Page 97 of Fall For Me
A couple of weeks ago that remark would’ve hurt me, but now it just gasses me up. I stand to face her.
“I know you’re not talking about my body, because my ass rivals yours, and we both know he loves a big ass.” I glance over at Granny and tap my pretty red nail against my bottom lip. “You think she said that ‘cause I’m quiet?”
For the first time since I’ve known her, Granny doesn’t utter a word; she just sits back, enjoying the show with a smirk.
I turn back to Allie. “I gotta tell you . . . it’s the quiet ones that areinsanein bed, and well, you know how wild Sean likes it . . . trust me, he stays satisfied. I have the face of an angel, the soul of a saint, and he chants my name like a fucking prayer while I’m on my knees worshiping him. Don’t pretend to know me. You have no idea just how much his type I truly am.”
I crowd her space and give her a slow once over. “Sean is a good man, and he deserved better than you ever gave him. Now he has the best. You know? I really don’t understand women like you. If you don’t want to be with someone, fucking leave. Now scram. You’re interrupting my game, and my sweet Granny doesn’t like trash collecting around her table.”
Falling back into my seat, I glance up at the TV screen right as Sean saves the net. “That’s it, baby! Woo! Way to catch the puck!”
“You heard her. Get on outta here,” Granny bites out.
I don’t take my eyes off the game until our server comes back a few minutes later with our drinks, setting them down on a coaster in front of us. That’s when I notice Allie’s finally gone.
Good riddance.
We both pick up our drinks, and Granny clinks her margarita glass against my beer bottle. “To class, sass, and the girl with the big ass.”
I bark out a laugh. God, I love her. These past few weeks we’ve spent together have been some of the best of my life.
“Let’s be real, there was nothing classy about what I said. I’ve never talked to someone like that before.” I turn in my seat to face her, tilting the beer bottle in her direction. “Well, I take that back. I’ve given Sean an earful before. Have you ever lost your shit on someone and?—”
She raises a brow at me like that’s even a question, and I laugh.
“No, Granny. I know you’ve lost your shit on someone, but have you ever felt bad about it afterward? Everything I said was justified, and it felt good ripping into her in that moment, but maybe I was entirely too harsh. I shouldn’t have gone into?—”
“Now I’m just gonna stop ya right there. You reap what ya sow, and that floozie deserved everything ya just dished out to 'er. You only feel bad 'cause ya have a kind and tender heart. Yer a better woman than me. I woulda knocked the Botox right off her forehead. I’m proud of ya, hun.”
“You know what? I think I might be a little proud of me too.” I smile at her, then glance back up at the screen. “Oh, come the fuck on! They’re stacking the puck side! If you keep forcing it there, you’re just skating into pressure. Jesus Christ! Cycle it low. Make them chase. Then hit the open guy on the weak side when they collapse!”
“Holy shit! You’re the protégé,” a man at the table next to us says, and my head whips in his direction.
A pair of wide eyes meet mine.
“You’re the fucking protégé,” he says again with a laugh, catching other’s people’s attention. “I thought I recognized you, but I wasn’t sure until now. Can I have your autograph?”
“Mine?” I press my hand to my chest, my head rearing back. “Why?”
“Because you’re a fucking legend.” He stands up, making his way to the bar to grab a napkin and pen, then he heads back to our table and hands them to me.
What the actual hell is going on here? I only called one play . . . okay, two . . . and it wasn’t even a season game. I sign his napkin, and when I look up to hand it to him, men begin to gather at our table.
No way.
Twenty-Nine
Hannah
“Word on the street is you’re about to be named head coach of the Blaze,” an unfamiliar voice says as I start signing my name on someone’s shirt.
I pause my pen to look up.
Son of a bitch! Skeevy Steeve. Fucking tabloid scumbag. Dammit! Who told him that?
“No comment,” I say, finishing my signature.
“You had an altercation with a Bruins player’s wife earlier. What was that about?”
