Page 86 of XOXO, Summer
Tapping my nose, he chuckles. “A guy can dream. Are you ready?”
“I’m good to go.” Before he turns, I grab his arm. “Are there going to be fireworks?”
He scoffs. “Let’s hope not.”
It’s safe to assume we’re talking about two different things, but his version has me wondering what we’re about to walk into. It’s good Mia wanted to take Roman with her to her boyfriend’s family reunion, after all. Just in case there are fireworks of the fighting kind.
On the drive over, we talk about the red-carpet event that didn’t exactly improve things. Sure, he was seen with someone, but we failed to soften his image and managed to harden mine. He says they’ll know I won’t take their shit. But I’m more worried that if we don’t fix things at this party, he’ll be off the team. Or worse, forced to retire.
He isn’t nervous, but my nerves have multiplied exponentially in the past fifteen minutes. “Last-minute advice needed. Who should I talk to, and who do I avoid?”
“Players are safe to talk to, though there won’t be many. Only a few were invited. I’ve never spent much time with their dates—wives andgirlfriends?—”
“WAGS. I don’t like that term. Feels icky, like we’re one mass not worth an individual mention.”
“I never thought it was that deep, just easier to say.”
“I can see that.” It’s not something I thought too deeply into either. I also was never confronted with the possibility of being lumped into that group before now. When he pulls onto their driveway, I scramble. “Any last-minute tips?”
“Sports are cutthroat. Everyone here will play nice, but don’t think they won’t stab me in the back the first chance they get. Hockey is fun for me, but they’re in it to make money. Period.” I don’t know how to process this information. Should I be on guard? “Don’t overthink, Summer. Enjoy the day but also remember I wasn’t invited for my sparkling personality.” He shifts the car in Park and comes around to the other side to open my door. When I’m on my feet in front of him, he says, “Ready for some fun?”
Other than being with him, none of this sounds fun. “I sure am.”
After the valet drives the car away, we walk down a brick-laid path around the house. Holding his arm, I say, “Remember, family-friendly, no swear words. Keep it light and fun. Love fest.”
“Sounds awful,” he says, his eyes focused forward as we come around the corner.
“Did you notice you never asked me to say or not say anything, to act a certain way, or to wait off to the side while you were on the red carpet? Even tonight, there was no prep for me.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “Any words of wisdom, topics to steer clear of, or?—”
“No.” He smirks. “You hold your own just fine.” He stops to face me and takes my hand. “You’re the last person I worry about betraying me. And you only help my image.” He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses it. “Say whatever is onyour mind. We don’t play by the rules. We break them.”
I’m not sure if I should feel relieved or brace myself. Either way, it’s going to be an eventful night.
We come around the corner of the house to an expansive lawn. Clothed tables and formal chairs dot the grass—white against green. White beach balls float in a pool with clean lines, making me think of Old Hollywood. I say, “It looks more like a wedding than a Fourth of July party.”
“I’ve never had to wear business casual to a backyard barbecue.”
“Maverick’s here!”
“Hey Sutton, come over here.”
I feel such pride being with Daniel, so happy for him when I see the grins and excitement on others’ faces when they see him.
“Heeyyy,” Daniel says, grasping hands with guys I assume are other players based on size and build, and sticking out from a lot of the other guests. Daniel introduces me, confirming my hunch.
I hate it when the two groups split off, leaving me without him by my side and stuck in a circle of minor gossip and a few judgy comments.
I meet their dates—Lori, Katrina, and Lindy—and make small talk. Wife, date, girlfriend. They’re really into titles. From the constant mentions of who they are with and their role in that player’s life, it seems there’s a hierarchy they identify with and respect. And where you are on that pyramid determines everything, from when you speak to your seats at the arena during games.
Lori finishes her champagne and sets it on the tray of a passing server. She leans in like I’m a close friend, and says, “Don’t worry. You’ll sit with me. Maverick is at the top of the food chain, so you eat first. I got your back.”
Being from a small town doesn’t make me dumb. We don’t like fake people or opportunists. Ten red flags are flapping like a halo circling the flashing sign above her head that she’s achieved ultimate puck bunny status by marrying a player. And she loves to use it to her advantage with others. I have no interest in playing their games. “My back is just fine, but thank you.”
Katrina steps between us like she’s passing through, and whispers, “You’re too pretty to be from a small town.”
I don’t know what that means, so I won’t address it directly. What would I say anyway to a backhanded compliment? Turning away from her, I lift on my toes to see if I can find Daniel. We haven’t been apart long, but he’s managed to leave me in a pit of vipers. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I’m not far enough to miss Lori snark, “She’s not that pretty.”
