Page 11 of Presley's Christmas Catch
“Oh yeah,” is all I say to Mom.
She swallows, and I’m guessing my face played my emotions as I remembered. “Anyway, they haven’t found it,” she goes on. “I guess it’s supposed to be Vivi’s engagement ring, and she’s getting married at Christmas. I understand it’s upsetting, but Alexandra’s being obnoxious about it. Every post she makes sounds like she’s accusing everyone in the neighborhood of a conspiracy.”
That seems like Mrs. Westcott. A couple summers ago, her dog got sick, and she called the police, insisting that some boys down the street had fed the dog beer.
“Why don’t they just have a new one made?” I ask. It’s weird that Mrs. Westcott wouldn’t parade around the fact that they have plenty of money to replace something like that. “They probably even had insurance on it, right?”
“It’s a family heirloom. Her husband’s great-grandmother’s. Westcotts have worn it for generations,” she says the last in a posh voice that makes me laugh. She sobers. “I absolutely understand why she’s upset. I should be more sympathetic.” She grimaces, but she’s struggling to hold it. “Anyway, what are you up to?” she asks.
“Work is slow until training camp starts. And I’ve been spending too much time at my apartment by myself. Re-reading TOK.”
Mom chuckles. “Any special reason?”
Heat blooms in my cheeks immediately. “I actually met another fan, and you won’t believe who it is.”
Her eyes widen, and she leans in closer. “It’s a guy, and you like him. I can tell.”
I throw up my hands exaggeratedly. “Who wouldn’t? He’s hot, has a good job, and loves my favorite book series of all time.”
“Well, who is he?”
“Brock Hunter. He plays for the Denver Devils.” I tilt my head and give my mom a dreamy look that makes us both laugh. Like with Aunt Shannon, I’ve never shied away from dishing to my mom about all the details, even early on. We’ve always been close, and though we fought when I was a teenager, she was still my best friend no matter what. Sometimes she would call me her and Aunt Shannon’s third musketeer. From the time I was little, they took me almost everywhere with them. Rarely was there a girls’ night or trip that I wasn’t invited to.
“Poor guy,” my dad says, jogging lightly down the stairs.
“Steven!” Mom chides, amused.
Dad gives her awhat?look. “Worst in the league two years in a row. Everyone’s blaming players, but I say it’s the coaching.” He points a finger at my mom and moves to the sink to get a glass of water.
My dad is a former pro-football player. He played fifteen years as a defensive lineman for the LA Rays and was the biggest reason I got a position on the athletic training staff with them a couple years after I graduated from PT school.
“Better watch your mouth.” Mom shakes her head at him, “unless you’re going to start picking up calls from the general managers who want you on staff.”
Dad grunts. “I’m retired.”
Mom rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and turns back to me. “Tell me about Brock Hunter and these books.” Dad leans against the kitchen counter, listening in while he slowly drinks his water. I’m close to my dad too. Mom’s best friend and a daddy’s girl all at once. I rarely missed any of his home football games as a little girl and went to as many away games as Mom would let me. He injured his knee when I was ten, and he let me help him do the rehab exercises at home with him, which was when I fell in love with helping people through exercise. Thanks to Dad, I’ve always loved sports, so it seemed a given to use my physical therapy license on an athletic training staff somewhere.Aunt Shannon thought going into regular practice was too boring for me anyway.
But talking to Dad about the newest boy I like? Embarrassing. Even at twenty-nine, it makes me squirm. I push the thoughts away because Mom will tell him anyway. She tells him everything. I just don’t need to witness it.
“I met him at Lincoln’s wedding.”
“Ahh, that’s right. They played at USC together,” Dad interrupts.
I whip my head around to look at him. “Do you know everything?”
“He’s retired,” Mom parrots, and we both laugh. Dad finally joins our chuckling.
“Anyway,” I go on, “he saw the TOK necklace that Aunt Shannon gave me and asked about it. One thing led to another and?—”
Dad coughs. “That’s my cue.” He moves to leave the kitchen, setting down his glass inside the sink.
“And we ended up talking about Obsidian Kingdom, Dad!”I hurriedly cry out. I turn back to my mom. “We’ve just been texting.Honestly.” My cheeks burn so hot I could start a fire.
Dad continues out of the room. He turns to throw me a wink before heading into the family room. A moment later the TV comes on, already tuned to a sports broadcasting station and a group of people talking about the upcoming training camps.
I fan my face, hoping the blush is fading. I do wish that my night with Brock had included some romantic moments, but getting caught up in talking about TOK felt pretty heady too. I’m trying to manage my expectations, make sure I’m not falling too fast for someone I just met, but that’s hard when he can analyze the tropes in Kael and Lyra’s relationships with me. And especially when that someone is as good-looking as Brock. Plus we’re texting all the time and getting to know each other like if we were going on dates.
“I have a crush on him,” I say in my cool-as-a-cucumbervoice, which contradicts everything I’m saying. “I don’t think it’s any more than that.”
