Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
Jace
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be dragged down into the hills and made into a human scarecrow?” I mutter as I open Marie’s door and help her out of the car.
She grins up at me. “Probably because of the trio of giant hockey players currently gathered on the porch glaring at you?”
I tap the tip of her nose. “Got it in one.”
Her hand finds mine. “It’ll be fine, handsome. They look scary and they can obliterate six-foot-six, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound guys on the ice but?—”
“Not helping, cookie.”
A giggle and I can’t lie, that helps.
That she can laugh and joke with me, that her fingers are wrapped tightly around mine, that she leans into me as we walk. That when we pause to climb the couple of steps up onto the porch at Jean-Michel’s daughter, Chrissy’s, house, she tugs me to a stop, rises on tiptoe, and presses a kiss to my jaw. “I can handle a couple of hockey players.” She winks. Then tugs me forward again. “Trust me.”
“I do.”
She stills for a heartbeat then her eyes are flashing to mine over her shoulder.
Our gazes only lock for a moment but the intensity of emotions in hers takes my breath away.
Then she’s looking forward, drawing me alongside her, and saying in a stage whisper, “And Jean-Michel has the money, power, and connections to bankrupt you, even despite the large ”—a smile in my direction that has my dick twitching at a seriously inopportune time—“size of your bank account.”
“Cookie,” I warn.
The pregnant brunette grins and steps forward, unceremoniously pushing the hockey players and Jean-Michel to the side. “Hi”—she extends a hand—“I’m Chrissy.” We shake. “And I know you know my dad, Jean-Michel. This is Rome, my fiancé.” A nudge to the brown-haired man who tugs her back against his chest. “And my best friend, Rory.” I’ve barely noticed the blonde, she’s so dwarfed by the huge, bearded man who has her tucked close to his side. “Her husband, King. And I think you know Attie?—”
A cough from the curly-haired brunette.
“Er, Ats,” she corrects with a smile at the other woman. “I think you two have met?”
I nod, reach out and shake Agent Phillips’s hand. “We have. Nice to see you again.”
“Cam,” I hear and glance over at the thinnest of the trio of hockey players. He has a possessive edge to his expression and hovers close to Attie—but doesn’t attempt to crush my fingers when we shake hands. “Jace,” I say.
“Good.” Chrissy claps her hands together. “Now that that’s all out of the way, let’s go inside. The food’s going to get cold and this baby is hungry.”
“Meow!”
I turn toward the pretty gray tabby on the cat tower. “Hey, gorgeous,” I say softly, reaching a hand out?—
Then freezing when the rest of the occupants of the kitchen yell, “No!”
“Um,” I begin.
Chrissy takes a step toward me. “Joan of Freaking Arc. My cat,” she explains when my brows drag together. “She’s not, well…nice.”
But even as she says that, a furry head rubs against my still outstretched hand.
Then the soft rumble of a purr.
I lightly stroke her head then grunt when she launches herself from the cat tower and into my arms. Holding her carefully, I turn back to the others, the remains of the dinner—pizza and pasta from a local Italian place named Mario’s—littered on the huge island.
Bar stools are pushed back, half-full glasses of wine are dotted around.
Cats and dogs run underfoot, visitors from Rory and Chrissy’s animal rescues, and Tiff, Jean-Michel’s other half, who arrived late from her job, is just diving into a plate he made up for her.
An ice cream cake—Chrissy’s craving today—is thawing on the counter, and I think that could take a solid hour and I would still be too full for a slice.
I’ll still eat one anyway—because I’ve never had this special concoction from Molly’s.
And it looks fucking incredible.
But none of that explains why the entire kitchen full of people is now looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
Rome is the first to break out of his shock.
He chuckles and shakes his head, muttering, “Joan of Freaking Arc.”
“I don’t get it,” I say, stroking a hand through her soft fur.
“She’s surly and will bite your head off if you move wrong,” King explains.
I glance down at the ball of fluff in my arms. Joan stares up at me through half-slit eyes, her purrs vibrating through my chest. “Surly?” I ask disbelievingly.
“With those she judges as unworthy,” Marie says, coming close to my side and reaching forward to scratch the cat. “Which clearly”—a pointed look up at me—“you are not.”
I touch her cheek. “And neither are you.”
A sigh has my head jerking up, Joan’s purring faltering for a moment.
Chrissy’s smiling at us, and the looks of murder the guys have been wearing all night have evened out. But it’s Jean-Michel’s expression that’s changed the most.
He nods at me, approval evident.
“Meow?”
I look down at Joan. “Did I stop scratching you?”
“Meow.”
We all laugh. I go back to scratching, earning that persistent purring for several minutes before Joan decides she’s had enough. Her teeth, sharp pinpricks of bright white canines, press lightly into my hand.
“Yes, darling?” I ask her.
Her teeth press a little harder.
I get the message and settle her back onto her perch, where she can look down her adorable nose at us.
Marie slides closer, wrapping her arm around my waist as we wander back to the island, listening to the guys chatter about their upcoming games and as Rory and Chrissy discuss her plans for her upcoming baby shower. We chime in when necessary—and it’s fairly frequent because they’re all good at including us in the conversation—but I’m enjoying just standing on the sidelines, watching their interactions.
Friendship and love.
New acquaintances and old.
But it’s comfortable, enjoyable…and it’s Marie’s.
I’m glad she has it, grateful I’m here to be part—however small—of it.
We stay until Chrissy starts yawning and Rome ushers us out the door. I drive us home, and it doesn’t take long for Marie to fall asleep. I don’t wake her, just carry her sleeping form up to my condo, tucking her into my bed and pulling the covers up and over her.
I lock up, plug in our phones.
Then crawl in beside her, tugging her against me.
As sleep starts to claim me, I can’t help but think this was the best night I’ve had in a long time.
Because of Marie.
And because Chrissy made me promise that next time I bring Brooks along.
He won’t know what hit him.
My lips curve.
Fall into the blackness.
And when I wake up in the morning and my Marie is gone, I’m not upset.
Because there’s an envelope on the table…with Eagles tickets inside.
Her note alongside them makes me laugh.
They’re not playoff tickets, but I still want snacks.
-M