Page 33 of Love at Teamsgiving
“Shouldn’t be hard to do, considering you’re a hockey player.”
“That used to be one of your favorite things about me.”
And this is where the conversation could get complicated. Thankfully, I get an assist from my cell phone. It’s a message from Shane, telling me that Erica asked me to check on Juniper since she’s not answering her phone.
I tap to call him. “I’ve got eyes on her.”
Junie’s brow furrows, only privy to my half of the conversation.
Through the phone’s speaker, Erica hollers, “Is she okay? I haven’t heard from her all day. I’ve texted and called.”
“My phone died,” Junie says.
“Our first pick catering company had a last-minute cancellation, but they’ll only hold our spot if you bring them adeposit. I sent you a PayBuddy, but they want a check, so if you don’t mind writing one, the payment I sent you will cover it.”
“We got this,” I say.
Junie’s face squishes up as if she’s preparing to take a swing. I back up a little.
Erica, delighted, says, “Thank you, guys. You’re the best.”
Shane adds, “Rae of Bite has the best dishes for the money. My cousin had them cater their wedding a few years ago.”
“They’re expecting you at six thirty for a tasting.”
Shane says, “Make sure you try the Santa Maria Style Tri-tips. Chef’s kiss.”
Erica says, “Okay, gotta get back to class. Love you.” Through the phone comes the sound of them exchanging a kiss and then the line goes quiet.
Junie rolls her eyes.
“Oh, come on. They’re adorable. In love.”
She mutters something that sounds an awful lot likeEw barf.
“I have to go feed Burt. Let’s go.”
Of course, Junie doesn’t move. “Burt?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to let Shane down, so let’s not be late.”
“I can meet you at Rae of Bite or whatever.” Junie turns in a slow circle as if hoping to find one more task to do, but the salon space is a contractor’s dream, ready for a build-out.
And this woman is a dream I’ve tried to convince myself I don’t have—angsty comments and all.
Am I a sucker? I hope not.
Do I believe we can figure things out? Maybe.
Will I try? I don’t have anything else to lose.
“Looks like you have a big expense ahead of you. We’ll carpool. Save on gas,” I say, edging toward the door.
With a huffy sigh, she follows as if eager for some fresh air, then protests. “I’m filthy from cleaning.”
“My car has seen plenty of post-practice hockey player sweat.”
Unlike the rest of the guys on the team who drive trucks, I have a Maserati, which is slightly less flashy than a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, but equally fun to drive. What can I say? It’s in the blood. It was my first gift to myself when I signed with the NHL. I open the passenger side door for Junie.
