Page 52 of Moms of Mayhem
Emmy moved out of the way, and a screen sat where she’d been standing, Frankie’s bald head and bright smile filling the monitor.
“Didn’t know you’d be here, too.” I stared up at the ceiling so Frankie couldn’t see how much I wanted to stare at Emmy, not him.
“Just to get you two started,” Frankie said. “Then you’re all hers.”
I swallowed, liking the sound of that a little too much.
Without further ado, Frankie called out things he wanted me to do, and what he wanted Emmy to pay attention to.
Emmy stepped close to the table. “I’m going to touch you.”
I looked up at her, and our eyes connected when I gave her a brief nod. Her little fingers touched down on my hip between the bars of my brace, and I sucked in a breath.
“Does that hurt?” she asked, breaking our eye contact as she looked down at my injured joint.
“No,” I answered. “Not more when you’re touching me, at least. But your hands are cold, even through my shorts.”
She pulled them away from me, rubbing them together. “Sorry.”
“Felt good.” I grinned, and Frankie’s deep exhale was enough to remind me that we weren’t alone.
“Should I give you two a minute?” he said, and Emmy’s cheeks flushed pink. “I can go alphabetize my spice rack or teach my cat to skateboard. Either sounds more enjoyable than being a third wheel to whatever this is.”
I brushed a hand across my face, trying to hide my laughter. “Since when do you have a cat?”
“I don’t,” he said, and Emmy giggled.
“Don’t encourage him.” I pointed a finger at the monitor, and Emmy looked over her shoulder at Frankie grinning back at her. “Once you laugh at his jokes, he never stops. Then they get weirder by the minute.”
“Alright, I don’t have all day, kids. Sit up on the table for me, Conway.”
Emmy held her hand out to help me sit up, and I took it. A little shock zapped us both with the contact, and it jerked both of us to the present. She flexed her bicep to help me curl up, and I let go once I was upright, even though my hand still tingled from the contact.
“Sit tall, don’t slouch, and move your leg outward, just a little,” Frankie said. Emmy stood to the side, watching me closely. “We’re not opening a dance studio here—just get that hip moving.”
I did as he said, going through several movements. My hip and back were tight, but nothing was painful as long as I didn’t push it.
No, the only painful thing about this was trying to tamper my semi every time I looked up at Emmy chewing her lip in concentration.
A commotion behind Frankie caught my attention, and two familiar faces leaned into frame over his shoulder.
“Hey, Conway,” Logan called, flashing a grin when he saw Emmy on the screen. “Oh,hellolittle Ten. You’re way hotter than Frankie. Definitely an upgrade from his busted mug. No offense, Frank.”
Frankie didn’t even blink. “None taken. I’ve seen a mirror.”
Mikko tossed a lazy wave, his voice more subdued. “Boysmiss you, man. Team’s soft as Logan’s handshake without you chirping us during drills.”
Logan shook his head. “I’ve worked hard to perfect the dead fish grip. It’s memorable.”
Emmy tried her best to stifle a laugh, her back turned to me.
“Thanks, boys.”
“Nah, he’s serious,” Logan chimed in. “Rookies are asking for video on your penalty kill setups. Told ‘em its classified. They can suck it and get back on the wall.”
“You tell them I’m coming back?” I asked.
“Every damn day,” Mikko said.
