Page 13 of Dirty Puck

I gasped. He’d just said that in front of his mom and my family. My eyes started watering. “Right,” I said, trying to regain some semblance of decorum. “It was good to meet you.” I said the words, but my eyes, they refused to lift enough to look her in hers. Mrs. Grazia shot Reece a death glare as she wrapped her arm around my waist. I bent down to scoop Benny up and she ushered the both of us away. The humiliation burned through me.

We walked back to the dock to wait for the ferry to approach. The confrontation with Reece put a damper on the day. This time, when we boarded the ship, we walked to theseating area of the first level. Benny stood on the chair to look out the window.

How could I have been so stupid? Yes, I knew we weren’t friendsnecessarily, but we saw each other at the arena all the time and we’d had sexin my bedlast night. Put those things together and it had to add up to some sort of relation-thingy. At least enough for him to introduce me as a woman from work.

But to tell her I was no one? To tell her we fucked and that was it? I fumed. And then I squared my shoulders. There was no time to dwell on that. Mrs. Grazia still needed groceries and I still needed to hit the bank to deposit the purse-load of cash.

As we cruised the aisles in the store, I looked at Benny sitting in the cart and at Mrs. Grazia. “How about my pumpkin lasagna tonight?” I’d learned the art of lasagna making from the best, Mrs. Grazia herself. The pumpkin version was my own take on the classic. Mushroom, spinach, and cheese smothered in a creamy pumpkin sauce. I seasoned it with parsley, sage, and thyme.

“That sounds wonderful,” Mrs. Grazia said in her chipper voice. I had to give it to her, she was trying for me. As long as she kept pretending that the scene on the island never happened, then I could pretend too. The three of us made our way to the back of the store, to the bakery counter. Benny pointed to a giant, chocolate-cream-filled cream puff.

“Is that what you want?” I asked. His eyes glazed over. He wanted it. “What about you, Mrs. Grazia?”

“I think I’m going for the vanilla. Benny has good taste.”

Sneaking in before she could order her vanilla cream puff, I asked the worker for two of the chocolate and one vanilla. With no arena shift today, we had hours to kill before I needed to be at the club.

On the drive home, I vowed to put the confrontation withReece out of my head because what was better than sitting down to a delicious homecooked meal with loved ones?

Mrs. Grazia took Benny while I hauled the groceries upstairs. She carried her own bags across the hall to her apartment just as I knelt to wrestle my boy into a clean Pull-Up. Yes, he still wore them. He’d figure out the whole potty-training thing in his own time. Our life wasn’t easy—far from it—but it was ours, and I loved it. The delays didn’t define him. Okay, maybe they did cost me a small fortune in therapy bills every month, but he was worth every penny.

After dealing with the Pull-Up and washing my hands, I headed into the kitchen to start prepping the lasagna. Mrs. Grazia found me wrist-deep in mushroom scrubbing when she wandered in. Without missing a beat, she grabbed a pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove for the noodles. Then she moved on to rinsing the spinach like we’d done this dance a hundred times. I popped open the can of pumpkin, scooped it into the saucepan, and stirred in some veggie broth and heavy cream until it looked just right. A few shakes of seasoning later, the sauce started to smell like comfort itself.

While the sauce simmered on the stovetop, I grated the cheese and Mrs. Grazia drained the noodles. I moved on to sautéing the mushrooms, spinach, and onions, the kitchen filling with warmth and scent to make anyone’s mouth water. We moved like clockwork. Fluid and practiced, a real team effort. Benny sat content on the floor, very much out of the way, lost in his own little world with a herd of plastic horses.

Layer by layer—sauce, noodles, veggies, cheese—I built the lasagna. Then again. And again, until every last ingredient was used and the dish was tucked into the oven to bake. I poured large glasses of iced tea for Mrs. Grazia and myself, filled Benny’s sippy cup, and we all made our way to the living room to sit and wait while the house slowly filled with the promise of dinner.

Mrs. Grazia dropped down into the big, fluffy wingbackchair next to my sofa. “So are we going to talk about that scene earlier?” she asked, totally blindsiding me.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t play that game, Bree. I’ve been waiting for you to say something. Now I’m tired of waiting.”

“I… We…” What did I say to this woman? I loved her like family. She didn’t need to hear the gory details of my utter humiliation.

“He completely disrespected you today. Why? Did you know he’d be there?”

Sighing, I shook my head. “No. I had no idea.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“We…” Talk about compounding my humiliation. “Had relations,” I finished and she chuckled.

“I gathered.”

“We aren’t dating.” Tears pricked my eyes again and to my surprise, Mrs. Grazia reached over to squeeze my hand.

“Do you think Mr. Grazia was the only man I everhad relationswith in my life? The man was lucky I agreed to marry him. In the ’70s, we gained the pill and a whole lot of sexual freedom.”

I choked on my saliva. “You what?”

“You look at me and see an old woman. I wasn’t always old, Bree. I was beautiful and liberated. Mr. Grazia just happened to be the best man I’d ever met—ateverything.” She smirked, winking.

“We know each other from work. He plays for the Copperheads. Maybe I caught him off guard? But given that we do talk casually at work, I never expected that reaction from him. How could I?”

“What now, then?” she asked.

“What now is that the one time we had will be the only time.” I was serious about that point but didn’t have the heart to admit my sheer stupidity concerning the entire situation. The idea that I’d so readily agreed to a benefits-only arrangementwith the man burned. Yes, we talked at work, but it was usually antagonistic, and for a big dick, tight ass, and pretty face, I’d folded like a bad hand of poker.

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