Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Seeing Grady again was not on my bingo card for today. If he came into the Fish Bowl, I planned to have someone else wait on him. On the off chance we ran into each other in town, I’d offer a polite wave and move on.
I’ll admit that I’m a little embarrassed by my recent behavior, embodying the “Brat,” and acting like I’m thirteen all over again. Also, he’s my brother’s best friend and a hockey player. These are all points against him. Then again, this isn’t golf where the lowest score wins.
Fool me once. Shame on me. Fool me twice . . .
I’m not sure how to end that sentence other than telling myself that in no way do I think Grady Federer is good looking. . . good smelling and good sounding.
Nor do I want to kiss him again.
Gross!
He’s a hideous beast and probably has horns hidden under his backward Knights hat.
He adjusts it, putting it on correctly as if he sensed that some girls find guys with backward baseball hats attractive .
Not this one.
It makes him look like an arrogant jerk. And dumb. Why would a hockey player wear a baseball hat?
There’s no reason to interact with this guy.
However, Bunny has other ideas. She scrambles onto another chair and seizes his hat. Pint-sized, she puts it on, and the brim instantly drops over her eyes. She looks too adorable for her own good.
Grady turns around and proceeds to play peek-a-boo with her and the hat. My little girl giggles like he’s the funniest human alive.
Funny looking is more like. Not handsome and hot with the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. Or his full lips . . . and the way they felt pressed against mine.
I don’t know what came over me the other night. One moment I was going inside and the next my thoughts raced before a question sprang to mind. What if I’d kissed the wrong guy in the first place?
This leads me to wonder if I’d been attracted to Grady, rather than Trey and just picked the wrong best friend.
It’s a feverish thought, one I needed to know right then.
I have my answer. The kiss was perfect. The butterflies in my belly wanted to float up to the clouds. I can still feel the phantom press of his lips to mine. But that doesn’t make me like or trust him. It’s a constant effort to keep up my guard and remind myself he’s a hockey player like Trey.
I roll my eyes to drive this point home and my brother shoots a glance at me to mind my manners and to be nice. Fine, Grady can entertain my kid while I dig into the pizza that I brought over.
No sooner does the slice reach my mouth than the pipsqueak wants it. I brought her “healthy” food and know full well that the second my back is turned, Derek will give her pizza and whatever other junk he has in his pantry.
I cannot wait for Deborah to come home. They plan to have kids and then he’ll understand that you can’t get a two-year-old sugared up and expect her not to melt down.
But I digress.
Derek now has Bunny’s attention and is wrapping her carrot sticks with pepperoni.
Grady steals one and tries it too. “It’s good.”
I frown and for once am looking forward to going to work. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy coaching figure skaters, but at my previous job, I got to wear sequins at least once a week. In short, it was a lot of fun. This often feels like a slog.
When I hear the word social media , I drop in on Derek and Grady’s conversation.
“I find it hard to believe the Knights are as good as they are and don’t have a social media manager,” Grady says.
“Heidi, do you have any insider information on this?” Derek asks.
“The Knights are old school. They rely on word of mouth and fans to spread the word. It worked back in the day. Can still work now. But having a robust online presence can spread your reach and include people who aren’t diehard fans. For instance, say a guy is really into hockey but his significant other isn’t, or vice versa, an engaging account can act as a funnel to draw them in.”
“But Badaszek wants Grady to record, direct—what was it again?” my brother asks.
He scrubs his hand down his face. “Daily video diaries and engaging posts for a comeback campaign. The activities cataloger. Curator. I can’t remember exactly what Cara said. This is not my wheelhouse. ”
He squishes up his face, seemingly uncomfortable with the idea of social media content creation. I can’t help but chuckle.
Derek provides me with instant retribution. “But it’s exactly Heidi’s. She was a social media manager before and coordinated the entertainment for the Lions during intermissions and halftime if there was overtime during playoffs. For the record, I did not approve of the pom pom shaking.”
Once more, I roll my eyes at my big brother. “In the modern day, teams have to face facts. The commercials on the big screens are stale. The poor clowns and other outdated performers are largely ignored. I proposed several former figure skaters do cheer-like routines but on skates.”
“And pom poms,” Derek adds.
“It was a hit.”
Grady looks at me with interest. “I remember that vaguely during an away game against the Lions. The guys were frothing to see the girls on the ice.”
I huff. “I also managed the social media side of things. I’d recreate viral videos, use popular templates but make them hockey. That kind of thing.” I love motherhood, but most days I feel pulled in so many different directions with having multiple jobs that I miss going to work and that being the lone task for the day.
“To be clear, I am not a LA Lions fan, and counted my sister as a traitor until she moved back home and returned her loyalty to the true best team of all time, however, what you were doing was seriously popular.” Derek gives me a chin nod of approval.
Feeling a little burst of pride inside, I give a humble nod in return as I remember the stats, the fan fervor, and how merch sales increased by over seventy percent once the social media campaigns gained steam. Everyone wanted to be a part of it .
I mutter, “That degree in public relations sure is coming in handy now.”
“You posted on the Fish Bowl’s account and Uncle Stan said T-shirt sales have doubled.”
“That’s because he sold maybe five a year up until then and most customers didn’t even realize we sold tees.”
“Just saying. You have a special skill. It’s not easy to make something go viral. Unless you’re falling off a bicycle into a pond filled with gators or something.”
I wince. “That’s because people have a morbid fascination with dumpster fires.”
Grady grunts.
Bunny echoes the sound.
Derek follows suit, exaggerating it so he sounds like a rhinoceros or some other wild creature.
The three of them play the grunting game, each getting sillier, while I finish my pizza because I’m a civilized human being.
“Okay, I’m going to leave this zoo. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Did you get your car fixed?” Grady asks.
My brother casts him a slightly raised eyebrow as if to ask how he knew the 4Runner broke down.
I answer, “It’s in the shop. Bad fuel pump. I’m driving Dad’s old Dodge.”
“Are you serious? They let you drive Bunny in that death trap?” Derek asks, appalled.
I shrug. “Mom needed the car to go to bowling league.”
“I keep telling Dad I’ll help him fix it up.”
“When exactly do you plan to do that, Derek? As it is, you’re swamped with work and look after Bunny twice a week. Thank you by the way. When I see a yellow light, I just feather the clutch real easy and hope the cops don’t notice when I don’t come to a complete stop.”
My brother shakes his head.
“You can take my truck,” Grady says.
This time we both look at him.
I wave my hands, declining the offer. “That’s fine I?—”
“No, seriously. I’ll bring the Dodge back to your Dad’s. I’ve been wanting to say hi to your parents.” He wears a strange, sad smile that quickly disappears.
“Bunny won’t even be in the vehicle with me,” I protest.
Derek flares his nostrils. “Take Grady’s truck. I’d let you drive mine, but after you crashed Lucky Lady Lucy, I vowed never to let you behind the wheel again. I keep my promises.”
I roll my eyes because he’ll never let go of the time that I grazed a snowbank with the truck he’d saved up for in high school and gave such a stupid name. It was hardly a scratch. Not even a dent. Much. Like, no one would’ve noticed if we rubbed some car polish or something on it.
My brother claps his hands together as if having a brainwave. Bunny copies him as I scoop her into my arms to say goodbye.
Derek says, “I got it. You take Grady’s truck and when you get back, you can give him some pointers for his social media gig, thing, whatever it is.”
“You do know that I’ve been up since six, worked a full shift, and am about to go stand in a freezing rink for several more hours, right?”
“Yeah. That’s life, kid.” Derek ever so gently slugs me in the arm.
Bunny makes a tiny fist and, as before, copies him.
I squint at him. “No sympathy? No, let me help, sis?”
He takes Bunny into his arms and shows her how to fist bump. “I am helping, aren’t I?”
I point at my brother. “If I wake up with a black eye, that’s on you.”
“Your daughter is not going to punch you, but I will teach her how to throw a right hook. Thumb outside the fingers and—” He demonstrates.
I stop listening because the comment reminds me that Bunny doesn’t have a dad. Technically, she has a father, but not one who wants to be part of our lives. A dad is different and as great a role as my brother and the legendary Ed Rice play in my daughter’s life, it’s not the same.
Grady dangles the key fob of his Silverado out for me to take. “Gas tank is full.”
“I can’t take your truck.”
“I won’t be there to give you a ride home again, so to play it safe?—”
Whatever nonsense Derek was spewing in the background goes quiet. “You didn’t mention Grady gave you a ride the other day.”
“It wasn’t relevant.” I shrug and my cheeks heat so I pick up a napkin from the floor, hoping that’ll keep the blood from rushing to my face. Of course, it does the opposite.
My brother grunts. Before I have a chance to wonder why that seems to bother him, Bunny makes a grunting sound that turns into a snort and the two of them devolve into laughter.
Grady says, “If you don’t take my truck, you know your brother is going to torture us both. He values your safety above all.”
This answers my question about Derek’s reaction. He must know that I’m not safe around hockey players who also happen to be his best friends, given the whole thing with Trey. Glad he’s in my corner.
When my hand brushes Grady’s as I take the keys, a little zing rushes through me .
Derek is right. I’m not safe, not when something so insignificant runs the risk of making me melt.
Two hours later, after a decent figure skating private class, I’m back where I started in Derek’s living room. The lights are dim and the television is quiet as he and Grady watch hockey highlights.
Bunny is fast asleep in the bedroom which will someday belong to Derek and Deborah’s offspring. The guy will be a great dad, and I appreciate his help. I wish I was exhausted, but I made the mistake of having a hot co-spresso—hot cocoa with a shot of espresso—at the rink and am wired. I start cleaning up in the kitchen where I find carrot peels, evidence that mom must’ve come over and made him a carrot cake. Dad loves the stuff as much as I do jelly beans. ’Tis the Easter season.
Derek calls, “Heidi, come sit down.”
“Says the guy who tricked Mom into making me do the dishes on his night.”
“I didn’t trick you, I merely greased the wheels of seniority.”
I roll my eyes and finish up. When I go to the living room to say goodbye before getting Bunny from the bedroom, both guys hover over Grady’s phone.
He stabs the screen with his finger. “Cara said my schedule is in here.”
I say, “You look lost.”
“I will be if I don’t find out my workout or training time for tomorrow.” He rubs his eyes.
Derek says, “He can’t get the app to work.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of this before nine p.m. the night before. ”
“He needs help,” Derek says.
“Yes, I’m aware.” The sarcasm isn’t lost on them and they both look up at me.
“Can you try to get into the app, please?” Derek asks.
I grab the phone from Grady and the same zing rushes through me when our hands touch as when I took his keys. A flurry of energy runs through me. It’s probably some kind of electrical current from the device.
I tap it a few times and then face it toward him to set a new password.
“I’ll never remember it.”
Derek says, “Use Derek is the GOAT. That, you’ll remember.”
“The greatest of all time? Not quite,” Grady says, taking the device and typing in a password.
The guys banter for a few minutes.
I say, “Is my work here done?”
Face illuminated by his phone’s screen, Grady bites his lip. “Actually, there’s a box I can’t get rid of.”
“A box you can’t get rid of?” I say like I’m speaking to a toddler who’s playing make-believe.
He shows me the phone and indeed there is a red box with new user information blocking him from seeing the schedule and info behind it. “Did you tap it?”
“Yeah, and it just brings me to the social media stuff.”
Echoing his comment from earlier, I say, “I find it hard to believe the Knights don’t have a social media manager.”
“Cara said they did. She was sixty-five and recently retired.”
I nod, picking up his meaning. “In other words, bless her, she only used her phone to show people photographs of her grandkids.”
“That was the gist. ”
Derek says, “You could do it.”
I snarl, “As if I have the time. Anyway, it sounds like that’s Grady’s new-to-the-team task.”
“I’ll pay you,” Grady says quickly.
This gives me pause because although I don’t have a ton of free time—what with being a single mom and having two jobs already, instead of scrolling my own social media feed at night, I could do some clicking and sharing.
“What does Uncle Stan pay you?” Derek asks.
“I get the minimum cash wage for tipped employees.” My shoulders sag slightly before I straighten.
My brother’s head bobs. “How much is that?”
I mumble the dollar amount then add, “Plus tips.”
Derek gasps because it’s lower than minimum wage. “But you only work day shifts, so you don’t get as much in tips if you worked nights.”
“Because I teach figure skating classes at night and want to be home.”
Derek says, “Cut back to two shifts a week at the Fish Bowl and Grady will triple whatever you were making on average.”
“I will?” he asks.
“Do whatever Badaszek says, including social media. The guy has your head over a flaming barrel of coals and Heidi is like an alchemist when it comes to this stuff. She has the social media golden touch.”
Grady and I exchange a glance.
Chest heaving slightly with annoyance, and possibly uninvited thoughts of that driveway kiss, I say, “Glad to hear you’re planning our lives for us, Derek. However, as you may have noticed, my hands are full.”
“True, but working at the restaurant isn’t fun. Just think, you’ll be back where you belong, using that degree, and making people happy. ”
He has a point, but the brat in me does not want that to include my brother’s hockey-playing best friend in the deal unless we’re in the driveway . . . in the rain . . . kissing.
Grady smiles. “When you put it that way. I would appreciate your help and I will pay you.”
With a grunt of my own, because I know I’ve been defeated, I say, “I’ll think about it.”
I’d like to stomp away. Instead, I tiptoe to the spare room so I don’t scare Bunny and gather my slumbering bundle of baby joy into my arms to head home.
Derek whispers. “I said you can stay here on nights when she falls asleep.”
“And miss out on a good night’s sleep in Mom and Dad’s musty basement?”
“I don’t understand why you don’t live upstairs in our old rooms.”
Because I’m an adult and want my own space and not the reminder that I left home and am back under less than ideal circumstances—that I can’t provide my child with a space of our own. The basement is a close second.
“Mom made my room her sewing room, and yours is Dad’s hockey den. I can’t take that away from them.”
Derek wrinkles his nose. “Fair point. Dad’s farts from those spicy peanuts have permeated the carpet and walls.”
I stifle a laugh.
“Grady is going to follow you home to make sure you get there safely.” He shoots him a look that I can’t quite read. It’s almost like a father on prom night giving his daughter’s date a glare of warning. It’s the kind that says, If you hurt her, it’ll break my mother’s heart to have a son in prison for life . Derek isn’t messing around after everything that happened with Trey.
Or I’m imagining things. The effects of the hot co- spresso are wearing off. I yawn, reminding me of the car ride home with Grady and how something shifted between us.
My skin prickles. “I cannot wait for Deborah to come back to keep you in line so you’re not barking orders at everyone.”
Thankfully, my parents don’t have security cameras otherwise there would be evidence that we kissed in front of their house . . . or maybe there has been something between us all along, waiting to be woken up.
Bunny rouses and looks around, eyes blinking like a little spring chick. She reaches for Grady to carry her to the car. The pass-off is a bit awkward, but the instant she’s in his arms, her eyes dip closed again.
In an exchange of hissing whispers, he insists I drive his truck, which means I have to transfer the car seat. It’s a damp spring night and the heater in the Silverado works a lot faster than in the Dodge, warming us up, so that’s a plus.
A few minutes later, we’re in the driveway on Silver Queen Street. Bunny is still asleep when I shift to park and cut the engine.
Grady slots the Dodge into the carport where it has sat for years. He dangles the keys for me to take. “Smoother ride, am I right?”
“Yeah. Bunny is fast asleep. Thanks for the loaner.”
“Want me to carry her inside?” he asks.
“Aren’t you pleased as punch that she likes you?” My tone is wry.
“What can I say? She has good taste. Now, if only to win the affection of her mama.”
I nearly choke. “Why would you want to do that?”
He winces as if recalling Derek’s nuclear missile glare of warning. “I don’t have a death wish, but . . .”
We both shift as if thinking about what happened here in the rain and how if we moved in the other direction, we could have a collision.
I bite the inside of my lip and my breath falters.
His gaze goes heavy.
We both move incrementally closer.
“But . . .” I echo in a whisper, lifting onto my toes.
The night is dry and clear, but it’s like thunder claps and lightning strikes as we crash together. Our mouths meet and the last thought I have is how pleasant his clean, soapy, masculine scent is. Not imposing but present. Steady. Like he is.
Grady’s fingers tangle into my hair. Mine smooth up his chest before I lace them around his neck. He’s bigger, taller, and more toned than I expected. Not like I thought about him, much.
Only every spare moment since he’s been back in Cobbiton as I’ve tried to convince myself to hate him.
The kiss is frantic like we’ve both been thirsting and found an oasis in the desert. We fall into sync, our inhales and exhales intensifying with each passing second.
My hands slide up his chest. His move along my sides. And the kiss deepens, expands, broadens toward horizons I never thought possible with something so simple as two people making out in a driveway.
My thoughts flicker as I move in and out of awareness. My knees are wobbly and my breath turns uneven.
Maybe a kiss isn’t simple. Could be that I’ve had it all wrong. Perhaps it’s extraordinary to share a kiss with someone special. A person I connect with, trust, and like.
However, that can’t be right.
Letting my guard down will only turn into a disaster.
Or, like this kiss, it could be perfect.
Thankfully, my thoughts recede and I dive back into the kiss, giving to Grady and matching the intensity. His heart pounds against mine as warmth radiates between us.
When we part, we pause to catch our breath, foreheads falling together.
“Wow,” he breathes.
I nod my head slightly, feeling foggy and flushed. “Yeah.”
Grady glances around as if Derek is going to jump out of the bushes.
It’s still just the two of us with Bunny safe and fast asleep a couple of feet away.
He says, “Let’s definitely not do this again.”
Only, I want to more than anything.