Page 25 of My Puckin' Luck
“Yes. Want me to guess?”
“Take your best shot,” she scoffs and sips her wine.
“Okay. You walked in and hated that I had a party without you being informed. Yes, I probably should have texted you. Even worse, you saw two puck bunnies in close proximity to me in the pool and jumped to your own conclusions.”
She snorts. “You’re a free man. Talk to as many women as you want.”
Yeah, she’s mad. I called it. “I can tell you don’t really want me out there carousing with women. You want me here, where I can fully carouse with you.”
She doesn’t deny that. “I have more pages to write tonight and have to get up early in the morning to head back to work for a very important meeting. A noisy party isn’t exactly helpful.” She rolls her eyes.
I march straight out to the patio. “Everyone out. Party over. Ladies, there’s the door. Guys, get your asses home and get a good night’s rest. We have a skate in the morning, films to watch, and the game tomorrow night, so I expect you to be spry and chipper. Go on. Get out.”
When the last person, Leo, heads out the door, he nods toward Anastasia still sitting on the kitchen counter. “What about her?”
“She lives here, dumbass. See you tomorrow. And bring your A-game.”
“Always.” We fist bump.
When I return to Anastasia, she says, “You didn’t have to do that for me.”
“Yeah, I did. I wasn’t in the mood to party, anyway. I’m glad you’re home.” I load another plate with cold pizza, plus grab hers. “Come on. Let’s eat by the pool.”
“But I have so much work to do.”
“Later. First, you need to eat.” I head out to the patio and set everything down. I slip off my towel and dive back in, the water clearing my head. When I resurface, she’s hiked up the skirt and sits on the ledge, kicking her legs in the water. She pulls our plates over and we eat in silence for a minute.
“I heard from the insurance man today. They’ve got a bid and a timeline, and said it could be two months more before my place is finished.” She shakes her head. “To make matters worse, the Writer’s Guild is talking of a strike soon in Hollywood.”
“Can they do that?” I ask.
“Yep. But hopefully it’d only last a few days.” She sets down the half-eaten slice of pizza and pushes the plate away. “My life is crazy right now, Saint. I should move in with Nana or find a temporary place to live. I’m cramping your style here.”
“No, you’re not,” I scoff, and finish my plate. “I like you being here.”
“But I know how it is for sportsmen. You need to be at the top of your game, mentally and physically. And you have to find ways to relieve stress, like partying. Piling my stress on top won’t help you.”
“You’re staying. End of discussion.” It’s not her causing me stress. It’s Mom and Esme…and Lilah and Brady. Looking back, what happened to Lilah and our baby has always been the catalyst at the core of my worst moods.
Working through grief is a bitch. But it’s been ten years and have I really tried to work through it? That boggles my mind. My life reduced to a number like that. I glance at Anastasia and I know it’s time to do something about it.
13
WORK FOR IT
SAINT
I swim upto Anastasia and lean my wet arms across her knees, gazing up into her face. “Tell me you really want to leave me and I’ll let you go.”
She’s quiet, swallowing hard, and doesn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought, I can read you so well, angel. When I say we don’t need to discuss anything more, it’s because I don’t see the sense in going round and round about things when you’re not admitting what you really want. So I cut it off and voice it for you.”
“You think you know what I want?”
“Yeah, I do. Like right now. You want to swim. So get your pretty ass in here with me.”
“I don’t have a suit.”
