Chapter 11
LUCY
“My God, this is good,”Tyler says, wiping burger juice off his face.
His beard, considerably more full than it was when I saw him two days ago, has a couple gray hairs growing right in the middle of the chin area.
He probably counts on them as part of his seductive charm.
“Tyler, what’s with all the beards on the players? Is that a coincidence? Like GQ said they were ‘the thing to do’ and you all jumped on the bandwagon? Or is it something you guys coordinate? Like twelve-year-old girls wearing the same outfit to school?” I steal one of his fries after Ruby does.
“Off my fries, both of you,” he sighs, play-swatting our hands. “The beard thing is a tradition we do every year. And you’re right, it’s just like twelve-year-old girls coordinating their clothes, exactly like Ruby did when she was that age. Exactly the same, except, as far as I know, none of us players have ever been twelve-year-old girls.”
Ruby giggles. “Hockey has all these weird traditions and superstitions. Lucy, did you know the guys are fanatics about how they put their uniforms on, how they lace their skates, stuff like that? They have to do it the ‘lucky’ way or risk losing. For example, right skate first, then left, or vice-versa. If they don’t, and the hockey gods are displeased, all hell breaks loose.”
“Hey, there’s good reason for that. Don’t make fun, Ruby. I’ll make you take the bus back to Dad’s.”
She elbows him in the side and he pretends to be hurt.
Their sibling-esque vibe has me charmed. I can’t lie.
“Hey, how come your dad didn’t come tonight?”
Ruby and Tyler look at each other. “You tell her,” he says.
Lucy takes a deep breath. “Dad won’t come to a season opener. He thinks it will bring the team bad luck. So, he was out playing poker at the neighbor’s.”
“Really? Talk about superstitious. What about your mom?”
“She died when I was a baby,” Ruby says matter-of-factly, followed by a giant bite of her burger.
How did I not know this?
“I… I’m so sorry,” I sputter.
“Thank you,” she says, nodding.
She’s clearly been explaining this to people for a long time.
“Yeah, Mom died when I was a baby, so Tyler kind of raised me. Along with Dad, of course. But he was so blown away by losing Mom, Tyler had to step in.”
She looks up at him with what can only be called complete adoration.
Jesus, that’s sweet. I actually get a lump in my throat. My cynical, dried-out throat.
Tyler shrugs. “Yeah, poor Dad was so checked out, I had no choice but to keep this little cretin alive on my own.”
“What? You did this at how old?”
“Six,” Ruby says.
“Six years of age?”
Incredible.
“Seven,” he corrects.
Same difference.
“How?” I ask, short on words.
Something like sadness washes over Tyler’s face and he looks down at his burger like he doesn’t want anyone to see. “Before Mom died, she showed me how to do a bunch of things. Diapers, bathing, making a bottle. And Mrs. Sibley next door helped a lot too. She was Mom’s friend.”
“Holy crap,” I breathe.
I don’t even know what to say.
Lucy gives him a shoulder noogie. “Yeah, he was stuck with me. Kind of still is.”
“No kidding,” he says with fake disgust. “I’ll never get this child out of my life. She’s like Velcro.”
This is so not fair. I am not supposed to like this guy. Not at all. I mean, I wasn’t planning on hating him, no need to go that far, but to feel for him? And actually have some admiration for him? This is so not part of the plan.
Players and fuckboys do not change their little sister’s diapers. There’s just no way.
Ruby leans over the table. “Lucy, have you had any of Tyler’s cookies yet?—”
He nudges her so hard she drops her burger, following up with a dirty look that shuts her right up.
I don’t give up that easily.
“What about cookies?” I ask, looking between the two of them.
“Nothing. She meant nothing,” Tyler snaps.
Fine. I’ll get to the bottom of that later.
We pile our burger wrappers and soda cups onto one tray and I take them to the trash. On the way home, Ruby falls asleep in the backseat of Tyler’s Escalade.
“I have to admit I’m just blown away, Tyler.”
He glances at me. “What do you mean?”
“You know. The whole raising your sister thing. That’s crazy.”
He shrugs. “You do what you have to do, right? Besides, she’s not too much of a brat.”
I shake my head and just look out the window, watching the streetlights zip by.
“Do you have an early morning tomorrow?” he asks to fill the silence.
I glance over at him. I’d actually like to take a longer look but don’t want to be busted for staring. He’s bopping his head in time to a Tom Petty tune, and he really is lovely to look at.
Damn him.
“I don’t have to go in too early. Not like you,” I say. “But… they’re talking about layoffs at the paper. Who knows what’s going to happen. If it does, I’d kind of like to write a book,” I say, waiting for him to poo-poo my idea like most everyone else has.
No that I care. Really.
But he reaches over and pats my thigh. “Do it!” he says. “You’re already a writer, and a good one. I’ve read some of your stuff. Make it happen.”
He’s read my stuff?
“Did you Google me? Are you a stalker?”
He pulls up in front of what must be his father’s house, a cute little two-story house like the one I grew up in, and turns to the back seat to shake his sister awake. “C’mon goofball. Wake up.”
She looks around, confused for a moment, then reaches over the seat to flick Tyler in the ear. “Thanks for the ride, loser. Oh, and nice meeting you, Lucy. You’re the first decent girl he’s brought around… ever.”
Tyler whips around in his seat. “Really, Ruby?” he asks in an exasperated tone. “Just get out of my car, would you?”
I’m trying not to laugh.
“What was that all about?” I ask. “What kind of women do you usually hang out with?”
He shrugs while pulling back into traffic. “Christ, that kids loves to bust my chops,” he says, ignoring my question.
Don’t think so.
“Is your usual kind of girl someone who can’t string together a full sentence? Is her bra size bigger than her IQ?”
“What the hell does that mean?” he asks.
“I saw you at the party the other night, looking all over the place like you were scouting pretty girls.”
We’re at a traffic light, so he turns and frowns at me.
Apparently, I’ve gotten under his skin. Which was my intent.
“That’s not fair. There was a woman there I used to date, and it was creeping me out, for your information. I was trying to stay away from her, she’s sort of bad news.”
Oh.
“Interesting. I thought you were scoping the scene for the best bimbos.”
We pull up to my apartment building. “You don’t think much of me, do you, Lucy Daley?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I can’t think fast enough because he leans over the center console and, weaving his fingers into my hair, pulls me in for a kiss.
I pull back. “I… I mean… I was gonna say…”
But I can’t finish because he pulls me in for another kiss and damn if his lips aren’t firm and demanding, and while this guy might have raised his baby sister, he’s nothing but alpha male through and through.
I am in so much trouble.
He releases me and turns off the ignition, then gets out of the car and comes over to my side. He opens my door and extends a hand, which I take because I don’t know what else to do. I have a feeling this man is coming inside my house and I have a feeling I’m not going to stop him.
Because I don’t want to stop him.
I know I should send him on his way. After all, we just shared a perfectly appropriate passionate kiss. Actually, two. I should go up to my apartment and let him go home to his.
But I’m not.
I know what’s about to happen, and while all logic tells me to back away slowly, the throbbing between my legs has detoured the blood from my brain that’s required for making responsible decisions. I’m hanging out with this guy to chronicle everything that’s wrong with him, and taking him into my apartment late at night when we all know what’s about to happen is definitely not the right way to go.
I grab his hand anyway, and we run up my front steps.