Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
GRAMMERCY
“Gee! Gee! Look what I made!”
Mimi’s face pops up in front of Elly’s on my phone screen, and that increasingly familiar rush of warmth fills my chest. Before Elly and I got together, I was sure I wanted to be a father someday—the kind of dad mine wasn’t, the kind that makes his babies feel seen and heard and loved—but I never imagined it would be this much fun.
Mimi’s been my sweet, wacky little buddy from day one.
Now, just three weeks in, I don’t like to imagine life without her.
“Whatcha got there, p’tite chou ?” I shift, trying to get comfortable on the hard bench. The North Carolina visitors’ locker room is giving Seattle’s a run for its money in the postage-stamp size department, though the facilities are admittedly nicer.
Still, not an easy place to find a quiet spot to check in. Currently, I’m wedged in a corner by the water bottles, shoulder pads digging into my spine against the wall. In the rest of the room, the familiar pre-game chaos reigns, but I’m locked in on my girls.
And an excellent drawing of Princess Nutria in a hockey jersey.
“Woah, the princess is looking good in Voodoo gear,” I say, laughing as Mimi beams.
“I’m wearing mine, too. For good luck for you guys.
” She stands up, pointing to her belly as she shows me the Voodoo jersey I bought her before the first game.
“Now, Mama’s going to say hi,” she says, bending her face back to the screen.
“I have to go make popcorn before the game starts. I can make it myself now! Mama got a stool in the kitchen so I can reach the microwave and practice being a chef like Makena. I’ll make you some when you get home. ”
“Sounds good, baby girl,” I say. “Cheer extra loud so I can hear you in North Carolina.”
“I will!” She gives me a thumbs-up and scampers off.
And then it’s just Elly on the screen. Elly, in her Voodoo jersey and that pair of tiny black cotton shorts she likes to sleep in.
My body responds instantly, the way it always does when I see some sexy part of my girl out for show and tell.
And of course, every part of her is sexy.
Even her crooked little pinkie toe does shit to me.
My stomach pulls tight, and my hands curl instinctively, itching to touch her, making my voice husky as I say, “ Bonsoir, belle. Looking good in my number. And those little shorts.”
She grins, but there’s something in her eyes, something not quite right as she says, “Well, thank you. I put them on because it’s weirdly hot again today. But if they make your voice sound like that, I’ll wear them more often.”
“You should,” I agree. “Everything okay there? You good? Mimi feeling okay after her PT on Friday?” I had to leave for the game weekend early for the first Lava Energy shoot in Georgia and to do some pre-game press in North Carolina.
Yesterday was so busy, I didn’t get the chance to check in properly.
“I bought a couple of different kinds of balm, just in case. I figure it doesn’t hurt to try everything. ”
“That’s sweet.” Elly’s gaze softens, but still not all the way.
There’s still something…off. “But no, she’s doing okay.
She was sore last night, but not nearly as bad.
I’m fine, too, I just—” She pulls in a breath, her forehead furrowing.
“You know that thing I’ve been trying to talk to you about, but we keep getting… distracted?”
My mind flashes to Thursday night, her trying to talk about something after we got Mimi tucked in, but both of us ending up in the shower instead.
Pushing away the memory of Elly’s breasts slick with soap beneath my hands, her ass pressing back against my erection like she couldn’t wait for me to fill her, I clear my throat and nod. “I do. Want to talk it through now? I have ten or fifteen minutes before Coach comes in.”
She shakes her head. “No, you should focus on the game. We can talk tomorrow when you get home. Your plane lands at nine?”
“Yeah, I should be home no later than ten. Want me to grab some of those messy egg sandwiches on the way home? We could have brunch and talk?”
She nods, seeming comforted by the plan. “That sounds great. I’ll make pain perdu and we can have some grown-up time.”
“Okay, but…we’re good, right?” I ask, glancing around to make sure none of my nosy teammates are listening in.
Most of them have been cool about my secret marriage and new “celebrity” social media status, but I know a few of the more cynical team members are waiting for me to crash and burn.
When I’m sure no one’s paying me any mind, I add, “I haven’t done something to upset you, have I? ”
She quickly shakes her head, giving me comfort. “No, baby, not at all. You’re the best, as always.” A hint of her flirty smile curves her lips as she adds in a softer voice, “Though I am still a little sore.”
That tug low in my belly returns as I whisper, “Still? From Thursday?”
“We did do it four times, dude,” she hisses, glancing off screen, presumably to make sure little ears aren’t listening. “And that last position was…”
“Incredible,” I rumble, wishing she were under me with her ankles up beside her pretty face right now.
Her cheeks flush. “And deep. Very deep.”
“You have to stop, chère ,” I murmur, “or you’re going to have me embarrassing myself in the locker room.”
She laughs and bites her lip, making me ache to have her mouth under mine. “Okay. Go, think chaste thoughts, and win big. We’ll be cheering loud for you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She disconnects, and I sit staring at the black screen, unease returning as soon as her gorgeous body isn’t there to “distract” me.
I flash back to Elly coming out of her bathroom with red eyes after a talk with Makena earlier in the week.
She claimed it was just allergies, but maybe it was something else.
She’s starting community college in January and is psyched to get her journalism degree in her spare time, but I know she’s been frustrated with her lack of progress in finding a job.
She’s been putting out feelers nonstop, but the entire city’s in a job slump.
I’ve told her at least five times that she doesn’t have to stress about it, that I’m happy to support the three of us while she focuses on school.
But maybe I need to tell her again.
Tell her in a way that makes her believe it…
“Finally. I thought you’d never get off the phone.
” Parker’s voice cuts through my thoughts, bringing me back to the pre-game madness.
“Have you talked to Elly about the thing yet?” He glances around, apparently not wanting attention on his love life—or lack thereof—any more than I do.
But the only person close to our section of the benches is Blue, and he couldn’t give two shits about gossip.
“You know…the thing. About the thing thing?”
I meet his gaze, feeling sorry for the poor bastard. I don’t know what I would have done if Elly had kissed and ditched me. Probably moped around looking as sorry for myself as Parker has for the past week.
Unfortunately, I don’t have good news to share. “You sure you don’t want to wait until after the game?”
He shakes his head and sniffs dramatically. “Nope. Give it to me now, and I’ll let my despair fuel me.”
Not knowing whether to laugh or sympathize—sometimes, with Parker, it can be hard to tell when he’s joking—I say, “Elly told the ‘thing’ that it was cool for you guys to do the ‘thing,’ but that didn’t seem to make a difference.
I think the thing’s mind is made up that she’s better off alone right now. ”
He curses as he turns to gaze across the locker room, disappointment clear on his face. “Well, at least we’ll always have Paris.”
“And by Paris, you mean The Brass Monkey and a Slim Jim,” I say, hoping gentle teasing will cheer him up.
He nods seriously. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“I love that bar,” Blue rumbles in his deep-as-the-ocean voice, surprising us both. He doesn’t seem like an animal-themed dive bar in Metairie kind of guy.
“Really?” Parker asks. “What’s your cocktail? You can tell a lot about a man by which cocktail he chooses at The Brass Monkey.”
Before Blue can answer, Coach Merwood is climbing up on a chair at the front of the room, the better to look each of us in the eye as he gives his “going into battle” speech.
The man gets more like a dwarven warlord from a fantasy film with every passing day.
The pre-game pep talks are downright poetic at this point, and Nix swears he saw twigs in Coach’s beard the other day.
Tonight, the speech focuses on turning shit around after our first loss last Tuesday, inspiring a standing ovation by the end.
The Voodoo doesn’t just want a winning season; we want the winningest season an expansion team has ever had, and we intend to bring the cup to Louisiana for the first time in history or die trying.
First period, I’m locked in. The ice feels clean beneath my blades, sharp and right. The puck drops, and my body knows exactly where to be—two strides left, pivot, find the soft ice between their defensemen .
The game flows through me like music I’ve been playing my whole life.
Three minutes in, I steal the puck at our blue line.
Their winger’s reaching, off-balance, and I slip it through his feet.
The ice opens up, and I feel Parker on my right without looking.
Their defenseman commits too early, too eager, and I sauce it over his stick. Parker doesn’t even have to slow down.
Ten seconds later, the goal light bathes us in red.
We celebrate with the Voodoo’s signature victory cry, shouting “Bon Temps!” as Parker jumps into my arms. I spin him once before setting him down, both of us laughing.
Afterward, I point up at the Jumbotron camera, knowing my girls are watching back home, celebrating along with us.