10. The Summer Garden Dinner Trick #2
Sophie sticks out her hand toward Everly even though they’re obviously besties already. “I’m Sophie Lambert-Morales, Max’s sister, and this is my son, Kade.”
“So nice to meet you. Everly Rosewood. I do PR for the team.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about you,” she says, and her voice is dripping with sisterly amusement.
I snap my gaze to Sophie. What the hell is she talking about? I haven’t said a word about Everly to anyone besides the guys.
“It must have been a couple years ago. When you were a reporter,” Sophie continues, talking to Everly.
But no way did I say anything about this unchecked lust. I was with Lyra then, and I didn’t start having these irritating thoughts about Everly till she started working for the team and needling me after every goddamn game—thoughts that escalated ever since I saw the lacy lingerie in her luggage.
“I don’t think I said anything about her,” I say to my sister.
“Yes, you did,” Sophie says, too pleased. “You said she was smart and tough and easy to talk to.”
Everly’s mouth parts, and she’s now enjoying this too much. “Max Lambert. That’s another nice thing you did.”
I narrow my eyes, muttering, “I did not do something nice.”
Kade grabs my hand. “You’re a nice honey badger, Uncle Max.”
“I’m not,” I grunt.
“You kind of are,” Sophie says. “Except you were kind of a j-e-r-k too when you got on Everly about Kade and me.”
Get on Everly.
I’d like to get Everly on her back, spread her legs, and fuck her into next year.
And fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ve got to stop thinking about her in this way.
My dickhead mind is spending all its time in the triple-X cinema when it comes to her, but I’ve got to do a better job at keeping it in the PG theater, watching innocent cartoons, not filthy reels that have no place in this situation.
Everly’s a work colleague, whose expertise I unfortunately desperately need.
“All right, now that you’ve had your fun at my expense, the answer is no,” I say to my work colleague.
“You don’t even know the question,” Everly points out. She has no problem going toe to toe with me on anything.
“I do,” I say, firing right back at her. “You want to take a pic of me with my sister and nephew. You said you were working on publicity plans.”
It’s an accusation, a cold one, but she ought to know my family’s off-limits.
She squares her shoulders, holding her ground.
“Well, yes. Of course. I would love that. But I know better than to make that request. I do understand that’s not happening,” she says, and I blink, briefly taken aback.
She does? Okay, that’s good. “But that’s not what I was coming here for.
I wanted to see if we could get together soon to discuss our battle plan.
That’s what I was working on while eating the world’s most sinful chocolate cake.
And I have some ideas mapped out already. ”
I was wrong. I was too quick to assume. I should probably admit that, but instead, I say, “Sure. How about Friday?” I’ve got plans with Kade tomorrow, but it’ll be good to get this meeting on the calendar right away.
Good to move quickly. The sooner we tackle this, the sooner it’ll be over.
I’ll fix my problems, make the team happy, do the documentary, and move the hell on.
Which’ll have the added benefit of me spending less time with the object of this inappropriate lust. Goals.
“Do you want to meet here in my office or one of the media rooms?” Everly asks.
I glance around the corridor, weighing if I want to meet here in the thick of it or go someplace with a different vibe.
Not sure the convo is going to be my favorite so I’d rather the whole organization not be wandering the halls as we have it, but before I can say a word, Sophie chimes in helpfully, “Or you could do coffee or lunch or even dinner. There’s a great new coffee shop in the Marina District called Republic of Coffee, and a cute new café in Russian Hill called Morning Glow.
There’s also sushi in Japantown. Which is great for dinner. I love Japantown. Don’t you?”
Everly reins in a smile. “All of that sounds great. Max?”
“Sushi’s good,” I say, then Everly tells me she’ll text me later with details. Finally, she continues down the corridor, and I side-eye my sister as we leave and head through the lot. “Coffee? A café? Sushi?”
She smirks, “Well, I was right. You picked dinner.”
Shit. She’s an evil genius. She tricked me, but I try to shrug it off. “It’s a work dinner,” I insist as we weave past a Mercedes.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she says with the smugness only a younger sister can pull off.
“It is,” I say.
“Of course it is, Max.”
“What else would it be?” I ask, since evidently I’m in the mood to double down.
“Gee. I can’t even imagine.” She stops walking, forcing me to look back at her as she gives the smuggest of smug smiles. “You sent her cake.”
“She helped me out of a jam in Seattle! I was thanking her.”
“Ohhhh. So it was a work cake,” Sophie says as we reach my car.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Do you send cake to everyone you work with who helps you? Like, did you send Hugo a slice for blocking that shot on goal the other night?” She parks her hands on her hips.
I don’t back down though. “Thanks for the reminder. I’ll get right on that.”
She stares at me without blinking. “I can’t wait to find out what he thinks of it next time I come to a game.”
“Me too.”
While she opens the back seat door, I grab the booster from the trunk, then buckle in Kade. He’s already yawning as I shut the door.
When I get behind the wheel, I add, “And you are not going to try to set me up with my publicist.”
“Of course I would not,” she says as she settles into the front seat. “But now that you mention it…have you thought about dating again?”
I stare sternly at her before I pull out. “Do I look like I enjoy torture?”
“You do play hockey for a living. So maybe.”
“Touché,” I say, and shift topics to her work, then to Mom and Dad and how the school year is going for them as I drive her across the Bay Bridge.
“Mom says this is her best dance class ever,” Sophie says of our mom, who teaches dance at a performing arts school.
“And let me guess. Dad says it’s the best class of actors ever?”
Sophie laughs. “Of course that’s what a drama teacher would say.”
“Gotta love their optimism,” I say, and we chat more about them as we head over to Oakland, where she lives a few blocks away from them.
After I carry a sleeping Kade inside, then make sure the alarm is on and no one’s out front, I hop back in my car.
Before I head back into the city, I stop at a local Whole Foods and order a breakfast platter for my parents, sending it to the school where they teach for delivery in the morning.
Bagels and fruit are the key to their hearts.
I return to my car. Alone at last, I turn on the Bluetooth and toggle over to the app for the class on navigational tools used in the eighteenth century.
It’s not my favorite topic, but I’m not taking this online course for fun.
As the lights of San Francisco guide me home, I recite the facts I’m learning so I’ll be ready to take a quiz in a few days.
I need to ace it. For me. I don’t want to end up like my grandfather when I’m older.
Forgetting everyone. My heart clutches as images flash by of his final year—the long, painful months where he was gone before he was gone.
I’ve got to keep my mind in as good a shape as I keep my body. I hope I can have a different fate. A different future. And that’s what I need to focus on—the future. For my family and for me.
* * *
“Taste test time!” Kade issues the announcement as he runs into The Hand Dipper the next afternoon, rushing to the counter.
I follow him into the shop in Hayes Valley with my mom and dad. Sophie has a twelve-hour shift today.
“He’s been talking about this nonstop since this morning,” my dad says to me, still utterly charmed by his grandson. “On the way to daycare, he asked us to read him the flavors.”
“Gotta love that kind of prep,” I say.
“Exactly, and who can blame him? There isn’t a better way to spend, well, a day than testing ice cream flavors,” Mom says.
Dad goes pensive for a beat when he arrives at the counter. “You know, in my next life, maybe I’ll be an ice cream taster,” he says, staring at the plethora of flavors. No, he’s gawking. Well, this place is damn good. Wesley recommended it to me, and the dude knows his ice cream.
Mom squeezes Dad’s shoulder. “What about in this life, Mike? Let’s get started now.”
The four of us survey the offerings from the blackberry jam swirl to the pretzel and chips confetti. Kade presses his palms to the glass. “There are soooo many, Uncle Max.” He spins to face me, utter concern in his eyes. “Help me pick.”
I bend down and read off all the flavors to the kiddo, debating which ones sound the best. He takes his time, then picks out four flavors for us to taste test.
Before my dad can even attempt to swipe his phone, I slide mine over the card reader. It’s nice that they don’t have to think about whether it’s in the budget like they did when we were kids. I like that they no longer have to worry.
And I don’t ever want that to change.
Later that night, after my parents and Kade have met Athena and I’ve said goodbye, my phone flashes with a message from Everly. I sneer at it even while I click it open so fast. It’s the time to meet her tomorrow evening. Then a chipper message can’t wait.
I scoff.
That’s doubtful. She probably wishes she were getting a root canal instead of dealing with me. Understandable. I feel the same about her.
I just wish she weren’t so distractingly beautiful, and after I get ready for bed and wander past the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, I wish I weren’t wondering where she lived.