Page 35 of The Fake Husband Play
I nod. “There is. I’m excited. And thank you again for…everything.”
But mostly for that kiss, I think.I’ve always wanted to know if all those romance novel kisses were based on any kind of reality.
Now, I know they are.
Now, I’ve been kissed like that at least once, and for that, I’ll always be grateful to you, you crazy, beautiful, perfect, incredible man.
He starts down the steps, but stops and turns back after a beat. “Oh, and don’t freak out if your surprise gets there before I do, okay? Coach likes to talk, so I might be there a little after six, and the surprise is supposed to get there at six on the dot.”
“Surprise? What kind of surprise?” I call after him, but he’s already at the base of the steps, headed for the parking garage.
“Gotta run or I’ll be late, beautiful,” he calls back. “See you later.” And then he’s gone, jogging across the pavement in front of the building.
I stand watching him from the top of the steps for a moment, fingers drifting to my lips, where the ghost of his kiss still lingers.
I just kissed Grammercy Graves, and it was better than any fantasy. And tonight, he’s coming over to help me pack my things so I can move in with him. And he’s ordered pizza because he remembered my daughter loves it and planned some kind of surprise…
How is this my life?
Just a few days ago, I was Elly Thibodeaux, a woman who’d never even met one of her NHL heroes in real life. Now I’m married to the sexiest player in the league, the man I’ve been secretly crushing on for three years, and my lips are still tingling from our first kiss.
The wildness of that fact is still almost too much tohandle. I’ve spent the two years since I started my podcast analyzing hockey relationships, offering commentary and advice about players and their romantic lives.
Now, I’m living it.
And I’ve got the marriage certificate and the “kiss the bride” tingle on my lips to prove it.
Chapter
Ten
GRAMMERCY
By the timeI find a parking spot near Elly’s building and use the code she gave me to shove through the hazy door into the dimly lit lobby, it’s nearly seven.
I’m running an hour later than planned, thanks to Torrance the Rookie with the Burning Need to know All The Things. Right now. Even though Coach has told him a dozen times that some things are only learned by doing. And he’s doing just fine. Torrance is a solid D-man; he’s just got a bad case of stage fright about his first NHL game.
I get it. I was nervous before my first game, too, and thanks to getting stalled in the minors, waiting for a position to open, I was four years older when I took the ice for the first time as a Badger.
Torrance is only nineteen.
He’ll hit his stride…he just might drive the rest of the team a little crazy before he gets there.
Ignoring the junk mail littering the stained tile and the smell of dog pee and fried onions lingering in the lobby, I slip into the elevator and punch nine for Elly’sfloor. The ancient car groans as it lurches into motion and shudders upward, as if personally offended to still be in service at its age.
Same, elevator. Offended on your behalf,I think, hoping I’m not the unlucky bastard who gets trapped inside it when it decides to end it all in protest.
From what I’ve seen so far, this entire building has seen better days—probably sometime around the time my mother was born—and I’m relieved moving day is tomorrow. Elly and Mimi deserve better than a urine-scented lobby and infrastructure that likely won’t pass inspection next time around.
The hallway on her floor isn’t much better. Chipped paint, more stained tile, and a suspicious smear of fudge brown have me wrinkling my nose by the time I reach Elly’s place. I mean, I’ve lived in worse buildings, but I guess I’m becoming a snob in my old age.
Or maybe it’s easier to admit how unpleasant this place is because I know neitherInor anyone I love is going to be forced to keep living here.
When you’re in a place like this with no way out…
Well, then you try to make the best of it, to find the silver linings wherever you can. Elly’s door is certainly solid, and that’s something. Nothing scarier than a flimsy door in a sketchy building.
I knock and call out, “Hey, it’s me, sorry I’m late,” a little shocked that it’s so quiet inside. I was expecting the clattering of pots and pans being shoved into boxes, Elly calling out orders to the movers I ordered to help her finish up the packing, maybe Mimi protesting that all the bustle is interfering with her pizza-eating enjoyment.
