Chapter 24
JO
I’m not big into theme parties, but I wasn’t going to say no to Nico’s invitation to the Iron’s holiday sweater party.
He said they do it every year with gifts and games and prizes for the ugliest sweaters.
All the employees and players plus their families are welcome, and because everyone thinks I am now part of Nico’s family, it would be weird for me not to show up.
No matter how muddled the past few weeks have made me about what exactly Nico and I are doing, we made a deal.
He held up his end of the bargain by coming home with me, and now I have to do my part and convince Mr. Fitzgerald and the rest of the Iron front office that he has changed from playboy to committed fiancé, wearing matching sweaters.
Since one of my favorite movies is The Nightmare Before Christmas, Nico ordered us matching Jack and Sally sweaters. They’re not at all ugly, and I fully intend to wear mine a lot. I even bought a black skirt and patterned tights to wear along with it.
Nico knocks on my door as I’m finishing my makeup and pursing my lips in the mirror, wondering if he’ll like the bright-red lipstick I used instead of my usual color.
He doesn’t disappoint when I open the door to him, and he rakes his gaze over the length of me, eyes eventually landing on my lips. “You look hot.”
It’s hyperbole, but the compliment makes me go all gooey anyway, melting when he tugs me toward him, his hands bracketing my neck, thumbs rubbing back and forth along my jaw. “Can I kiss you?”
I lean into him in answer, sinking my fingers into his coat. He licks into my mouth, pulling at my lips as if trying to get my lip stain off, and when he pulls back a moment later, he shakes his head, annoyed he couldn’t do it.
But then I notice his eyes, the tension in the outer corners. The way his shoulders are drooped over. His hair appears as if he’s been messing with it all day.
I lace my fingers with his, bringing him into my apartment. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Except he’s not, and I brush my fingers over his clean-shaven jaw. He started shaving again on December first, saying he’ll stop again once play-offs begin. He looks handsome either way, although I can tell something is bothering him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Tired, I guess.”
I suppose so. It’s almost halfway through the season.
I knew how hard the players worked, but I guess I never really appreciated how much they taxed their bodies.
The amount of travel alone would be difficult for anyone, but then to be playing a brutal game?
It’s amazing the players can stay standing.
Leaning into his side, I slip my hand beneath his coat to rub his back. “Do you still want to go?”
“You’re not getting out of it that easy,” he says with a laugh and kiss to my head.
“Well, I don’t know. I thought after the thing today, maybe…”
He brushes his hand over my hair. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You saying you’re fine pretty much translates to you’re not fine.”
He forces a smile. “I am.”
I don’t believe him, although I don’t know what could have happened.
The Iron have three days off, and he was booked for the Speak Out campaign today, working as one of the celebrity spokespeople for sexual assault victims. He spent a few hours this afternoon doing a photo shoot and taping a few social media videos.
He told me to pack a bag because I’d be spending the next two nights at his place before the team traveled to Colorado, having a Christmas Day game.
I made him promise we wouldn’t exchange gifts, but because I know he’s incapable of not spending his money on me, I made sure to have something wrapped up with a bow in my bag for him—a knitted scarf.
I wanted to make matching mittens since the pair he attempted ended up being a play toy for Gus, but I didn’t have enough time.
I plan on making him a sweater for his birthday in June since it’ll take me a while.
I’ve never knitted one before, but I’m sure I can do it.
Like I’m sure he’d wear it even if it were the ugliest thing ever created.
Because Nico loves me.
And I think I might love him too.
I’m almost sure of it.
I can’t be positive because what I thought was love, what I felt for Waylon, was nothing compared to what I feel for Nico.
We lift each other up. Make each other laugh.
I don’t feel like I have to impress him or change who I am to fit some kind of mold. I actually think he’d be offended if I tried to be anything other than myself because he does truly like who I am. Black clothes, buck teeth, introverted Josephine Atkins.
“Come on. Don’t wanna be late.” He grabs hold of the designer weekender bag he bought me last week to match his. Mine is black, while his is taupe. When he handed it to me, he shrugged, saying, “It was two for one.”
But I’m positive Tom Ford doesn’t do two-for-one deals.
Nico remains quiet on the drive to the party, located on Arch Street in Center City.
He hands the keys to the valet, and we head up to the top floor of one of the many skyscrapers.
The view of the skyline at this hour is amazing, and with the twenty-foot windows and soaring ceiling, I wish I had my camera.
“We’re here for fun, not work,” Nico whispers as if he can read my mind, slipping his fingers between mine to lead me to a group of players and their families.
Although I am sort of acquainted with the players from being the girl behind the camera, he formally introduces me to his teammates and friends as his fiancée.
I “meet” the hilariously funny Bombay, the grumpy goalie Davey and his Australian wife, the Russian winger Federov, otherwise known as Rovie, as well as his wife and children.
We talk to Buss and Cubby, JP and Sheffy, who is solo.
“Where’s Naomi?” Nico asks, craning his neck for Alex Sheffield’s wife.
He checks his phone. “She hasn’t been feeling well lately.”
“She all right?”
Sheffy slips his cell phone into his pocket, clearly frustrated being here when his wife isn’t. He shrugs.
Nico lets go of my hand to step closer to Sheffy. “What’s wrong with her?”
It’s ironic how he’s so concerned for his best friend’s wife, but he won’t tell me what’s upset him today.
“She’s okay,” Sheffy assures him, placing his hand on Nico’s shoulder, a slow smile crawling across his face. “She’s…”
Nico shakes his head, not understanding, but I think I do, and I wait until Nico reads between the lines. He doesn’t.
Sheffy huffs a laugh. “She’s pregnant.”
“Dude! No way!” Nico throws his arms around his best friend, but Sheffy quickly shushes him.
“It’s still early, so we’re only telling a few people. So…”
Nico pats Sheffy’s chest. “Understood, but I’m so happy for you.” He glances over his shoulder at me, a grin splitting his face with genuine happiness for his friend. He curls his arm around my shoulders, bringing me into the conversation. “We’re so happy for you and Naomi.”
“Yes, congratulations,” I say, leaning into Nico’s side.
Sheffy tries to hide his smile behind a hand wiping over his mouth and jaw. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” Then he motions to me. “I should say congratulations to you as well.”
“To me?”
“I was never able to say it until now.” When I quirk my brow in question, and Sheffy points to my left hand, Nico’s ring still on my fourth finger.
“I told him this was a dumb fucking idea,” he says then lifts a shoulder, splitting his gaze between Nico and me. “But it doesn’t seem so dumb anymore.”
Nico laughs. “Nice.”
I don’t know much about Nico’s best friend, except that they’re practically brothers and that he has a real way with words, but I like him anyway. He’s an alternate captain for the Iron, goofy yet kind. A lot like Nico.
“You two should come over our next night off,” Sheffy suggests. “I’ll grill up some steaks.”
Nico nods. “We’ll bring dessert and some sparkling grape juice for Nomes.”
“Oh dude, you know how she’s obsessed with that Alani stuff? She can’t drink it anymore and—”
“Hello, gentlemen.”
Sheffy stops mid-sentence and turns to Ted Fitzgerald, general manager of the Iron.
Sheffy and Nico both show him deference, shaking his hand, sudden choirboys. Fitzgerald is known in the league as a no-nonsense hard-ass, which is why Nico found himself in his position to begin with—the threat of being traded hanging over his head.
Still holding Nico’s hand, Fitzgerald slants his dark gaze to me, like something out of a mafia movie. “I suppose I can assume this is your lovely fiancée that I’ve heard so much about?”
Nico places his hand between my shoulder blades once Fitzgerald releases his grip, and I wonder if the older man was subtly crushing his fingers, from the way Nico curls them against me.
“Yeah, this is Josephine Atkins.”
I accept his handshake as well, but it is brief, his eyes assessing me. “I heard you’ve tamed Tremblay here.”
My skin pricks in defense of him. “He doesn’t need to be tamed. He’s not an animal.”
Sheffy hides his surprised cough behind a fist, while Nico gently squeezes the nape of my neck, though I’m not sure if it’s in gratitude or warning.
Fitzgerald takes a breath that raises his shoulders.
He is not wearing a fun holiday sweater.
Instead, he’s in a crisp suit, though his tie is green and red, but his harsh, craggy features eventually soften and the corner of his mouth ticks up.
“I like a woman who stands up for her man. Reminds me of my own wife.”
I feel a whoosh of air against my ear like Nico let out a breath, and I’m not sure what else to say, so I wrap my arm around his waist and tell Mr. Fitzgerald, “That’s what good partners do, right? Stand up for each other.”
“Well said.” Fitzgerald pats Sheffy on the back then tells Nico, “Keep up the good work.”
After he’s moved on to another group, Nico deflates next to me as Sheffy cracks up. “I swear he’s got ties to the Irish mob. He’s scary as fuck, dude.”