Chapter 11 #2
“To be honest, I’m glad he gets it out of his system at parties.” I shudder as I stick the brush back into the tiny bottle. “I’m sick of seeing his buns in the apartment. Last year, with his bunny du jour, I had to Lysol every flat surface once a week because I never knew where he hadn’t been.”
He rubs his chin. “It sucked being away from you guys.”
“It did, but it was worth it in the end. I just wish my dad hadn’t been a jerk and had let me—”
He cups my shoulder and inadvertently robs my lungs of oxygen. “I know.”
“I was thinking about your mom earlier.”
“You were?”
“When I got my first period, I went to Jo.”
“You did?” His eyes widen as I nod. “Huh, I never knew that.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you. She was so kind. You get that from her.”
“I can be a douche sometimes.”
“No, you don’t say?”
He sticks out his tongue at me. “That’s what I inherited from Dad.”
“Maybe.” I laugh when he shoves my arm.
“He was a real jerk to her.”
My tone softens. “He was.”
His gaze turns downcast. “I was glad when they split up. Did you know he used to time her at the grocery store?”
“He did?”
“Yeah. When he was between jobs and had time on his hands.”
“I… didn’t realize.”
“I didn’t either. Until he left for Canada and it felt like a massive weight had been lifted from the house.” His shoulders hitch as he takes a deep inhalation. “Anyway, sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
“Hey! It’s fine. I’m always here to talk about your mom. You know that.”
He graces me with a tight smile. “Why didn’t you talk to Mel?”
“Why didn’t I talk to Mom about what?”
“Getting your period. You and her discuss the weirdest shit but not that?”
“Oh! Well, it happened when I was at your house and it was just… easier with Jo. Mom would have made a big fuss about it. How I was a woman now.
“I was still cringing from her taking me bra shopping for the first time—”
“You were? Why?”
“You genuinely want to know?”
“Not sure there’s much I don’t want to know about you, Denny.”
His softly uttered words pack a punch straight to my solar plexus.
This is what I mean about him inheriting his mom’s kindness.
It’s not his fault that I’m taking things the wrong way right now.
“I’m not sure if you…” I cough. “I kinda have big boobs. I did when they first popped up too. She was excited that I wouldn’t have to get surgery. She cried.”
“Surgery?!” he blusters. “How old were you?”
“Eleven. She wouldn’t stop talking about how jealous she was and that I’d only need a nose job when I was old enough.”
“Your nose is perfect!”
The declaration has me giggling. “It’s just a nose, Zach.”
“It isn’t. Fuck, Mel has no filter sometimes.”
“No, she doesn’t.” I run my fingertip along the bridge of said ‘perfect’ nose. “She has a habit of making me self-conscious about stuff, but it’s because she cares.”
That raised brow screeches dubiousness. “Really?”
“Yeah. Honestly.” I shoot him a guilty look.
“When we were together over the break, I never said anything because I knew you’d give me crap about trying out for the Stepford wives’ crew, but she had this whole breakdown.
It was more than a couple tears. Still, it helped me see things from her point of view. ”
“What things?”
“Dad put a lot of pressure on her to be perfect, but what he wanted was for her to get younger and last I checked, that’s impossible. He was never in it for the long haul. I think she figured that out when he married Franella. I felt bad for her.”
He snorts at the butchering of my stepmom’s name. “Even though she pushed some of her insecurities onto you?”
“Yeah, because they never stuck. It wasn’t like she rammed them home. They were always on the periphery—how she’d make me eat two bunches of celery a week and wanted me to use face masks to get me past that zit phase.
“Celery and face masks aside, I wasn’t ever going to be like her.
She’s a girly girl and I hung around with you dipshits.
I didn’t want boobs and I hated that Dad wouldn’t let me play hockey.
Said it was wasted money when my brothers had more of a chance of taking it to the next level and that women’s sports were going nowhere. ”
“I never knew any of this!”
“I didn’t tell you.”
“Well, the PWHL has the last laugh with him, huh?”
Hell, if I have to be a sports agent then… “Damn straight.”
“You should specialize in that.” I love that we’re on the same wavelength. “When you get your degree and go work for him.”
“PWHL contracts? Maybe.”
“But you’ll be mine and Peeks’ agent too, right? When you’re ready?”
Thinking about my earlier convo with Callan, I smirk. “Double damn straight.”
“Denny?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you do me a favor?”
“Three to five percent is the NHL standard—”
He chuckles but then it fades. “Alec’s been giving me a hard time.”
“That’s because he’s envious you have more talent in your little toe than he does in his whole body.”
“You don’t even know what he’s giving me a hard time about.”
“Sure I do. Your third goal. When you didn’t pass to him, but shot it to Pecan instead.” I chortle.
It wasn’t exactly uncommon to rely on the goalie more than the D-men, but Zach had already proven that he trusted very few players on the team outside of Peeks.
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“What do you mean? I was there!”
He grunts. “Well, I wanted to score.”
“Exactly. I learned why they gave him the ‘C’ today.”
“Why?”
“He’s the school president’s son.”
“Nepo baby. Ha! Makes sense.”
“It’s not like he has anything to nepo about. Not like you or Mason Drake. His dad’s a hall-of-famer, and yours might be an asshole but he won gold for Canada at the Olympics!” I scoff. “Okay, so what does the Necco baby want?”
“For me to film a video with you.”
When I lock eyes with him, he does the damnedest thing—he swallows. His Adam’s apple even bobs.
“What kind of film? A porno?”
He jerks his hand away from mine, unsettling the nail polish so it totters off my lap and crashes to the ground. “WHAT?!”
“Jeez, Zach!” I snag the bottle before it can make too much of a mess. “Calm down. I was only teasing.”
“Are you for real?”
“Obviously not.” I scowl at him. “Is this shit with Alec why you’ve been acting weird lately? Now that I think about it, Pecan mentioned he’s forcing you all to do interviews with him.”
“He wants to go viral.”
I retch. “God, I’m so sick of that word. I miss when it just meant you had a cold or was puking in bed.” Then, I heave a sigh. “Okay, if it’ll get Alec off your back—” And stop you from being such a moody asshole. “—then fine. Let’s do it.”
“Now?”
“Sure. What do you need me to do?”
With eagerness that surprises me considering how grumpy this whole endeavor has made him, he stands and moves around the bench.
Then, grabbing his phone, he looms over me.
I rear back and watch out for a noogie or bunny fingers, but he simply taps the screen a couple times then rests his hand on my shoulder.
I blink when he nudges me until I’m leaning on the rest, then he shuffles closer still.
Expecting to have to sing along to some dumb song, I only watch as he ambles deeper into my space, his breath brushing my cheek—that’s how close he is.
A strange warmth curls through me and I start to regret agreeing to this.
Then, he hits record, and just as the sound declares, “Kiss your best friend and see how they react,” his lips find mine.
For a second, I freeze.
This is the favor.
The pressure of his lips against mine is something I never figured I’d experience.
And here I am.
Experiencing it.
FOR A FUCKING TREND.
As that humiliation settles in me, what follows is a snapshot of how wonderful it feels to have his mouth on mine.
To luxuriate in his scent.
For him to be kissing me.
But this is a dumb joke.
I stiffen. Outraged and hurt. Then, I slide my hand around his neck. He surprises me further by shivering, but steals my breath by doing this thing with his teeth that tugs on my bottom lip.
Because I can’t take this, I find his ear with my fingers, yank on it hard, then screech, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”