Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Tedi
“Easton!” Conor shouts across the bar.
Decker told me he was bringing reinforcements today, but I didn’t think it would be a teammate. Last I’d heard, Easton Bailey was in Alaska.
All the guys shake hands and do that man-hug thing.
“I thought you were back home with the moose,” Tweetie says to Easton, sitting down next to him.
“Hey, babe,” I say to Decker, and he actually bends down and kisses my cheek before sitting next to me.
“How are the hips? Holding up, old man?” Easton jokes with Tweetie, and everyone laughs.
“His hips will be the last thing to go. Too much conditioning,” Kyleigh says.
The guys all huddle together on one side of the table, and the women do the same on our end.
“You’ve been busy, huh?” Eloise asks me.
“I’m trying to get this campaign to be successful with all the roadblocks the GM has put in my way. And the traveling takes more out of me than I thought it would.” I sip my wine.
I somehow got on a group text with the girls, and they do a lot of things together. With and without the guys. I declined the last three meet-ups, not wanting to put Decker through the paces and not wanting to be around Tweetie by myself. But I figured a quick meal would be okay. I told Decker to meet me so he can leave early if he wants, but it just keeps it in Tweetie’s head that I’m off-limits. Although he’s not trying to win me, so maybe this is all for nothing. Maybe this is all for me and not him.
I don’t want to examine that thought too hard.
“Well, I loved what you did the other day at his endorsement deal, and you did that whole ‘how do you make a hockey player go from rough and tough to handsome and polished’ thing. Who would’ve thought Tweetie cleaned up so well?” Kyleigh, the one who seems to be the hardest on Tweetie’s lifestyle, says.
“Yeah, the women loved it too.” Reading the comments on the posts reminded me of the nutcase I had been back in the day, and it only made me want to accept their invitation tonight just to make sure I never see that pathetic version of myself again.
“I hate those comments, right?” Eloise rolls her eyes.
“Hey,” Jade says and looks at Decker then back at me. “I’m really sorry about the whole puck-in-the-face thing. Bodhi just?—”
“It’s fine.” I wave off her concern and look at Decker.
There was a light fracture. He has to go back for a few scans in the coming weeks, but you’d never guess it by looking at him.
“I felt horrible. Like the worst mother when he admitted what he’d planned.” Jade blows out a breath and shakes her head.
I place my hand on her arm. “It’s kind of cute.” Which it was. All three women peer over at me, so I’m quick to correct myself. “That he tried to get you and Henry together.”
“The verdict is still out on which one of us got them back together.” Kyleigh elbows Jade.
Eloise holds up her hands. “I wasn’t in the picture for that. So I’m as much in the dark as you.”
“I thought it was cute how he tried to get Decker out of the picture,” Jade whispers, and I sigh.
“Just so you guys all know, there is no chance of anything happening between me and you know who.”
They all kind of look at one another and raise their eyebrows.
“I’m serious.” I double down.
“Okay,” Eloise says in a singsong voice.
She and Kyleigh talk about something else, and Jade places her hand on my arm. “I get it. The past can be really hard to overcome. If you ever want to meet for a coffee or anything, I’m here.”
She’s so sweet. Just like Saige. It would be easy to drag Jade to a corner and tell her all of our shit, but what good would that do?
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
She nods but doesn’t push me for more, which makes her even more sweet.
“Shut up, you’re doing it?” I hear Easton and look down the table.
“Yeah, I’ve always been able to handle a lot of spice.” Tweetie stands, glancing in my direction for a second before he approaches some woman in the corner.
“What’s going on?” Eloise asks.
Conor puts his arms around the back of her chair. “Tweetie’s entering the hot wing contest.”
“Who bet him?” I point around the guys.
Easton slowly raises his hand. “Guilty.”
I shake my head.
“Hey, we need one more,” Tweetie shouts to the guys.
“Does he think we’re stupid? I’m not playing tomorrow night with my throat burning.” Rowan shakes his head.
“Come on!” Tweetie holds his arms out at his sides. “East, man, you’re from Alaska.”
“Which has what to do with me eating a hot-ass chicken wing?” He chuckles.
Tweetie’s quick to move on. “Decker, my guy, let’s go.”
“I’ve had about my fill of trying new shit.” Decker eases back in his chair.
“I thought you loved this shit,” Easton says to Decker.
Decker shakes his head.
Tweetie comes back over to the table. “The lady says if one of us wins, we get a free T-shirt and our picture on the wall.”
“Oh yay, a T-shirt.” I roll my eyes.
“What about you?” Tweetie asks me.
“No way.” I shake my head.
“We need one more!” the woman says over the microphone.
“What is this even for?” Decker asks.
“They have some new flavors or something they’re trying out. It’s a publicity thing.” Tweetie shrugs, like, who cares what it’s for? It’ll be fun .
Easton eyes Decker. “You need better press. Do it, and I’ll snap some pics, put them on my socials. You know, to help you out and all.”
Decker flips off Easton.
Decker does have a pretty shitty social media game.
“I will say”—Tweetie holds up his hands—“connecting with the town you’re playing in is part of the game.”
“Not the way you connect, Tweetie,” Rowan says with a laugh, obviously referring to his philandering.
My stomach clenches at the reminder.
Tweetie is right, though. I noticed it when I started doing his socials in Florida. He was so easy to deal with because he always wanted to explore the city and take pictures in obscure places. People feel as though he’s their friend. Sometimes they think they’re more than his friend, unfortunately.
“I can grab some pictures if you want.” I offer, but I don’t want Decker to feel forced.
Easton raises his eyebrows in a challenge. Just like at the hockey rink, Decker stands. Can none of these men not have something to prove when they’re challenged?
“I’m in,” Decker says.
“We got one, Gwen!” Tweetie puts his arm around Decker’s shoulders and walks them over to the table at the front of the bar.
I pull out my phone.
“This is interesting,” Henry says with no other explanation.
I ask a table in front if I can borrow a chair they’re not using.
It’s Tweetie and Decker, one other guy, and a young girl.
Before the contest even starts, everyone is cheering for someone at the front, and our table is no different. I’ve never seen Tweetie lose any competition he’s entered, so this should be interesting.
The taller middle-aged woman with jet black hair gets on the microphone. “Okay, we’re gonna start you off with something mild. Just to get your palates wet.”
A young kid comes by and places a wing in front of each contender.
“You have ranch or blue cheese in front of you if you want and some water. If you grab the glass of milk in front of you, you’re eliminated. You have one minute to eat each wing. Everyone understand?”
They all nod.
“Ready. Set. Go.”
Everyone cheers, and Tweetie and Decker each pick up their wing, both finishing it in way under a minute.
We go through three more rounds, and everyone is still in.
“Way to go, you two at the end, competing with a pro hockey player and a pro baseball player. Impressive.” Gwen puts her hand on Tweetie’s shoulder, and I want to roll my eyes, because of course she does.
I set my phone to video to film a clip.
“This is where we find out who has hair on their chest.” She looks at the one female at the table and winks at her. “Sorry, sweetie.”
The young kid dishing out the wings puts one down that just looks spicy. The guy next to Decker starts off well, finishing the wing before he blows out his breath as sweat beads on his forehead.
“You can do it, Dad!” a kid shouts from behind me.
“Yeah, Phil!” a woman shouts.
Phil looks as though he’s going to pass out. He tries the water, but you can see that gives him no relief. Somehow, he stays in, and Gwen keeps it going.
I will say whoever picked her to do this contest, they did well. She gets the crowd going. And I’m all Team Gwen until she stops the contest to ask them all personal questions.
She goes to the young girl first. “Tell us why you came out today on this cold Chicago evening.”
The girl says she’s here with her family, who came to see her at college. They all hoot and holler for the school she attends.
Next is Phil, who answers that he’s here with his family to celebrate his wife’s birthday. Gwen gives him a little hell for ruining her night when he’s throwing up later and she’s eating her birthday cake alone.
Then it’s Decker’s turn.
“And you. Is one of those special ladies yours?” She points toward our table.
“She’s right there.” He points at me.
Gwen tips her head and nods. “Front and center. She must really like you. But.” Gwen pretends to whisper, but she’s still got her microphone in her hand. “She’s been taking more photos of this guy to your right. Maybe she’s more of a Falcons fan than of the Colts.” She cringes, and the room laughs. “Oh, I’m just kidding. Gotta keep the competition alive and well, you know?”
Decker glares at me, but hey, he signed up for this.
“And you, Mr. Charming, something tells me that none of those women are yours.”
Tweetie smacks on his usual smile. That easygoing casual one that women fawn over. “Nah, I haven’t found a woman who could tie me down.”
My jaw clenches.
A bunch of women raise their hands, and the word “me” comes from multiple women around the bar.
“He’ll be taking applications after he wins.” Gwen goes back to her place at the side of the table.
The next round, poor Phil can’t even finish his wing before he gulps down his entire glass of milk.
Gwen escorts him back to his family, and his wife kisses his cheek and hugs him. His kids all tell him it’s okay, he did a great job.
I’m still smiling at the display of familial love when I turn back around, and my gaze collides with Tweetie’s. Clearly both of us were admiring the family.
The girl drops out after another wing, leaving just Decker and Tweetie.
“So what will it be, cute brunette in the first row? Whoever wins gets a date?” Gwen doesn’t wait for me to answer before waving. “Just kidding. But did I get your competitive juices flowing, Decker Davis?”
Decker smiles but doesn’t say anything.
Tweetie forces a smile. Maybe I’m the only one who sees it, but his back straightens, and he positions himself at the table as if he wants to ensure he wins.
Which I’m sure he does. That’s how he is.
“All right, two more, boys. If you both hold off, then I’ll have to come up with something else, and I kind of want to go home, so one of you drop out, please.”
The boy comes by and places the wings in front of Decker and Tweetie.
They’re both eating much slower and taking deep breaths between each bite now. I think Decker’s hand might be shaking. It looks horrible from here, and I abandon my phone, too enthralled with who is going to win.
Both make it through that round, taking us to the next. “Only a minute, boys.”
Tweetie smiles at Decker, but it’s the same look he gave Mr. Hawkins when he had the last piece of the puzzle that time. Oh boy, sorry, Decker.
The two of them take a bite and then another one before resting. They look as though they’re in so much pain.
Tweetie closes his eyes and gobbles up the last of the wing, but he still has to chew and swallow. Which he does, while Decker takes it slower, his eyes on the clock the entire time.
Tweetie is inhaling and exhaling, each breath more painful than the last from the look of it.
Decker has the sauce all over his hands and keeps the wing between his fingers, taking one small bite at a time. I feel as if the way they eat this wing is demonstrative of the way they live their lives.
Tweetie stands and accidentally knocks Decker’s arm, which makes the wing slip from his grasp, flying up and hitting him in the eye.
“Fuck!” Decker shouts.
“We have kids in the room, Mr. Davis,” Gwen scolds, because she doesn’t see what we do.
Decker is blinking over and over. The wing drops to the table, and he presses his palm to his eye.
The timer goes off, and Tweetie raises his hands in victory, practically pouring the glass of milk down his throat.
Despite Tweetie’s victory, everyone is looking at Decker.
“I can’t see,” Decker says, face contorted in pain.
I guess it’s back to the hospital we go.