Page 62 of The One Timer

I glance at Chase, but I haven’t agreed to the deal and I know he recognizes stalling when he see it.

“I’ll get you back in time for class or your shift at the rehab center or whatever you need.”

“I need to get back here tomorrow morning early for class and then a round at the rehab center. You can’t drive me to Boston and then get back in time for hockey--”

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. W says, “Chase can take you back here tonight so you can get a good night’s sleep and get to class. I know this semester is important to you. Just make sure you’re back here this afternoon by four.” She pats my back and her offer feels like a cross between a directive from a boss and a favor for a friend. Either way I can’t say no.

I try and wrap my head around Mrs. W’s decidedly modern attitude about sleepovers with girls and boys. Chase is still grinning as he slides over to me and stands close. He smells so good and I don’t know what that scent is. Expensive soap maybe?

“What do you say, Em?” he asks in a sexy voice because he can’t help sounding sexy. And very convincing .

Hell. I don’t want to say no. “If you’re sure…”

When I get to the Whittier house after rushing here from the rehab center, it’s ten past four and Chase’s sister and uncle are in the kitchen with Mrs. W. They don’t look like they’re in a hurry to leave for Chase’s game, holding glasses filled with some kind of drink, and open bottles of something on the table. I try to unobtrusively take off my jacket and stay out of the way.

“There you are, Emery,” Mrs. W stops me from darting up the back stairs. “Come join us for our impromptu party. Will you have a glass of eggnog? It’s made with our latest special batch of WW reserve whiskey.” She lifts her glass and takes a delicate sip.

I almost expected her to slug it down. Old Molly has been full of surprises.

“What do you think, Gran?” Kathleen says. “We wanted your approval before we release it.” She looks like she’s holding her breath waiting for her grandmother’s approval.

Uvi pours another glass and hands it to me.

“Delicious.” Mrs. W says and puts her glass down. “Walt, Kathleen, you’ve met Emery, my assistant and companion—also Chase’s⁠—”

“It’s good to see you both again.” I interrupt her because I don’t know what she about me and Chase and I didn’t want to find out—not in front of family members I hardly know. Mentioning me having any kind of relationship with Chase would almost certainly lead to a misunderstanding. Hell, I don’t even have a clear understanding of what our relationship is.

“Are you coming to the game with us?” Kathleen asks. I see that Whittier twinkle of amusement in her smile. It’s the crinkle at the corners of her eyes. She looks like a gorgeous version of an elf with her dark red hair and green eyes. She look like her mother according to photos I’ve seen around the house.

“I—”

“Yes, she is,” Gran says. “But I won’t be going. I confess I’m tired tonight and I think it would be best if I turn in early.”

“Oh Gran, are you sure?” Kathleen says, her disappointment almost tragic. Mrs. W nods and she wraps her grandmother in a hug.

“Are you not well?” Walter says, taking over Kathleen’s hug as soon as she’s done. He looks truly concerned.

“I’m fine, but I can’t muster the energy for another late night so soon after the gala.” Mrs. W smiles and pats her son’s hand. “You go ahead and enjoy the game.” She turns to me. “You too Emery. I’ll have Uvi here with me until I turn in. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?” It’s all I’m left with to say.

Mrs. W. nods. “After all, Chase offered to take you home. You can’t miss that.”

All eyes turn to me and I feel like the suspect in a murder mystery about to be interrogated. For the entire one-hour ride to the game in Portsmouth.

Uncle Walt and Kathleen didn’t interrogate me because they were too busy testing the family’s latest batch of whiskey and talking about differentiating their branding from their competitors. Kathleen would occasionally give me an explanation. Apparently, Jack Daniels is not their competition. WW reserve’s customers are in a whole different class. Makers Mark is their main competition right now.

I did a lot of nodding and I’m relieved to finally be at the game and sitting in killer center ice seats—of course. I’m going to be so spoiled when… I’m not with Chase anymore and I have to watch the games from the bleachers, or more likely on TV.

Shit. Don’t think about that. And what the—I’m not with Chase. What am I thinking?

On the way to the game, Kathleen and Walter—it’s what he asked me to call him—talked almost non-stop about the family business. Apparently, they are the top two executives and run Whittier Whiskey along with a handful of others, mostly family members. Unsurprisingly, I add little to the conversation except for a polite nod and question here and there. Now I know what an alien from another planet would feel like here on earth.

At the game it’s easy for us all to get immersed and cheer the Whalers on and especially Chase. At one point, Kathleen and I both stood and clapped at the same time and when we looked at each other, there was a moment of connection.

But the highlight was near the end with a minute to go and the score tied. Chase gets the puck at the blue line and I automatically reach out and clutch Kathleen’s arm as if she’s my friend Merry.

When I realize what I’m doing I start to apologize and pull it away, but she holds on grinning and we stand and watch, yelling our lungs out when Chase skates across the crease and lifts the puck into the net for the winning goal.