She goes silent, studying me, looking for what’s not being said. Thank god my vulnerabilities are buried deep enough not even she, who is known for reading my mind, can pick up on them.
“If what you’re saying is true, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Hell, you’ve just made the All-Star Team for the second time.”
“I know.”
“You also have an Olympic gold medal”—her frown tells me Jake was right and she’s pissed about my post taunting Bishop—“to your name. Not many guys can say that.”
“Only the two dozen other guys from our team,” I mumble.
She gives me her serious mom face as one of her hands caresses the volleyball-sized bump under her shirt.
“What’s with the crisis of confidence? Does this chick have you tied up in knots that bad?”
“Like she learned them from the McClain boys,” I deadpan.
Maddey comes from a Navy family, and sailors are known for their knot skills, after all.
“Well then…I guess it’s a good thing the girls are coming in for tonight’s game.”
I groan, already knowing I’m not going to like the answer but needing to ask. “Why’s that?”
“Because, my darling brother”—she pats my knee like I’m one of her dogs—“just like Vince, it looks like you’re gonna need the help of your precious Coven to help you get the girl.”
I hate, hate that she’s probably right.
“Now stop wasting time. You have to leave for the Garden in an hour. Give me all the deets.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Your first week was good then?”
I let out a curse as I stab myself in the eye with the mascara wand. I’m already running late for the game, so the last thing I should be doing is video-chatting with my older brother, but I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to see him—even if it is only through a screen—for the world.
“Care Bear?” The use of my childhood nickname reminds me he asked a question.
I squeeze the now irritated eye in hard blinks, moving from the makeup mirror to the open MacBook next to it.
“What? Oh…yeah, it was good. We did our first read-through, and I can already tell I have decent chemistry with the majority of the cast members. And what we heard of the score was pretty epic.”
“Am I going to have to sit through watching you kiss some guy in this one?”
I snort—hard.
God love him.
Good ol’ Mom and Dad supported us financially, but the buck stopped there, so to speak. Even though the two of us spend the majority of our time living in separate cities, we work hard at keeping our relationship close despite the distance. Just because our parents are absent from our lives doesn’t mean we have to be.
“Teddy.” I rest my cheek against my fist and lock eyes with him through the webcam. “I’m playing Marilyn Monroe…I’m kissing lots of guys in this one.”
Another snort escapes when he mimes gagging.
“Don’t worry, three of them are my husbands.”
“It is scary how much research you do for your roles.”
“To be fair”—I go back to putting the finishing touches on my mascara—“outside of being eligible for a Tony, Marilyn is a dream role for me.”
“How could I forget? You had that huge painting of her in that gold dress from whatever movie hanging in your bedroom growing up.”
“Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. One of my favorites.”
“What?”
“That’s the movie it’s from.” I use a Q-tip to clean up the mascara underneath my eye and lift the laptop. “And what do you mean by had?” I swivel the screen so he can see the three-foot-tall painting in its place of honor above my bed.
“How did I not notice that the last time I came to visit?”
“No idea.”
“Mels! You almost ready?” Zoey shouts from down the hall.
“Be out in a minute.”
I need to wrap this up before Zoey comes busting in here in full Storm apparel. I so don’t want to answer any questions that would raise.
“Look.” I sit on the edge of my bed, MacBook in my lap. “I better go before Zo loses it.”
“Okay, Care. Have fun. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The lid to the laptop closes with a snick and I blow out a calming breath. I didn’t lie to my brother, but keeping things from him makes me feel like reaching for the Pepto-Bismol.
Jase Donnelly, though? Yup, that’s information better left undisclosed. Finding out about him will be a bigger bomb than the Reynolds Pamphlet, and I’m not cool enough to rap.
Clusterfuck, party of three.
Oh well. Like Mr. Hamilton, I should say no to this, but I can’t.
“Mels!” Zoey’s voice spurs me into action.
Jumping from the bed, I grab the jersey from the hanger I hung it on last night and slip it over my head, scrutinizing my appearance in my mirrored closet doors. The white skinny jeans hug my legs, showing off the muscular thighs I’ve earned from the countless hours of dancing I’ve done through the years, and the knee-high black leather boots with four-inch heels make my short legs look longer.
My choice of footwear may not be the most appropriate selection for a hockey game, but thanks again to my many years in musical theater, I can do anything in heels.
The rest of my look is casual: high ponytail, ends curling naturally, simple makeup, and silver hoops through my ears.
Then there’s the black, white, and gray jersey. Jase must have given me one of his game-worn ones because I’m swimming in the material.
“Mels, come on, you know I like to watch warm—” The sound of the door opening precedes Zoey’s voice before the words abruptly cut off.
Looking over my shoulder, I see my friend gaping at me like a fish, mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find the words to say. Zoey speechless is as rare as a unicorn.
“ELLA!” she yells, breaking her silence.
“What?” Ella has a container of leftover risotto in her hands, scarfing down her dinner before she has to leave for the theater. “Holy shit. You’re wearing a Storm jersey?” Shock drips from her words.
“It’s not like they’re playing the Bruisers or anything.” I pop a shoulder.
“True.” She nods. “Wait.” She holds a hand up like a stop sign. “Where did you even get this? It’s huge on you.” She pinches the material between her fingers, stretching it out.
“Oh my god!” Zoey shouts from the doorway, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. “Is this one of his?” We are now at screech-level decibels.
“I think it might be.”
“Oh—my—god.” Zoey rushes me, inspecting every inch of the jersey. “This is his. Holy shit, Mels. This is unreal. You’re lucky you’re one of my best friends or I would totally hate you.”
“Like I didn’t hate you enough for getting to go to the game.” Ella pulls on the sleeve of the jersey again. “Now there’s this.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I take it things are starting to get serious?”