Chapter 15 #3
Mygoodness, it’s easy to tell that they’re related in photos – particularly when they’re grinning like they’ve just won an Emmy for starring in an all-new, unscripted hockey themed reality show.
“All three of us, Slayer,” my boyfriend insists with a kick of his chin. “She’s gonna want you in the shot too.”
Turning around is easy and so is getting in closer to Bronny who happily leans into the action as if equally excited by my presence as he is his brother’s.
“You look so good in my number, Slayer,” Jukes purrs, prompting the teen to start taking selfies with the other players in the background, body casually migrating away to capture better photos. “You know it’s the only sweater you’re allowed to wear now.” He cockily smirks. “Thems the rules.”
Blushing and eye rolling seem to be all I’m capable of.
Ugh.
How does he always do this to me?!
Even when he’s at work?!
I put my phone back in my pocket and impishly investigate, “Who’s playing with you tonight, thirty-five?”
“You better behave, Slayer,” he playfully scolds prior to answering the question. “And it’s Peaches however, all the boys have their game day musts.
For some it’s food.
For some it’s drink.
For some it’s underwear.
For Jukes…it just so happens to be music.
Getting in the right rhythm.
Which is pretty on script all things considered.
“And the tunes?” I curiously inquire on a small lean forward.
“Warmies, it was all about ‘Shake Your Groove Thing’.”
“Gotta show ‘em how you do it, huh?”
Light chortles are accompanied by an arrogant nod.
“And game time?”
“Reunited.”
“’Cause it’s gonna feel so good?”
“Only one thing feels better, Gillybean.” My suddenly stunned silent nature grants him the smooth segue he needs to skate away. “And I look forward to it post-game…”
Crimson coats my cheeks to the point I have no choice but to glance over my shoulder in hopes of catching my composure.
Unfortunately for me, I find a pair of eyes on me, I wasn’t expecting.
Shit!
“Can we go get snackies?” Bronny asks upon his return to my side. “Or should we wait ‘til post puck drop?” He barely lets a single beat pass before investigating further. “Or are we waitin’ to see what your ‘rents grab?”
Too many questions.
Not enough spare brain energy to process.
Not until I deal with something more pressing first.
“Um…” an abrupt, nervous hiccup further illustrates my current discomfort, “why don’t you go ahead and get to our,” the tick jumps into the conversation again, “seats. And we’ll,” a third, “decide from there.”
“You ain’t comin’?”
“I,” my body jerks due to the action, “need to,” once more my frame rocks, “have a quick,” two noisier ones escape back-to-back, “chat with someone,” I’m betrayed what I doubt is the final time, “first.”
Rather than let him ask for more information, I offer him the best reassuring smile I can in hopes he’ll simply follow my suggestion.
And he does by asking for our seat numbers as well as making his way to them.
Getting from where we were to whom I need to meet sends us in opposite directions; however, it gives me ample time to steady my breathing and give my brain a mental mouthwash.
My arrival at the end of the aisle near where security is checking tickets to help with seating is immediately acknowledged by the individual I came to see. “Gillian.”
“Bull.” I attempt to casually fold my arms across my chest. “Shouldn’t you already be in the med room?”
“Called ahead.” He slides one hand into his black scrub’s pockets. “Told them I had a family thing and was running a bit behind.”
His family thing now stands to be the reason my family thing may end up happening on a night it shouldn’t!
A nonchalant pointed finger is motioned towards the area I just left. “Does Blanc know?”
The loud hiccup that escapes sadly presents the team dentist with his answer before my words.
Fordaytimedramasake, there has got to be away to stop me from doing that!
“Seriously?” Disbelief darts through his expression. “Your own brother doesn’t know one of his players is sleeping with his sister?”
“We’re not just sleeping together, Bull,” escapes in a seething snip.
“You know that makes it worse that he doesn’t know, right? Not better.”
Shit.
Does it?!
“If you two were just screwing around, it’d be one thing.
He could probably brush that off a bit easier – I mean it’s Blanc.
He’d chalk it up to you needing an itch to be scratched because…
well…everyone has itches that need to be scratched, but if this is more than a summer fling,” his slow head shake is attached to his arm falling back to his side, “if this is anything remotely serious, you need to tell him.” Earnestness has his salt and pepper bearded face stretching forward. “And you need to tell him now.”