Page 111 of Mr. Swoony

I’m not going to get anywhere here.

“No.” I shake my head.

“You aren’t?” Conor’s head whips in my direction. “Ever?”

I place my hand on his cheek and shake my head. “I meant I’m done here.” I turn back to my grandparents, down the red wine, and slide out my chair. “If you can’t accept Conor, you can’t accept me, not that you ever really did accept me. You have a status to live up to, and I don’t fit in the mold you keep trying to shove me into. So, go tell your friends that you’ve disowned me or tell them nothing at all. I really don’t care.” I stand.

When Conor doesn’t, I put my hand under his bicep, nudging him up.

He stands next to me, and I hook my arm through his. “But know that it will be you who’s missing out because when our kids ask me about my grandparents, you’ll just be fictional people that they’ll never know. You’ll be like reading a history book. Just facts about who you were. But that’s all that matters to you, right? Figures and facts. Never any heart.”

“Eloise, sit down.” My grandmother is seething. “You’re causing a scene.”

“You want to see a scene, Grandmother?” I put my hands on Conor’s shoulders and turn him to me, then smack my lips to his, sliding my hand to the back of his neck to make sure he doesn’t pull away.

But of course he doesn’t. He actually licks the seam of my lips and slides his tongue into my mouth, earning a gasp from my grandmother.

“Have a great life.” I take Conor’s hand and walk away.

Conor stops us and digs his wallet out of his back pocket. He throws a bunch of hundred-dollar bills on the table. “Dinner’s on me.”

His fingers entwine with mine, and he escorts me out of the restaurant. Once we’re outside, I grip his shoulders and kiss him so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if his lips were bruised.

“It’s over.” I sink into his arms, and he holds me tightly.

I’m disappointed that things didn’t go differently, but I think I knew they wouldn’t. Still, I’m happy I said my piece and no longer have to worry about living up to their unattainable standards.

“Our kids?” Conor finally says.

I smack him in the stomach and look up at him. “No kids?”

He runs his palm down my cheek. “Definitely kids.”

“Take me home?”

He places a light kiss on my lips and flags down a cab so we can return to the happy bubble we’ve created together.

Forty-Five

Conor

My phone vibrates with another fucking text from an anonymous number. I’ve blocked every damn number Lila’s been sending them from, but they keep coming. This is why I changed my number back in Florida.

All her messages go on and on about how we’re so good together. How we’re meant to be. The ones where she bashed Eloise pissed me off the most, saying that Eloise doesn’t know what I need.

We’re at our first out-of-town game, but thankfully we fly back tonight, so although Eloise will be asleep when I get home, I can still cuddle up to her.

I toss my phone in my bag and head out onto the ice for practice before going back to the hotel to nap before our game tonight. Tweetie, Rowan, and Henry are all messing around, doing tricks with their puck handling rather than practicing their shots.

“About time,” Tweetie says.

“Did any of you have to pose for pictures with that new social media hype person the league sent to us?” Rowan asks.

Rather than joining the conversation, Tweetie skates away.

“I heard every team was assigned a person.” Henry shoots his puck into the empty net.

“I’m not sure ours is going to do much for us. He didn’t even have me in my jersey, and he acted like I was getting a headshot.” Rowan shakes his head. “I look like the mail room manager for some big corporation.”

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