Chapter 16
CONNOR
We’re running drills today as preseason shifts into full swing. Romero and I flank Madden as Ryker prepares for the shot on net. His confidence is growing steadily.
Stiles skates behind the net, Bright moving into position close to me. Madden passes to Stiles, but I’m ready when he tries to pass to Bright. I steal the puck, tap it to Romero, and he shoots it down the ice.
“Nice pass, Grace.” I expect a barb to follow, but Madden takes off after the puck, Stiles and Bright on his heels.
Palaniappa is at the other end of the rink, defending McEwan, the new backup goalie. I watch the easy way Stiles, Madden, and Bright play together. They’re cohesive, moving like extensions of each other.
“Man, those three are something, aren’t they?” There’s awe and envy in Romero’s tone as Madden easily slides the puck past McEwan.
“They’ve had a lot of years on the ice together,” I remind him.
“And they spend a lot of time together off the ice, too,” Ryker adds.
I feel more like part of this team lately. I expected it to be the opposite this season with my engagement to Mildred, but instead of hating me for it, Madden’s been accepting. They all have, actually. Not for me, I’m sure, but for Mildred. Regardless, it’s been good for preseason.
After practice, where Ryker only let one goal in, we hit the locker room, shower, and change back into street clothes.
“Dred seems good. She told me about the venue walk-through. Said the food was fantastic.”
I look up, surprised to find Flip making conversation with me.
Bright, Stiles, and Palaniappa glance our way, apparently just as surprised as me.
“She tell you about the steak tartare?” I ask.
“Oh yeah.” He laughs. “Dred and texture are a real thing.”
“I witnessed that firsthand. It wasn’t her favorite, but she refused to waste it.” She would have lost her mind if she knew what it would have cost per person.
“That’s my fault.” He grins, his smile fond. “I hope she didn’t suffer too much on my behalf.”
A spike of unfamiliar jealousy shoots heat down my spine. He’s important to Mildred, and she’s important to him in a way I’ve never experienced with anyone other than Meems.
“Dessert made up for it.”
“She said as much. If you want to make her smile, just bring her something with strawberries in it.”
“Yeah. I’ve noticed.” Her little moan, the way her eyes fluttered closed… I want more of that.
“Good.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sure you have all the wedding stuff covered, but, uh, if you’re still looking for someone to make the cake, Rix has a lot of friends who do that kind of thing, and she’d love to help.”
“Okay. Yeah.” I’m sure my mother has some kind of plan, but her wishes aren’t mine, and anything I can do to make Mildred feel included in this process and not steamrolled by my controlling parents is a win for me.
“I’ll shoot you her number.”
“Yeah, absolutely. That would be great. Thanks, man.”
“Anything for Dred.”
I expected more animosity from Flip, but maybe we’re on the same page with this.
He’s willing to let the past stay where it is for the sake of his best friend.
Or maybe he’s being nice because he doesn’t want Mildred to feel responsible if we have a shit season on account of the dissension between us.
His motives seem more selfless than mine, regardless.
On the way home from practice, I get stuck behind a beater. Sixty kilometers an hour seems to be its max speed, and it looks like it’s one pothole away from falling apart.
When it turns onto Meems’s street, I have more questions. Like, what asshole would let their grandmother/wife/employee/teenager drive this heap of shit when they live in this neighborhood?
And then it pulls into my driveway. I assume whoever is behind the wheel must be lost, but no, the hand that reaches out of the car is adorned with the ring I put on it.
Which means it’s my fiancée. My mother would lose her mind if she knew the woman I’m about to marry has been driving around in a car with more rust than the Titanic.
I follow my fiancée down the driveway, past the Rolls-Royce and the McLaren, to the back where the garden staff parks—this lot is closer to the grounds and means less of a walk to the greenhouse.
Mildred parks her car beside a blue Camry, purchased by Meems for Barney, our head gardener. The staff here are well taken care of. My future wife’s car is in the worst condition by far.
I park behind her.
She doesn’t get out right away, though. In fact, she takes so long I give up on waiting her out and walk up to her window.
A muffled voice filters through, but it’s too quiet for me to catch the content.
At first I think maybe she’s on a call, but a few choice words bleed through.
She’s listening to an audiobook, and based on what I catch, it’s a romance novel.
She runs her hands up and down her thighs, her lips are parted, and her eyes are closed.
Her tongue peeks out, and one hand leaves her thigh to pop the top two buttons on her cardigan.
She’s wearing a simple pink V-neck shirt underneath, with just the barest hint of cleavage.
Her fingers trail back down, hands sliding between her thighs, chest rising and falling faster.
Her mouth drops open, her hips roll. I might not be able to hear the words coming through the speakers, but I sure as hell hear the soft moan that tumbles from her lips.
She shudders, and her hands go to the steering wheel, gripping tightly as her head falls forward.
I have no idea what I just watched, but I sure as fuck want it to happen again.
I knock on the window. She shrieks and flails, head whipping my way. Her eyes flare, her cheeks flushed. She cuts the engine. I try the door, but it’s locked.
She grabs her oversized bag, hugging it to her chest with one hand, and fumbles with the lock.
When I open the door, it groans loudly. “What are you doing?”
“What are you doing? You scared the shit out of me!” She pokes my thigh and brushes her hair away from her face.
I take a step back.
She pulls herself out of the car. Her skin is dewy.
“What just happened in there?” I narrow my eyes. “What were you listening to?”
“A book.” Mildred adjusts her cardigan and shoulders her purse, eyes anywhere but me.
“Why are you flushed?”
“I got to the good part.” She lifts her chin, defiant.
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
We stare each other down.
I cross my arms. “You’re not going to elaborate?”
She smiles serenely. “I don’t think I need to.”
Did I just watch my fiancée have a contactless orgasm? Is that a thing? And if it is, I would really love a front-row seat to the next event. I leave that alone, mostly because I don’t want to leave it alone.
I must think about kissing her a hundred times a day.
I constantly wonder how her hands would feel on my skin.
If I’d like it. If it would feel as nice as her mouth.
If I’d feel something other than apathy with her.
And now I’ll think about her sitting in her car, eyes closed, lips parted, possibly getting off without so much as a single caress.
I switch gears, because she still hasn’t agreed to amend our contract—not that I’ve asked in a way that denotes my seriousness on the matter—and I won’t push for things she doesn’t want to give. “Did you drive this to work?” I motion to the car.
“No.” She rolls her shoulders back. “I drove it to the subway station halfway to work because I had an appointment this morning.”
“What kind of appointment?”
“The doctor kind.”
Panic hits me. All doctor’s appointments recently have been full of bad news. “Are you okay?”
She raises a hand, her voice gentle. “I’m fine. It was my yearly checkup.”
“Oh.” That’s a relief. “This car is a heap of shit.”
She places a protective hand over the side mirror, which is attached to the car with red duct tape.
“Do not talk about Betty that way. You’ll hurt her feelings.
” She rubs the mirror lovingly. “Or is this you telling me you don’t want me to drive it because you’re embarrassed that it’s worth less than your shoes? ”
“I’m not embarrassed. I don’t give a shit if you want to drive a Barbie pink Batmobile. But this is not safe. It looks like it would barely make it to the corner store.”
She crosses her arms. “Well, it’s all I can afford.”
We haven’t reached the one-month mark on our relationship, so no money has been deposited into her account. “What kind of car do you want?”
“You’re not buying me a car when the one I have is perfectly fine.”
“It’s not perfectly fine. The side mirror is held on with tape.” I give it a tug, and it comes off in my hand. “And not very securely.”
“What the fuck, Connor?” She grabs it from me and cradles it to her chest. “Do I go around breaking your things?”
“It was already broken!”
Her defiant edge is back. “Well, so am I. Are you going to pull me apart too?”
“Mr. Grace, is everything okay?”
Barney is standing fifteen feet away, holding a bucket of fresh flowers.
Mildred shoves by me and heads for the house.
“Everything’s fine, apart from my fiancée’s car.” I make a note to fix the problem as soon as possible. She needs a safer vehicle, and I can certainly afford to put her in one.
I leave Barney in the driveway and follow Mildred through the employee entrance, but she’s disappeared.
“Dred! How was your day?” I hear Ethel call from the kitchen and head in that direction. “What do you have there?”
“One of Betty’s ears.” She shoots a glare over her shoulder at me.
“Who’s Betty?”
“My car.”
I can’t help myself, I follow her into the kitchen.
“Oh! How did that—” Ethel’s eyes go wide, and she jumps off her stool, standing at attention when she sees me. “Mr. Grace, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. What can I do for you?”