Page 17 of Puck Love

“Sadly, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m delusional about the size of mydick.”

“Can we please just not talk aboutthis?”

He pours the milk into a metal pan and slowly heats it on the stove. “What would you rather talkabout?”

“Why does Canadian milk come in abag?”

“Seriously? That’s what you want todiscuss?”

I shrug and lean against the counter, watching him work. “I’mcurious.”

“Do you see my milk in abag?”

“No, but when I was in Ontario ’most all of the milkwas.”

“Then why didn’t you ask an Ontarian?” he deadpans and then adds, “I don’t know, because of the change to the metric system, or it’s better for the environment or someshit.”

“You know what’s not good for the environment? A Hummer. Did you know they produce more greenhouse emissions than any othervehicle?”

“Hey, leave the beast out ofthis.”

I roll my eyes and fish a couple of spoons out of the top drawer. “So, is it just you and Emmett,then?”

“Our mom lives in Calgary. Emmett stays with her three out of seven nights. More if I have to play a series of awaygames.”

“And yourdad?”

“Is an asshole. Not even worth talking about.” Van carefully pours the warm milk into both mugs while Istir.

“Oh,sorry.”

“It’s fine. He took off a couple days after Emmett was born. He couldn’t handle the fact that he had an ‘imperfect’son.”

“Wow, that’s . . . What a dick.” Van’s brows shoot skyward. I slap my hand over my mouth. “Sorry, that was really rude ofme.”

“No, he is a dick.” He hands me a cup of hot chocolate. “You wantmarshmallows?”

“Of course. What kind of question isthat?”

“Well, you don’t eat meat—which would have been nice to know before I served you barbecued beef ribs by the way—so I don’t know what kind of soulless freak you are. I didn’t want to berude.”

I roll my eyes and wait for him to sprinkle some of those tiny marshmallows on top. “You don’t have Cool Whip, doyou?

“I’m Canadian, not a monster.” He takes the Cool Whip from the fridge and sprays both our mugs with it until they look less like hot chocolates and more like mountains of fluffy cream and sugary goodness. “So, what about you, Stella? Is there a Ma and Pa Hart that I might someday get tomeet?”

All the wind rushes out of my sails, and tears sting my eyes. It’s stupid—I’ve been on my own now for years, but I’d give anything to be able to feel her arms around me again. “No. I mean, there was. Obviously. My mom died not long after my career tookoff.”

“Holy shit, that must have been hell. We’re youclose?”

“Yeah, we were. It was always just the two ofus.”

“Did your dad die,too?”

“No, he’s still very much alive. He comes from old money, good name, and all that. Turns out he was okay screwing a cocktail waitress, just not okay with marrying someone like her when he knocked herup.”

“Ah, shit. I’msorry.”

I shrug. “Dads,huh?”

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