Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Someone who already knows the shape of me
Lulu
Icollapse into my chair as the last of my students tumble out for lunch, already hollering down the hall about cafeteria pizza. My phone buzzes against the desk, and before I can even think about grading the pile of essays glaring at me, a new flood of notifications lights up the screen.
That’s Between Us and God
Zoe: Okay, Lulu. It’s officially check-in time. How’s the Year of Yes going?
Charlie: Yeah, how’s our girl? Tell me you’ve finally found someone worth all those swipes.
Tamara: Or at least someone who doesn’t eat soup like a serial killer.
Claire: Translation: How many frogs have you kissed since January?
I groan, forehead dropping into my hand. I knew this was coming. The whole “Year of Yes” thing has been a brunch bet since May—me swearing I’d stop saying no to dates, even the weird ones, because “what’s the worst that could happen?” Apparently, the worst is having a hype squad with receipts.
Me: Define “going.”
Zoe: Going as in… going. Like dates. Drinks. Lingering eye contact across candlelight.
Charlie: Oh my god, candlelight? You’ve gone soft in your relationship era.
Zoe: Shut up, you’re just jealous.
Tamara: Ladies. Focus. Our girl is dodging.
Claire: Which means the answer is either amazing or terrible. Spill.
I bite my lip, hesitating on what to say.
Technically, they’re right. I was going on dates—plural.
Coffee, tacos, that one guy who wouldn’t shut up about CrossFit.
But somewhere along the way, my “yes” fizzled.
I haven’t swiped in weeks. Every match waiting in my inbox just looks like static compared to the one person I’ve been thinking about.
Who has also eaten me out on his kitchen counter and agreed to my absurd idea of a sex ideas wishlist.
Me: Okay fine. I might’ve ghosted the apps.
Three dots blinking rapidly, then chaos.
Zoe: WHAT??? Why?
Charlie: Wait. You?? Miss “new year, new me, say yes to everything”??
Tamara: Hahahahaha oh my god, Lulu.
Claire: This is like scandal level nine. Do I need wine?
I snort, covering my mouth even though the classroom’s empty.
Me: It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t feeling it.
Zoe: Tallulah Parnell. You made a whole PowerPoint about how this was going to be your year of adventure and “expanding horizons.”
Charlie: And you color-coded it. I’ve never seen someone color-code dating apps.
Tamara: Honestly, it was impressive. Borderline terrifying, but impressive.
Charlie: Not to mention the yoni empowerment classes…
Zoe: You nearly made me name my vagina, Lulu. MY VAGINA
Claire: Okay, I’m not unpacking that. But if you’re not on the apps… what are you doing?
Heat prickles under my collar. What am I doing? Oh, you know, just hanging out in my brother’s teammate’s house every night and dry humping him into oblivion. Totally casual.
Me: Working. Teaching. Dog-sitting. Living my best spinster life.
Zoe: Liar.
Charlie: Liar.
Tamara: LIAR.
Claire: Babe, you’ve never once in your life been subtle. Who is he?
I laugh out loud, shaking my head. They’ll tear me apart if I give them even a crumb.
Me: Nobody. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.
Zoe: Translation: she’s glowing.
Charlie: Yeah, remember when she “wasn’t dating” last year and still had that just-got-laid glow at brunch? Same energy.
Tamara: Amen.
Claire: Don’t think you’re off the hook. This chat is sacred. Confess your sins.
I toss the phone into my bag before I can cave, but my grin won’t leave. They’re not wrong—I am glowing. And it has nothing to do with the apps, or candlelight dinners, or color-coded PowerPoints.
“Ms. Parnell.”
I jerk upright. Mrs. Delacourt is framed in the doorway, as if she’s been standing there long enough to catch the whole thing. Pencil skirt, crisp blouse, lips pursed in that way that says she’s already two steps ahead of you and waiting for you to catch up.
Heat rushes to my face, though I know she didn’t see the chat. Still, it feels a little like getting busted by the school principal… which, technically, I have.
“Yes, Mrs. Delacourt?” I fold my hands primly on top of the stack of essays, pretending I wasn’t just laughing at Zoe yelling about vagina names.
Her heels click into the room. “I just wanted to remind you that Career Day is coming up. I trust everything is organized?”
I nod, keeping my teacher smile fixed. “Of course.”
“And Mr. Parnell will be attending?”
Her tone makes it sound less like a question and more like a decree. My brother—NHL star and part-time school mascot—summoned like some kind of prize pony.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “He’ll be here.”
She gives a sharp little nod and a quick smile, already turning. “Good. The students and their parents will be very excited.”
The door shuts behind her, and I sag back into my chair. Eli never promised me that. He said maybe. He said he’d try. And the truth is, he’s got a marriage, a life, a million other responsibilities beyond being wheeled out every time the school needs to dazzle for their monthly newsletter.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, groaning. Great. Now, if he can’t come, I’ll look like I dropped the ball.
***
The late afternoon sun slants gold through the trees as Dusty drags me up Birch, tongue lolling, nails clicking against the pavement. He’s all enthusiasm, no brakes, following his nose and charging ahead, tail wagging in a blur.
“Slow down, you fluffy menace,” I puff, jogging to keep up as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I tug it free, frown at Eli’s name flashing across the screen, and swipe.
“Hey, stranger,” I answer, bracing as Dusty lunges toward a squirrel. “Checking in to make sure I haven’t set my house on fire?”
“Pretty much,” he says, gruff but warm. Bus noise hums in the background. “How’s my favorite little sister?”
“I’m your only little sister.”
“Yeah, but you’re still my favorite.” His smirk is audible, the same one that used to drive me crazy growing up. “How’s it looking over there? Plumbing situation sorted?”
“Dryers are still running, but they said one more day.” I tug Dusty back to my side, grinning despite myself. “So don’t worry, big brother. By the time you’re back in Denver, I’ll be back over the street and in my own bed.”
“Good,” Eli mutters, then adds suspiciously, “Why do you sound like you’re about to make me regret asking?”
“Oh, no reason,” I say lightly, going for the full tease. “Just that once I’m home again, I can start having sleepovers. You know, with my dates.”
There’s a loud groan on the other end. “Jesus, Lulu! You shouldn’t be entertaining psychopaths in your own damn house!”
“I’m kidding!” I laugh. Dusty barrels to the top of the hill and dodges through the trees to my favorite clearing, and I saunter after him.
There’s a rustle on the other end, then Eli mutters, “Chase is being a jackass, hold on—” Laughter erupts in the background, muffled but clear enough to pick out Chase’s cackle.
“Who’s entertaining psychopaths, Parnell? Thought that was just you on the ice!”
“Shut the hell up,” Eli barks, voice carrying even through the line. “I’m talking my sister down from life choices she’ll regret, and you jackasses—”
Another voice cuts in, low and dry, perfectly unbothered. Logan. “Maybe she just likes the challenge.”
Heat flooding my cheeks. Eli doesn’t seem to catch it; he’s too busy swearing at Chase.
“Anyway,” he says, coming back with a grumble. “Tell me you’re not actually stupid enough to let strange men sleep over at your place.”
“Relax,” I say, biting back a grin. “I was kidding. Mostly.”
“Mostly,” he echoes, dark and unimpressed.
“Speaking of,” I say quickly, “Career Day. Delacourt cornered me this afternoon. She’s expecting you…”
“Of course she is,” Eli mutters. “And she schedules that whole damn thing around me, makes sure it’s not a game day, just so she can corner me into agreeing. Like the only thing that matters is me showing up in a jersey so parents can clap and kids can gawk.”
I wince, chewing my lip. “Eli—”
“I’ve done it for her, Lu. More than once.
And I don’t mind when I can swing it. But hockey isn’t my whole life, and I’m not just some prop Delacourt can pencil into her agenda.
” His voice softens, but the steel’s still there.
“Most of my life belongs to Tam. She’s got an important appointment that day, and if she needs me, that’s it. I’ll drop everything for her.”
Dusty noses at my hand, and I swallow against the sudden knot in my throat, Eli’s words settling heavy in my chest. That’s what I want, that kind of love. The kind that’s a no-brainer. No hesitation, no excuses. Just Tamara first, every time.
I clear my throat. “Okay. I’ll figure something out.”
“You always do.” His voice gentles again. “Don’t let Delacourt make you feel like you’re not enough without me. You’re a damn good teacher, Lulu. Your kids are lucky.”
Warmth spreads in my chest, even as panic lingers under my ribs. “Thanks, Eli.”
“Anytime. Love you, Lu.”
“Love you too.”
The line clicks off, and I stand there at the top of Birch, leash in one hand, phone in the other, with Dusty panting happily at my side, oblivious to the weight in my chest. I go to slip my phone away when another notification pops up.
Logan: That better have been a fucking joke.
My laugh bubbles out, bright enough to startle a passing jogger, and I slide my phone back into my leggings pocket.
An hour later, we’re back at Logan’s place and settling in for the evening. Dusty’s tags jingle as he demolishes his dinner, tail whacking against the cabinets. I crouch to brush the worst of the day’s dirt from his sandy blond coat, humming under my breath, when my phone buzzes on the counter.
Logan. Video call.
My pulse trips as I swipe before I can think better of it.
He fills the screen, hair damp, T-shirt rumpled, slouched against some generic hotel headboard.
His eyes, though, are level and dark.
“You didn’t answer my text.”