Chapter 27
WINNIE
I’m a little tipsy when Fitz leads us to the skybox, his arm around my waist. Why is he acting like I’m his—I don’t know—girlfriend or something?
He hasn’t even kissed me. He hasn’t even pretended like he wants to kiss me.
Am I being friendzoned?
You don’t take a friend to an expensive sporting event, right?
Well, you do if you’re just one of a crowd.
Kathy shrinks behind me.
The WAGs did not get the memo that this was a casual hockey game. They are dressed to the nines. Super-high heels. Custom jackets with their SOs’ numbers in the Seattle-blue color.
Kathy and I stand out in our pink-and-black Brew & Browse polo shirts and black pants.
“Stand up straight, girls,” Mom whispers, running her finger up my spine.
“Fuck these people,” Gran declares too loudly.
“She needs a hearing aid.” Kathy winces.
“We’re getting drunk and eating caviar on Winnie’s new boyfriend’s dime.”
“Not my boyfriend.”
The crowd in the skybox parts. There’s a spread laid out. No one’s touched it.
“There’s, like, ten thousand dollars’ worth of crab legs here.”
“I brought Tupperware, girls.” Gran opens her enormous bag. “Get cracking on those crustaceans. Winnie, you’re making your lobster salad tonight.”
“I need a cocktail first.”
Kathy is miserable next to me as the bartender mixes up our drinks—Orcas Frosties—bright blue like everything else.
“Do you have anything that’s not blue?” I ask him.
“You’re here to work, not drink.” Gran dumps a tray of lobster in front of me. “We’ll deal you in if you keep your mouth shut,” she tells the bartender. “She”—Grab points at me—“has a café. She can hook you up.”
“I didn’t see shit,” the bartender swears.
“Good man.”
He slides us our drinks.
My wine has a blue orca floating in it.
“Your boyfriend does know how to theme.” Carolina toasts me.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I sip my wine. “We’re, like—I don’t know—not friends? Work colleagues?” I look over to Fitz.
As soon as we walked into the suite, he was immediately surrounded by fawning men and their wives. It’s one thing to know he’s a billionaire. I’m no stranger to being around men with money, not in this city.
But the fawning—Fitz doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it.
Maybe that’s just how he wants people to act around him.
Maybe that’s why he’s lost interest in me.
Is he doing this to be polite, or worse, as a joke?
His mouth quirks, and he winks over the shoulder of some sports-news writer who’s trying to pump him for information.
He excuses himself and strolls over.
“Hide the lobster!” Carolina shrieks.
“I can just have already-shelled lobster delivered to your house, Creampuff.”
“Waste not, want not.”
He leans in. “If I get a bite of your famous lobster salad, I’ll pretend I don’t see your granny dumping trays of crab cakes in her purse.” He blows me a kiss as he’s swallowed back up by all the brownnosers.
“Fitz is so nice.” Carolina rests her chin on my shoulder.
“Nice, yeah.”
“Oh my god, you’re still thinking about that crazed sex addict in the alley.”
“You shouldn’t accuse people of being sex addicts.”
“You have an actual billionaire after you.” She jabs me with an empty crab claw. “And instead of locking that down, you’re obsessing over a guy who, for all we know, could be a wanted felon.”
“It was just so—he was just—” My face, my whole body, feels hot.
“Look, I’m sure the sex is great, but your stalker is not going to marry you.
He’s not going to be a good husband or a good father.
I know you don’t need a ‘good’ provider”—she makes air quotes with the crab claws—“but you need someone who you can take to work parties, who isn’t going to act like an animal around your family, who supports you emotionally.
You don’t even know what this guy looks like. ”
“He’s tall. And he does do house chores.”
“Fitz can pay for someone to do that.”
“Fitz… is… boring,” I admit.
“He’s a billionaire—he’s not boring. Also, boring is good! You can’t have stalker sex in an alley every night. I know you,” Carolina pleads. “Your default is curled up on the couch with a good book, not having public filthy intercourse. Forget the stalker. Go for Fitz.”
“Oh, I just don’t know.”
“We are too old for love triangles. This is a cry for help. You need to accept that there are men out there who find you attractive. You’re not just the smart sister.” She pushes me off the stool. “Go over there. Get your man. You haven’t even given him a real shot.”
“Yeah, because I don’t want to be publicly rejected and humiliated.”
Carolina glares at me. “I need to see some self-esteem.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” I fret. “It’s not like there are businesspeople here that I have a reason to talk to, to give something else to chew on that will put me firmly in nonthreatening-coworker territory and not woman territory.”
“Forget sex—you need a therapist.”
I stare at the TV above the bar, displaying the game for people who aren’t in oversized luxury stadium seating.
Kathy was a WAG long enough that I can sort of follow a hockey game.
The oysters turn rancid in my stomach as I watch Knox skate across the ice after the puck to the cheering of fans. Like his ego needs any more stroking.
“Don’t look now,” Carolina mutters as she stuffs a handful of lobster meat in the Tupperware container hidden on her lap. “Troll hunters unite.”
A bulldozer of a woman with an angry face stomps up from the tiered seating that overlooks the ice.
The Pittsburgh troll.
Knox’s mom’s nostrils flare when she sees us.
“Security! Security! These lunatics are stalking my baby!”
“Shelby,” my mom says anxiously, rushing up, “you know us. We’re not stalking you.”
“I know your daughter is stalking my son.” The troll slobbers.
“No, Kathy’s not—he moved here—he’s stalking her.” Gran explodes. “He’s not over her. Kath’s here with her sister. We were invited by her sister’s boyfriend, who owns this team and owns your son.”
The Pittsburgh troll makes a distasteful face in my direction.
“Gran, we haven’t even kissed,” I whisper.
“Wait, you haven’t even kissed Fitz?” Gran demands.
“Shhh!”
The whole room looks over to us. Several of the WAGs titter.
I never should have come here. I should have stayed in my café with my books. This is way out of my comfort zone.
“Now, Shelby,” Dad says kindly, “Knox and Kathy have been together for fifteen years. We don’t want bad blood between us.”
Shelby harrumphs.
“Bad blood?” Gran’s furious. She reaches out and slaps Dad on the back of his head.
“Ow! What did I do?”
“You’re a pussy. Knox caused bad blood when he broke up with my granddaughter. He doesn’t know a good thing when he has it. You never liked Kathy. Admit it.” Gran points a finger in Shelby’s angry face.
“No, I never liked her,” Shelby snaps, pointing at me. “My son deserves to have a big family. He deserves to have a fresh womb and fresh eggs.”
Now I really want to barf up my drink.
“Kathy can still have a child—she’s not that old.” My mom sounds hysterical. “She’s younger than Winnie, and Winnie, you still get your period, don’t you?”
“Why does everyone in my family talk so loud?”
The bartender slides me another drink.
“Now, Shelby,” my dad cajoles. “We told Knox that you could come stay with us while you’re in town.”
“No, Dad, there is no ‘us.’ It’s me, my house, and she’s not staying there.” I push off my stool, almost fall, then hurry over.
“Of course not. That’s one of the reasons I told Knox to get rid of Kathy. She’s a hop and a skip from turning into Winifred. A nag, a terrible hostess.” The troll scowls at me. “Thank god she doesn’t have children. She’d be a terrible mother.”
“Truly the troll calling the kettle black,” Carolina mumbles.
“Not like Brinley.” Shelby snaps her fingers, and a doe-eyed young woman who looks like she just barely graduated high school scurries over.
“Knox is so disgusting,” Carolina hisses.
“My son—he wants a real woman who is going to be a supportive partner.” The troll places two hands on Brinley’s narrow shoulders.
Kathy is sniffling. “I tried to be a good wife. I tried to be a good daughter-in-law.”
“You were distracting him,” the troll rages, spit flying out of her mouth. “All your talk of marriage and babies.”
“I thought he wanted a family,” Kathy cries. “I did everything you asked. I babysat your grandchildren. I deleted all my social media. I didn’t talk to the press. I even stayed out of pictures. I didn’t take a dime from him. I did everything right.”
“No, you constantly badgered him about not being engaged,” the troll roars.
“They were a couple—she’s allowed to ask about their future,” I snap.
“He never cared about you—he just felt sorry for you!” Shelby thunders, swinging her handbag. “My Knoxie is a soft heart. He kept trying to break up with you, then a few months later, you’d reel him back in with your feminine wiles. You weren’t in it for the long haul.”
Kathy gives a little sob.
“Honestly, girls, you’re making a scene. I’m so sorry, Shelby.” My mom pushes us back toward the bar. “You need to behave, both of you. This is embarrassing. Now, Shelby and Brinley are coming to stay at our house, and we are going to make it up to them. We don’t want Shelby Yandle as an enemy.”
“My house—it’s my house.”
Everyone ignores me.
Kathy looks bereft.
“Have some lobster,” Carolina offers. “It’s free.”
Kathy sadly takes a crab claw.
“These clam chowder soup muffins are fire.” Carolina takes a big bite. “You’re going to have to figure out how to copycat them, Winn.”
“I’m going to have another drink.”
“Brinley is so young. She makes Olive look like an old crone. Knox is revolting.” I angrily crack a lobster shell.
“Do you think Brinley is pregnant?” Kathy asks longingly.
“I bet she doesn’t get preggo. I bet Knox just strings her along for a decade then dumps her for a new one. Rinse and repeat,” I assure Kathy.