Chapter 3
Haddy
“Yes, Mrs. Higgins, I realize it reflects poorly on the International Princess Woman program, but you see I had a wardrobe malfunction.” Chewing my lip, I pace our small backyard doing my best to control the damage.
“My heel got caught in the hem of my dress, and it ripped off the bottom half of my skirt.”
“I would think someone with your level of experience wouldn’t have such wardrobe issues.” The older woman’s tone is infused with impatience. “We disappointed the fans, the little girls who were there to see you, and the entire Champions nation.”
“The players were still there.” I winced as the words slipped unbidden.
“That is not the point, Miss Bradford, and you know it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I do my best to sound penitent. “I could make a statement?”
“I think it’s best if we let it be. The less attention, the better. But I have my eye on you.”
“I won’t let you down again.”
“I sincerely hope not. The International Princess Woman Scholarship program is one of the oldest in the nation. We are royalty. We are not commoners.”
My lips press together, and I nod as she disconnects the call.
Looking at the screen, where I had the TMI site open when she called, I frown at the image of me in my white sequined dress with the crown on my head in the arms of Gavin Knight.
His biceps bulge, and he’s holding me like I’m freaking Cinderella under a headline reading, He’s a Hot Hockey Player AND a White Knight!!!!!
“Exclamation points and all,” I mutter under my breath.
Clearly, they don’t know him like I do.
Taking a slow inhale, I lift my chin to the sky above and exhale a quiet Thank you that I didn’t lose my scholarship. I don’t have to go back to work for Dr. Warwick, and I’m still on track to finish my degree on time without racking up debt I’ll never be able to repay on a professor’s salary.
I slide my phone into the pocket of my maroon silk pajama bottoms and tighten the belt on my pink terry cloth robe before entering the kitchen. Maverick is the first person I see.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bench seat at our reclaimed wooden table, an expression of guilt on his face. Gavin is across the table from him, his eyes fixed on his phone, and he doesn’t look up.
“What did she say?” Maverick’s voice is low. “Did she take away your crown?”
“No.”
“Thank goodness.” His brow relaxes, and he falls back. “Mom would’ve killed me.”
I think about his mom, my aunt Dylan, who was already frustrated with him for becoming a hockey player, which is a million times more dangerous than playing football—the Bradford family sport.
She made him promise to protect his head… and his teeth… and not be a player who sleeps with all the puck bunnies in every town. I don’t even ask about that last one, and I won’t even allow myself to ponder the question when it comes to Gavin.
He has never been my business.
“Next time, I’d appreciate a warning before you serve me triple-strength purple drink on an empty stomach.”
Maverick pushes off his knees, crossing the room to hug me. “I’m sorry, Hads. I didn’t mean to get you super drunk and make you fall off your princess float.”
My eyes roll, and I shake my head. “If I’d known you were mixing them, I’d have eaten a sausage biscuit. Or only had one.”
Maverick prides himself on his extra-strong drinks. He never considers they could be hazardous to your health or your livelihood.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “I can't lose my scholarship, Mav.”
His chin drops, and I feel Gavin’s blue eyes slide to me.
My skin prickles, and I wait for him to make some remark about irresponsible alcohol use, as if. Instead, his attention returns to his phone.
Probably because he knows as well as I do this living arrangement is not going to work, and anything he says will only add fuel to the fire. Not that there’s a fire. I feel no heat toward him.
Other than the heat of justice.
“Everything okay?” Gigi enters the room, followed by two large dogs. “Haze and Spanky were so worried, they almost dragged me off the float trying to save you.”
“Yeah.” My shoulders droop, and I pet the curly head of her white poodle. “I acted like a total amateur out there. I wouldn’t have blamed Mrs. H if she’d put me on probation.”
“I’ve got something to cheer you up!” Her tone changes to a high-pitched doggy-voice, and she pulls out what looks like a little brown muffin. “Haddy, meet your new baby, Princess Petunia.”
She holds the fluffy brown ball out to me, one hand around its middle and the other cupping its butt. Huge brown puppy-dog eyes blink up at me, and my heart melts into my stomach.
“Oh my gosh!” I take the teeny-tiny dog from her hands. “Gina! How is she so little?”
“Isn’t she precious?” My cousin steps closer to where I’m holding the warm little bundle of fur against my neck.
“She’s so cuuute!”
“I told you you’d love her.” Gigi strokes the tiny dog’s head with her index finger. “Does that make you feel better?”
“It does.” I pucker my lips. “Softness signals safety to your nervous system. That’s why petting animals lowers your blood pressure.”
“And she’s a princess.” Her eyes brighten. “Peepee is perfect for you!”
Maverick does a spit-take, and even Gavin ducks, lifting a large hand to cover his mouth.
The muscles in his forearm flex attractively, and I don’t know why I’m tracking his every movement like a magnet to steel.
I need to remind myself how he treated Karen. It doesn’t matter that he’s as hot as molten lava—or one of Aunt Dylan’s spicy peppers. He cannot be trusted.
“We’re not calling her Peepee.” I shake my head.
“Why not?” Gina snorts a laugh. “I give all the dogs nicknames.”
It’s true.
I lift Princess Petunia in my hands and give her a good inspection. She’s an adorable, cinnamon-colored teacup poodle, and she fits perfectly in my palm.
“How much bigger will she get?”
“Ten inches is the usual height for toys, and they usually weigh six to ten pounds.”
“Is she house-trained?”
“She uses a puppy pad.” Gigi makes her own version of puppy eyes. “But if you take her out regularly, she’ll go outside.”
Gina’s hands clasp under her nose, and she blinks those green eyes at me.
“Okay, she can stay.”
A shriek of joy causes Peepee to shiver, and I tuck her curly brown body against my neck as my cousin throws her arms around my shoulders for a jumping hug.
“Yay! You’re not going to want to give her back when Tori gets herself together.”
“I will give her back.” I don’t have time for my research, my pageant obligations, and a dog. “And we’re calling her Patsy.”
“I’m calling her Peepee,” Mav yells from where he’s digging in the refrigerator.
My eyes drift to Gavin, who is looking down and doing his best not to laugh. Damn that stupid dimple in his cheek.
Maverick made a valiant case for him staying with us.
It seems yesterday, on the second leg of his flight here, the house he was planning to buy was taken off the market at the last minute.
Gavin had nowhere to go, and since he and Maverick are such good friends, my generous cousin said he could live with us until he finds a new place.
Maverick’s argument is that between practice and games and grad school, we’ll never even see each other. However, I’ve already seen him too much since my cousin made that pronouncement.
“That just leaves one last thing.” Maverick steps out of the fridge holding a neon-green Mountain Dew.
He tilts his head in the direction of the table, and Gina’s lips twist. She’s a total softie. She would never turn Gavin out in the streets, even if by “streets” that means he’d move to a luxury hotel downtown.
Neither of my cousins knows about our history or my objection to his staying here, and it’s not like me to be the bad guy, so I shrug. As loyal as I am to Karen, we were raised on hospitality. Our parents would never forgive us if we turned away someone in need.
For the time being I can put a pin in the past. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten or that I’m disloyal.
“We do have an extra room.” Gina looks at me for the final vote.
“Mav’s right,” I concede. “I’ll be spending most of my days in the lab, and they’re basically at the practice rink or playing nonstop.”
“It’s settled then.” Maverick holds up his hand for an air high-five, which Gavin returns. “You’re going to love it here. Monday’s movie night, so add your nominations to the fishbowl.”
“Maverick…” A warning tone is in my voice.
“What?” He holds out his hands. “If he’s going to have to watch movies, he should have a vote, and for once I’ll have some backup against you two. I might have a chance of seeing a guy film for once.”
Shaking my head, I carry Patsy to the stairs. “Call me when dinner’s ready.”
Golden string-lights hang from the metal roof of our bungalow over the wooden back porch where a black wrought-iron table and chairs are arranged.
A long serving table is against the house, and Maverick has arranged platters of tortillas, a covered dish of steaming fajita meat, and two bowls of guacamole and salsa, along with all the fixins, plates, and utensils.
“I used Mom’s special habanero picanté sauce tonight, so be careful,” he warns, passing behind me to get in line with his plate.
“Are you saying we should not try to put the fire out with beer or water?” Gina holds out her hands like she’s a flight attendant explaining safety protocols. “We have vanilla ice cream in the freezer if you feel overwhelmed. Or tomato juice for the lactose intolerant.”
“No one here is lactose intolerant.” Then I glance at Gavin, who appears confused. “Sorry, are you lactose intolerant?”
“My mom is, but I’m not.” He shakes his head, turning those heart-stopping blue eyes on me. “What’s going on?”
“It’s the standard warning they give before Dare Night at our family restaurant back home,” I answer as I turn away.
I’m not looking to engage in a long conversation with him.
“Cooters & Shooters.” Maverick throws his arm around his friend’s neck. “We should go sometime. It’s wild.”
“Cooters?” Gavin’s forehead wrinkles.
“It’s the common name for the river turtles that live around south Alabama.” Gina explains.
I take two warm tortillas from the folded napkins in the basket. “It’s from the African word for turtle, kuta.”
He nods, following my lead. “I forgot how smart you are.” I deny the warmth flooding my chest at his compliment. “Are you still doing your sneezing studies?”
It helps that he just killed it.
“They’re not sneezing studies.” My tone is final, and I continue to spoon fajita steak from the covered dish.
A spoon of guac and some sour cream to cut the heat, and I walk over to sit at the table while my cousins and our house guest finish their servings.
Mav hands his friend a Dos Equis Amber, but I’m sticking to sweet iced tea tonight.
Gigi hops up after her first bite of dinner. “I need a glass of milk! Anybody else?”
“I’m good.” I wave. The fajitas are spicy, but I love spicy food.
“Wimp!” Mav calls after her, but Gav dips his chin after his first bite.
“I’ll take one.” He slides his beer to the side. “You said that won’t put out the fire?”
“What’s the matter, Boomer?” Maverick teases. “Can’t take the heat?”
“Boomer.” Gavin snorts, walking over to the cooler and taking out a piece of ice. “I’m the ice man.”
My eyes catch on Gavin sliding the piece of ice up and down his tongue, and I shift in my seat. Refocusing my gaze on my plate, I decide I’ll finish early and head upstairs.
“Here you go!” Gina places a glass of milk in front of him, and the three dogs are now with us on the side porch.
It’s a pretty sunset. The sky is gradually shifting from golden to blue and purple. I hear a little squeaky bark beside my chair, and I lean down to pick up Patsy.
“Yay!” Gigi does a fast air-clap. “You love her already.”
“I don’t want her to get stepped on.” I pretend to be so stoic, but when she does two little circles in my lap then curls into a little ball, I know I’m in trouble. “As long as she doesn’t barf in my bed like the last one.”
“Something was wrong with that dog,” Maverick calls from the other end of the table. “He was always humping my foot.”
Gavin nearly chokes on his milk, and Gigi sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. “He might’ve had a urinary tract infection. It’s hard to know when dogs come from bad situations.”
“Alls I know is that couch pillow will never be the same again.”
“Ew! Which one?” I drop my fork, ready to throw them all in the garbage.
“The one with the big red flowers.”
Gigi clutches her cheeks. “That’s my favorite pillow! Did you clean it?”
“Why would I do that?” Mav shakes his head like she’s being ridiculous.
“Thanks for the warning,” Gavin manages to say through his coughs.
“Are you okay?” Gigi reaches across the table to touch his forearm, and my stomach tightens, which is ridiculous.
“Yeah, thanks. You guys gotta warn me.” He gives her a wink, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.
My eyes narrow, and I’m not hungry anymore. Pushing away from the table, I tuck Patsy under my arm. “I’ll load the dishwasher."
“You’re not finished?” Gigi frowns up at me.
“You can’t load the dishwasher and hold a dog. Give me Peepee.”
“We’re not calling her that.” I walk over and hand the tiny poodle to Mav. “Dinner was delicious, thanks.”
I walk to the table to start collecting the serving platters when Gavin’s chair scoots away from the table. He stands and starts helping me, which is not what he’s supposed to do.
“It’s okay!” My voice is too sharp. “I have it. Just enjoy your dinner.”
“Don’t be prickly, Princess.” He dares to give me that cocky grin. “I’m a guest. It’s good manners to help out.”
“It’s nice to see you’ve picked up manners along the way. What’s that like?”
“I guess you’ll have to let me know.” He takes the cast-iron meat platter from my hands. “Don’t worry. I won’t break it.”
A hint of sarcasm is in his tone, and it’s like a brand of fire.
I take the remaining items off the table and start for the kitchen. “Unlike the hearts you’ve broken in the past.”