Page 37 of Hockey Halloween
“When he’s done?” she asks, and no matter how gorgeous she is, I’m more than a little over her clueless act.
“I overheard you telling someone he was assembling furniture,” I explain.
Valerie’s face lights up as she laughs. “He’s definitely not assembling anything. I was joking. I guarantee Kevin is taking a nap right now.”
Is she fucking kidding? Why the hell do women put up with this shit? She’s got this sweet smile on her full lips, like she’s picturing him conked out on the damn hardwood floor and thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.
I should keep my mouth shut because their relationship is none of my business, but I just can’t. “Let me get this straight. You’re outhere hauling shit you can barely manage to carry, and Kevin is inside napping?”
She giggles. Freaking giggles. “Well, yeah, but?—”
“But your boyfriend’s a lazy piece of shit,” I say. I didn’t wake up with a surplus of patience this morning, but what little reserve I had is completely gone.
Val’s brows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into her forehead. “My boyfriend?!”
“Don't tell me he’s your fiancée?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
A scowl crosses her face and it’s directed right at me. “Most definitely not, although my relationship status is none of your business.”
I know she’s right, and I need to calm the fuck down. If my players were here, they’d be telling me I’ve lost my damn mind. It’s time for me to regain control of the situation, so I clear my throat. “Will Kevin be living here with you?”
“Yes,” she answers, her chocolate-brown eyes still pinned on mine.
“Then he and I need to have a quick chat so he can sign the papers. It doesn’t have to be right this second, but?—”
“Of course,” she says, cutting me off. “How silly of me to think that you wouldn’t need Kevin’s signature. I’ll go get him.”
As she turns to walk inside her new place, my pettiness gets the better of me. “Are you sure you don’t mind rousing him from his nap?”
Her smile is sweet when she turns back to me. “Not at all. He’s a champion napper. When you two are done with your man-to-man talk, he’ll go right back to sleep. He might even snooze right here on the grass.”
Val Grim stalks inside and I do my damnedest not to watch the way her hips sway back and forth with every step. I’m being a dick and I know it, but she can’t sneak in a roommate, for fuck’s sake. Still, I could be calmer, friendlier. I’m never going to be described as chill, but I’m usually not this intense in my day-to-day life. I save it for the ice. It’s still technically summer break, at least for the next forty-eight hours, but that doesn’t make my job as assistant coachany easier, especially not this year. We've got two transfer students joining the team and moving into the hockey house tomorrow, and there’s no way that’s not going to be a shit show. Transfers aren’t usually a big deal, but when they’re the star players from your school’s bitter rival, that tends to make things a little more complicated.
I hear the screen door open and close and look up to see Reese walking across the lawn with purpose. Her hair is a mess of knots and tangles, and the tattered baby blanket she’s clutching definitely needs a wash, but none of that matters. She’s the best part of my life, even when she’s throwing more sass my way than a five-year-old should. And right now, with her hand on her hip, I know she’s about to give me hell for something.
A quick glance at the other side of the duplex tells me Reese isn’t the only one here planning to hand me my ass this morning.
The look on Valerie Grim’s face is sweet and serene—and that’s the first sign that I’m in trouble.
The second sign is what she’s holding in her hands.
“Is that a puppy?” Reese’s attitude has disappeared and been replaced by awe and excitement.
“Uhhh…” I stammer, because the fact is, I’m not sure what the hell that is. It could be a puppy. It could also be a knitting project gone horribly wrong. Or a stuffed animal that was fluffed a little too long in the dryer.
When the pile of fur yips, I know it’s a dog.
A damn dog.
Dressed up in a little gray hoodie, for shit’s sake.
Without missing a beat or even looking in my direction, Val kneels down in front of Reese and places her little track-suit-wearing dog on the ground. “This is Kevin,” she says, keeping her hand on his back. “He’s tiny, but he’s not a puppy. He’s a full-grown Brussels Griffon. A man, some might say,” she quips, looking up at me but still holding on to her dog. To Kevin.
Dammit.
Reese is utterly charmed. “Daddy! She has a dog. And he’s wearing a sweatshirt!”
Val traces her finger across the lettering on the back of her dog’s hoodie. “BU, that’s for Bainbridge University,” she tells Reese.
