Page 120 of I'm Your Guy
“It was!” She reaches over and pats my hand. “But let’s talk about you, Carter. It’s lovely to meet someone who means so much to Tommaso.”
Oh boy. I honestly don’t know how important I am to her son. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. I hope you’re having a great trip. He wanted the house to be perfect for you.”
“It is! And that pillow you made me is just wonderful.” She claps her hands together. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. I made my mother a similar one, but it’s a little less polite.”
“Really?” She leans toward me. “What does it say?”
“It says—Woke up sexy as hell again.” And then I tell her about the one I made for Tommaso, too.
She cackles. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet my Tommy?”
“At a furniture shop. It’s a horrible furniture store, where the staff is a nightmare. As I recall, he couldn’t get them to help him, so he followed me outside and asked me where he should shop instead.”
“Oh, he must have been such a grouch!” she says gleefully. “He hates shopping.”
“I’ve gathered that.”
She grins. But then she grabs my wrist. “Here we go! It’s gametime!”
Tommaso is on the ice, his body tensed for the drop of the puck. His teammate wins it and flips it to Tommaso. And he takes off like a streak of lightning, his powerful legs carrying him off.
Somehow the game seems faster in person than it does on TV. I can see the whole rink at once, and every time Tommaso takes the ice, his mom and I both lean forward in our seats.
“Get ’im, Tommy!” she shrieks when he’s trying to get the puck away from Brooklyn. “That’s it, baby! Win it!”
I adore her.
“Dude! This is for you guys!”
I look up to see Buck standing over me with a tray. “Thanks for scoring us these incredible seats.”
“Wow, thanks?”
He passes me the tray, and I gaze down at a platter of mini tacos, a basket of fries, bottles of beer, Coke, and two cups. “Well, Emilia, I hope you like tacos.” I pick up the beer and a cup. “Care for some lager? We can split it.”
Her smile is delighted. “I’d love some! It’s been ages since anyone offered me a beer.”
“Oh.” And now I wonder if I shouldn’t have.
“It’s no fun playing the part of the fragile old lady,” she says, taking the cup out of my hands. “Let’s enjoy our night out. I don’t have enough of those.”
“Me neither.” I pour some beer into my cup, too. “Cheers.”
“Cheers!”
* * *
Emilia and I do a respectable job finishing the tacos. Indecision and car repair can make a guy really hungry. But when Tommaso is sent to the penalty box for tripping somebody, and Brooklyn gets a power play, I start stress-eating the fries.
“That was a bullshit call, ref!” Emilia shouts. “Does your wife know that you’re fucking us?”
I choke on a French fry.
“Sorry,” Tommaso’s mom says, patting me on the back. “I’m from New Jersey.”
When I can breathe again, I laugh.
