over his short hair a few times before sitting down on the couch opposite me. “You’re really good, okay? That’s what pisses me off. It’d be much easier to believe this whole thing was a publicity stunt if you didn’t know what you were doing, but, shocker, you do.”
I rubbed my forehead. Was he serious? “You don’t like me because I’m good at what I do?”
“Well, when you say it like that, I sound like an asshole.”
“You are an asshole.”
His gaze met mine, searing me for a few moments. His jaw worked back and forth before he finally broke, his mouth opening wide for a laugh I’d never heard before. An honest-to-goodness laugh. Not a huff or a rude snort, but a real laugh.
And it felt good.
“I am,” he said eventually, then leaned over, his hat hanging from the tips of his fingers. “I’m not always. It seems just with you.”
The confession hit me hard. It was the first time he’d expressed any kind of genuine emotion toward me that wasn’t rage. He wasn’t lying when he said he was a quiet person, which made his words all the more powerful when he did speak. They were measured, the definition of say what you mean and mean what you say.
His honesty with me was unexpected, but not unwanted.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you being . . .” He motioned his hand down my body. “A girl.”
“A woman, you mean.”
He inhaled heavily as if it was such a chore to talk to me, a familiar sound. “Yes, a woman.”
Our eyes met again, and if I didn’t know better I’d have thought they briefly drifted down to my legs, exposed below my shorts. But then those electric-blue eyes flickered up to where my T-shirt hung loosely off my shoulder.
And I knew that wasn’t by accident.
“What about your own stunt with the article in my office?” I asked, crossing my legs, a little unnerved by this new friction between us. The kind that wasn’t angry.
“I didn’t find that. Al did.”
“I can’t stand that guy.” I let out an annoyed groan and reached for my empty wineglass.
“What are you drinking?” McGuire stood up and held his hand out to me, wiggling his fingers up and down.
I tilted my head to the side. “Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about me? We’re going to be best friends now?”
He dropped his arm and rolled his head in a circle. “Never mind.”
When he turned, I stood up and followed him to the kitchen, not wanting the teasing to end quite yet. We could see the other four outside, chatting and laughing; but instead of going to them, McGuire opened up a beer and leaned against the wall by the refrigerator.
I refilled my wine, avoiding his gaze while I sipped, but by the time I put the glass down, I found Connor’s attention on the label of his beer bottle as he picked at it with his thumb.
“It was a good call,” he said, “moving Nate up.”
My insides warmed, but I played it cool. “A compliment? From you?”
He smirked. “Are you going to write it down in your diary?”
“September fifteenth, the day the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes.”
“How do you even know I have a heart?” he asked as I walked to the door.
I looked over my shoulder. “Just a hunch.”
CHAPTER
11
Connor
How do you even know I have a heart?
Just a hunch.
A day later, Charlie’s words still followed me.
I did have a heart. I just didn’t show it very often. Not after I’d seen how people could be cruel to my brother. Not after my dad died. And especially not after what had happened with Alison.
But I wouldn’t tell that to Gibb. We were nowhere near trading secrets over chocolate and nail polish, we were barely even . . . friends?
“Hey.”
Speak of the devil.
I glanced away from the crowded cafeteria to Gibb, who sported a long-sleeved black shirt and athletic pants that did nothing to camouflage the curve of her ass. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and I swore I could smell some kind of perfume on her.
It wasn’t like I didn’t know she was a woman, but there were times it was more apparent than others. Like when she stood right next to me, her arm brushing mine.
“Hey yourself.”
We’d had lunch duty together every day since the start of school, but the way she looked at me was different today. Her features were relaxed, not that usual hard-stone look. I actually forgot I was supposed to hate her.
“Did you—” She stopped whatever she was about to say to me to wave at a pair of boys. “Hey, y’all! Put that chair down! What do you think you’re doing with that?”
When they didn’t immediately comply, she took two steps toward them, and they quickly put the chair down. She faced me, and I tipped my chin to her.
“You almost sound like a real teacher.”
“And you almost sound like a homo sapien.”
“Me talk good,” I said, moving over slightly to give her more room when she stood next to me again.
“Now jokes too? After yesterday, we might just be telling each other secrets by next week.”
I froze. It was as if she knew exactly what I’d been thinking. But I quickly played it off and skimmed my gaze around the room.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re warming up to me,” she whispered conspiratorially.
“And I won’t tell anyone I saw your *NSYNC T-shirt on the bathroom floor.”
“How do you know it’s mine?”
“Because Sonja has better taste.”
“Hey now.” She whipped her head around to me. “Those five guys were the soundtrack to my adolescence. JC has the voice of an angel.”
I smirked.
So did she.
“What was your soundtrack?” she asked, eyes back on the kids.
I thought about it. “Eminem, I guess.”
“Angry music for an angry boy?”
The question threw me for a loop. “I’m angry?”
She made a face. “Yeah. Obviously.” She held her palms up, making a silent point with herself as evidence. “I mean . . .”
Yes, I was upset about not being head coach. Yes, I’d taken it out on her. But was my past that obvious? Did I not hide it as well as I thought I did? “I was angry, yeah. But not anymore.” When she raised one eyebrow, I backtracked. “Not really.”
“What happened? Your stocks in Apple went down?”
“My dad died when I was fourteen.”
Her eyebrows rose, and I knew I’d surprised her. Hell, I’d surprised myself with the admission.
I never talked about my dad or my family. Talking led to emotion, and I preferred to avoid sentiment. The fact that this life tidbit had spilled out of me was completely out of character. And I didn’t know how to take it back.
Or if I even wanted to.
Gibb tied her hair low on her neck with one of the elastic bands on her wrist. Her brown eyes were filled with something I’d never seen before: empathy. “I’m sorry. That’s a tough time to lose a parent.” She paused just long enough for me to feel awkward before she said, “I never knew my mother. The only thing I have of her is pictures of us together when I was a baby. She died when I was two. Her car collided with a tractor trailer.”
She said it so unaffectedly, I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t good with these kinds of conversations to begin with, and I was totally out of my league with this particular one.
Thank God she spoke so I didn’t have to. “I don’t know what it’s like to grieve a parent, but I know what it’s like to miss one. The only things I know about my mom are stories from my dad and grandmother, and I’m sad I never got the chance to have her. Maybe I would’ve turned out differently.”
She looked off into the distance and
crossed her arms. “Maybe I would’ve turned out more of a lady like Gram always wanted me to be. Maybe I wouldn’t have played football.” She shrugged. “Maybe I would’ve gotten my first kiss before someone had to dare Ryan Lipton to do it when I was eighteen. Who knows.”
She smiled good-naturedly, and I didn’t know if I should laugh with her or not. That was a lot of information to unpack from a woman I barely knew off the field. But in this noisy cafeteria, it felt easier to say things like, “My dad owned a little hardware store. Ironic that he died when he fell off one of the ladders he sold there.”
“That’s awful.” She cringed. “I’m sorry for you and your family. Is it just you, your brother, and your mom?”
“I’m the oldest of four,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “There’s Siobhan, Brigid, and Sean.”
“Wow.”
“Good Catholic family.” I suppressed my smile. “I miss my dad every day. He was the one who taught me how to throw, but he never got to see me start any games.”
She touched my elbow, and I glanced down to where her fingers were on my skin.
“Sean had a really hard time. We all did, but him especially. He didn’t get that his dad was gone forever.”
“That must’ve been really hard to deal with.”
I nodded. “I sort of became the man of the house . . . that sounds lame when I say it out loud.” I kept talking, as if I were in some kind of vortex that sucked words out of my brain, my mouth refusing to shut up. “Sean was only in first grade. By proxy, I became his dad.”
Her hand lightly rubbed up and down my arm before dropping. “That’s a lot of responsibility to put on a kid in high school.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like I wasn’t going to do what I had to. We had to figure out how to be a family without my dad. There’s no way you don’t do whatever you have to when you find your mom quietly crying in her closet so her kids don’t hear.”
By habit, I reached up to my head for my hat, but it wasn’t there. Instead I skimmed my hand through my hair before shaking my head. I felt dizzy, as if spilling my guts took a physical toll. “It’s not—I didn’t mean to say all this.”
She pivoted away from me like she knew I was embarrassed and afforded me some privacy in my discomfort. I cleared my throat and straightened my already straight tie.
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