“You do realize that we are amazed by the whole of you, Dallas, not just the reading auras and making kick-ass margaritas skills.”
Dallas grinned. “I realize I’m not everyone’s cup of tea leaves—ha-ha—and I’ve had to stop talking about the woo-woo stuff even when it’s a constant part of my life.”
I leaned in. “Tell me who’s being mean to you and I’ll beat them up.”
“It’s not just people.” She sighed and reached for the pitcher of margaritas. “Never mind. Who needs a refill?”
Both Liddy and I raised our glasses.
Even though Dallas and I had little in common, I felt a pull toward her. In this moment my gut was telling me to dig deeper. “So what is the deal with your mother?”
She froze. Then her eyes narrowed. “Are you reading me right now?”
“Uh. No. Why?”
“How’d you know to ask about my mother?”
“Because you mentioned her earlier.”
She relaxed. “You caught me off guard. But ask away about my meddling mama.”
“That’s why I’m curious. Why did your brother ask me to play along as he tried to convince your mom that we had a date the night of the Full Tilt party? Then while she was genuinely thrilled about your success with the barcade, she also seemed concerned you weren’t working on your own house.”
“Good lord, Dallas. Does she constantly meddle?” Liddy asked.
“Yes. And no. What mam conveniently forgets? I’ve told her exactly why I can’t live in that house.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s haunted.” Dallas held up her hand. “Normally that shit doesn’t bother me. I’ve been dealing with ghosts since I was like three years old and she knows that. But this ghost? He loves to play dead—in a manner of speaking—meaning, he loves to prank me. He pranked me so well that I bought the damn house because I believed it was spirit-free. Smarmy fucker had just been lying in wait until I showed up alone. Then he pulled the typical ghost tricks . . .”
Never in my life would I have thought I’d have to keep a straight face when a friend mentioned typical ghost tricks.
“He had a serious chuckle-fest about the fact he actually scared me.” She growled. “No wannabe clown magician gets to make me scream in fright in my own damn house. So now, whenever I’ve had a bad day? I go into the house and shriek out all my frustrations. Then I leave. It’s been therapeutic.”
This girls’ night was therapeutic for me.
I’d been fretting since I’d heard back from Wolf Sports North. They’d loved my game calling submissions and had scheduled an interview for the end of next week. Yes, it was thrilling to make it to the third round. But I was leaving tomorrow for an out-of-town hockey clinic and wouldn’t return until Sunday night. Luckily, Liddy had promised she’d help me get into “tip-top” shape for the in-person interview, so I gave in to the pleasant tequila buzz and becoming invested in someone else’s dramas.
“As far as Mom meddling in Ash’s life?” Dallas said. “All he would have to do is tell Mom to quit nagging him. Personally, I think he should take a page out of Nolan’s playbook.”
My stomach jumped at the mention of his name.
“For years, Nolan had a different woman on his arm every time we saw him.”
Nolan’s issues with being called Trollin’ Nolan . . . I hoped Dallas wasn’t about to get snide about it because then I’d have to defend him.
“Anyway, when Nolan stopped being that guy, that’s when Ash should’ve taken up the mantle. Instead Ash’s got Mom convinced he’s secretly nursing a broken heart. And I worry . . .” Dallas stopped. “Never mind. I shouldn’t be sharing Lund family gossip.”
“You know anything you tell us doesn’t leave this room, Dallas,” Liddy assured her.
Dallas drained her drink and poured herself more. “I’ve never said this to anyone. Not to members of my family. Not to any of my friends.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. For Liddy this was juicy gossip—not that she’d repeat it—but for me . . . it was a trickier situation since I worked for Jax. I didn’t need to hear the Lund family intimacies they’d be unhappy a member of their own family had shared with acquaintances.
As I debated on pulling a Cowardly Lion and sneaking off to the loo, Dallas spoke.
“Ash is avoiding relationships because of my broken heart, not his. A few years ago I met Sasha Igorsky, a Russian hockey player, and we fell in love. He had to return home to Russia for a funeral and no one ever heard from him again—including the NHL. After a few weeks, I hired investigators to track him down, if only to reassure myself he was fine, freed from the gypsy curse and living his best life. But there’s no trace of him. It’s like he ceased to exist.”
Liddy and I exchanged a look. Gypsy curse? Then she said, “You think your brother might’ve done something to make him disappear?”
Dallas seemed shocked. “God no. I suspect Ash might’ve secretly given him money to help him out of a weird international immigration legal issue because he knew Sasha was important to me. When that failed . . . Ash felt like he’d failed me. Then Ash avoided me for months afterward. And when I did see him, guilt lit up his aura like a neon sign. Although he’s never admitted it to me, I know he refuses to let himself be happy until I am. Everyone in my family already thinks I’m flighty and overdramatic. If Mom finds out why Ash is on self-imposed exile into the dating dead zone? She’d freak out at me. So once again, my big brother is lying to save my skin.”
Peculiar, but plausible, because essentially I was doing the same thing with Dani and Tyson. “You haven’t dated anyone?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been too busy bartending, designing business concepts, implementing makeovers and avoiding the ghosts of my past. Literally.” She shivered. “Good lord. Talk about being a Debbie Downer.”
“No worries. Gabi has her own tale of woe. She was recently dumped. For her younger sister, no less.”
Thanks for that, Lids.
“What? Gabi that’s awful. Are you close to your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s even worse. Did you cry for days?” She held up her hand. “Wait. You’re more the ‘take his stuff into the parking lot and set it on fire’ kind of chick.”
“Now I wish I would’ve gone the gas-and-match route.”
“What did you do to get back at him? Sleep with his brother? Throw a dead skunk in his car?”
“Not our Gabi. She’s too bloody nice,” Liddy complained. “She didn’t even get a ‘you’re shagging my sister I’ll prove I’m hotter than her’ makeover.”
Dallas blinked at me. “You didn’t?”
“No.”
“Not even a bikini wax for all that hot rebound sex?”
“Nope.”
“Eyebrow threading after a facial?”
I shook my head.
“Mani-pedi . . . ?”
“Big fat no on that too.”
She gasped and stood. “Then this is the celestial sign!”
“Uh . . . okay. The sign for what?”
“Of why I made my famous margaritas. I only whip them up when the mood strikes me and usually it’s a sign from the universe that I need to take action.”
“Take action on what?”
“Take action on you.”
That’s when I realized Dallas was studying me like a lab rat. I mustered a smile. “While I appreciate your help—”
“A highlight will release that gray ring of gloom around your aura.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Trust me. No drastic changes. Just a little cosmic fine-tuning, yes?”
Say no.
But I always played it safe. What would it hurt to mix it up?
Not a damn thing.
I smiled at her. “You’re on.”
“Yay!” D
allas jumped up and clapped her hands. “I’ll just run to my place and get my supplies.”
And she was gone.
Liddy stood. “I’ll make more margaritas.” After she’d reached the kitchen, she popped her head back out to say, “I’d change into grubby clothes, if I were you. Celestial signs can be messy.”
Since I had a break, I sent Nolan a quick text.
ME: Getting my drink on with your cousin.
NL: Tell her hi.
ME: No. I’m warning you not to text me the next few hours so I don’t have to explain.
NL: Explain what?
ME: Why you and I are texting.
NL: Embarrassed about that, Welk?
ME: Ha.
NL: Besides, we haven’t been texting as much this week.
ME: True. I’m still kicking your ass in FF this week though.
NL: Also true. Everything okay?
ME: Just busy. You?
NL: Same.
ME: That’s what I figured. Anyway, I’m headed out of town tomorrow for a hockey camp.
NL: Feel free to forfeit FF if you don’t have time to devote to it.
ME: You wish. Later.
Dallas returned with an IKEA shopping bag of “accoutrements”—her word, which she murdered in a bad French accent that sent us into fits of giggles.
We were an odd threesome, proper English Liddy, ghost and aura seer Dallas and me, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so hard.
My nerves reappeared when it came time to reveal the results of the goop Dallas had slathered all over my hair. I wasn’t allowed to look—not even at the reflection in the sliding glass door—until Dallas had dried, combed and fluffed me properly. I managed to keep my eyes closed even after I heard the snip snip of scissors.
Liddy and Dallas herded me into the bathroom between them and said, “Ta-da!” in unison.
I opened my eyes.
At first glance I didn’t see any differences besides the lighter sections framing my face. But when I tossed my head, I noticed the variances in color. The boring brown was slightly darker . . . and yet shone a coppery blond beneath the lights. She’d chopped maybe an inch off all around, but now the ends curved in the front, toward my face.
“Well? What do you think?” Dallas demanded.
“It’s exactly what you promised. Me . . . but better. I love it!”
She and Liddy bumped fists. “Now let’s celebrate with gelato.”
After I’d suggested a movie to go with our popcorn, we didn’t part until nearly one A.M.
As I’d lain in bed, I felt that maybe the universe had intervened tonight. I’d never been a lone wolf. From my earliest memories I’d always been surrounded by friends and activity, even if that was hockey practice and games. I’d missed the camaraderie of my teammates in the past year and a half—ironic given the fact I now lived closer to most of them than when I lived in Fargo.
I realized earlier, watching my players at practice, that I’d settled for the easiest option for my career. My coaching time at Lakeside was supposed to be temporary. I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do: coaching Dani into earning a slot on the Olympic team, watching her compete for our country.
Dani. I missed her too. We’d exchanged texts, but I still wasn’t ready to see her and Tyson in a social situation—just another example of how I’d isolated myself.
Maybe if I didn’t get this job, I should consider rejoining the hockey life—for fun. Try out for the new pro women’s team organizing under the Minnesota Wild banner. The pay was shit, but by sitting out, I wasn’t doing anything to help change that mindset.
Eleven
NOLAN
FRIDAY NIGHT
GW: You around?
ME: S’up, my texting buddy?
GW: So say you’re in a hotel room. You don’t want to go down to the bar and drink. You’ve already eaten. Your teaching plan for the next day is done. You want to watch a movie, but don’t want to dick around with figuring out which one to watch. What do you do?
ME: Watch porn.
GW: LUND
ME: Oh, I wasn’t supposed to be honest? Because that’s totally what I’d do.
GW: Is that what you’re doing now, alone on a Friday night?
ME: Nope. I need both hands to text.
GW: Geez. Why did I text you?
ME: Good question. Why did you text me?
GW: I hoped you’d tell me your comfort movie.
ME: Why didn’t you just lead with that?
GW: Fine. Tell me your go-to movie when nothing else looks interesting.
ME: Guess.
GW: Ugh. I hate this.
ME: I know. That’s why I’m making you do it.
GW: If I do it you have to do it too.
ME: No prob. You still have to go first.
GW:
ME:
GW: Your go-to movie is . . . Devil Wears Prada.
ME: For christsake. Seriously, Welk?
GW: Come on, that was funny!
ME: Try again.
GW: The Greek Tycoon?
ME: GABRIELLA
GW: You’d be annoyed if I said Wall Street, wouldn’t you?
ME: Not as annoyed as if you’d said Magic Mike.
GW: Hey, that’s MY go-to movie!
ME: It is not.
GW: Fine. It’s not. While I’m trying to figure out your movie, you try and guess mine.
ME: Miracle on Ice.
GW: OMIGOD NO!
ME: Slap Shot?
GW:
ME: The Mighty Ducks?
GW: NOLAN
ME: Kidding. It’s gotta be Fargo.
GW: I seriously hate you right now.
ME: No you don’t. It’s why you texted me at 9:30 on a Friday night. You knew I’d respond.
GW: Why did you reply? Why aren’t you out clubbing?
ME: Done my share of that and I’m done. I wasted a lot of years on nothing. How’s the hockey camp going?
GW: Great. The girls are actually paying attention. I don’t have any parents grilling me on whether their daughter is good enough to make the Olympic team. It’s heartening to see such a well-run club.
ME: They know they’re lucky to have you.
GW: Flatterer. But thank you.
ME: Do you always do these camps by yourself?
GW: I get to be 100% in charge. And keep 100% of the camp fees.
ME: That doesn’t surprise me at all.
GW: Are you working this weekend?
ME: I might sneak in Sunday for a bit. Mimi will be here for a sleepover tomorrow. I plan to exhaust her at Trampoline World so she’s not up until midnight demanding more games/movies/food.
GW: The solution for that is to let her invite a friend along to your house. They’ll entertain each other.
ME:
GW: What? That’s a great idea.
ME: I’m sure you’ll get a laugh out of this, but I’m not crazy about having people at my house. I can handle Mimi for a night. Any longer than that . . . she goes to my folks’ place.
GW: You don’t like kids?
ME: The issue isn’t kids. My house is my sanctuary. Everyone else in our family is happy to have football parties, barbecues, hockey parties, holiday parties, and I let them. There are enough people in the Lund Collective to rotate places to go. No one has said, why haven’t we been to Nolan’s place?
GW: Does it bother you that they haven’t seemed to notice?
ME: No. I’m actually relieved.
GW: Well, at least you don’t have to take down the pleasure swing in the living room in anticipation of company.
ME: Hilarious.
GW: Seriou
sly, though. None of your family pops by? Not Jax? Not even your mom and dad?
ME: Nope. They’ve been here, obviously, but they don’t ask to drop in and I don’t offer to host them.
GW: Is it because you see them enough at work?
ME: Partially.
GW: What about sexy times with your lady friends?
ME: Happens elsewhere.
GW: That’s why there are hotels?
ME: Bingo. And I caught the sarcasm in that, BTW.
GW:
ME: Mimi is the only female that’s had an overnight at my house.
GW: Ever?
ME: Ever.
GW: Huh.
ME: What? You think I’m a freak?
GW: No. I think it’s insightful that the your-house-is-a-sanctuary thing is an absolute in your life. You are fortunate to have that.
ME: I know.
GW: We totally got off track as far as comfort movies.
ME: I like that we can talk about anything.
GW: Me too. I’m better at texting than talking on the phone.
ME: With me? Or with everyone?
GW: Everyone. Calling someone it’s like . . . is this a bad time? And then I feel guilty when that person says yes, and they have to call you back. Whereas with a text, people can respond when they get time. Or we can get caught up in epic texting sessions.
ME: We’ve had a few of those this week.
GW: Yes. And I’m confident that if my texts were bugging you, you’d tell me to bugger off.
ME: Liddy is rubbing off on you.
GW: So is Dallas. I actually checked my horror-scope today.
ME: And what did it say?
GW: That a tall, dark, handsome, sort-of-stranger would . . . TELL ME HIS FAVORITE COMFORT MOVIE.
ME:
ME: Fine. Here it is: Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
GW: Okay. Why?
ME: It makes me laugh. Every time. Now, are you going to psychoanalyze me for that choice?
Want You to Want Me Page 9