Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“I’ve worked for the Legends for years,” Darcy says simply.
Tessa’s perfectly shaped eyebrows arch. “I wouldn’t have thought the admin pool would mix with the players.” She gives Darcy a once-over. “Interesting dress. Where did you find it?”
“It’s vintage,” Darcy says.
“Looks it.”
I feel Darcy flinch, and something protective rises in my chest. “Of course we know each other. In fact, Darcy practically runs the front office.”
“That’s my girl!” Darcy’s father says, and Tessa glowers. I’m surprised she doesn’t sprout fangs and attack. Meanwhile, Kandi is taking it all in with an amused expression. Like she’s enjoying a tennis match.
Christ. “Where should we put our gift?” I indicate the shopping bag in my other hand. We’ve got to get away from these harpies.
Tessa looks down at the gift, and then her gaze pops between me and Darcy again. She appears confused, like I’ve asked her to solve an equation.
Maybe she’s not very smart.
“Just there,” Darcy’s stepmother says with a tight smile. “We’ve set up a table.”
“Super,” I say, trying to keep a friendly smile on my face.
Darcy’s father, oblivious to the weird energy bouncing between the women around him, cuffs my shoulder. “Have some food, grab a drink. Tessa planned a dance-off. Should be loads of fun. Enjoy yourselves! And Darcy—we’re on for lunch tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she says quickly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Lunch?” Tessa echoes, looking confused again. “We’re doing lunch?”
“Just me and your sister,” her father says, patting Tessa’s arm. He’s a toucher. “Haven’t seen her in ages.”
I don’t miss how the look on Tessa’s face hardens again, even as Darcy practically marches me toward the gift table, where she pulls a beautifully wrapped box from the shopping bag and finds a spot for it.
Then she turns toward me and exhales. “Welp. That was fun. Let’s drink.”
“Your sister is such a charmer.”
“That was actually restrained for her.”
I guide her toward the bar, my hand settling protectively at the small of her back. “Pick your poison. There’s a special cocktail called the Theribel.”
“Aw,” she says, chuckling. “Not bad for a couple name. What’s in it?”
I study the printed sign on the bar. “It’s like a French 75 with pink champagne. Some nice beers back there, too…”
“I’d love a Theribel,” Darcy says, turning to me. “Listen, there’s something I need to do.”
“Hmm?” Keep your eyes up there, Tremaine.
“I have to give our music to the DJ. So they use the right clip.”
“If you must.” Still not happy about this dancing thing.
“Eric,” she hisses. “It’s going to be fine. You even insisted that we practice!”
“Practicing is what champions do.”
She gives me a sideways glance, like maybe I’m a crackpot. “I know that competition is your thing. But you’re on vacation.”
“My idea of vacation doesn’t include dancing in front of strangers.” At least not when I’m unprepared. That’s why I pulled over at a rest stop for a quick rehearsal after Darcy explained her idea to me.
We danced, briefly, in the grass, while I tried to focus on what she was telling me and not the scent of her perfume.
“I just don’t like to lose,” I add now.
She rolls her eyes. “We all lose sometimes, hotshot. I’m going to give that guy our song, okay? You grab those drinks, and meet me over there?” She points toward another corner of the room. “I think I see mini empanadas and little shish kebabs, and I need to investigate.”
“Godspeed,” I say, and she gives me a salute before striding off in those heels that make my mouth water.
The bar line advances. I get our drinks and drop a twenty into the tip jar.
“Omigod thanks,” says a young woman mixing drinks behind the bar. Then she lifts her gaze to mine, and her eyes widen. “Wait, you’re that hockey player!”
As soon as she says it, several heads swivel in my direction. “Um, yup. Not playing tonight, though. Unfortunately.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh yeah. Wow. What is tonight, game two of the finals?”
“Game three,” I say, lifting our cocktails off the bar. “But who’s counting?”
The answer is me. I’m counting. We could have beaten Colorado, and I’m still salty about it.
Darcy has disappeared, so I carry our drinks over to a high table to wait. It’s covered with a tablecloth, and adorned with a bouquet of ink pens and a short stack of “ballots” for voting on the dance-off winner.
I set down our drinks and pull out my phone to check my texts. There’s one from my father. Give Maribel our best tonight. Tell her your mom isn’t feeling well.
Sure, Dad. Lying for you guys is such a joy. I take a deep breath and sigh it out, the way the team psychologist taught me to do when I told him I was having panic attacks again. “Try to have a nice, relaxing summer, okay?” he’d said.
Yeah, pal. Family drama is so conducive to relaxation. I take a sip of my Manhattan.