He turns the heat down on the stove. “You were kind of a dick at Tilly’s party.”
I snap my gaze to him, lips parting in protest. “I was not,” I say. But I know that’s a bald-faced lie. From his look, Dad didn’t buy it either.
I sigh heavily. “Shit. It was that obvious?”
He nods once. “You kind of huffed and puffed your way around the place.”
I drag a hand over my chin. “Did Tilly notice?”
“I hope not. But I bet Ellie did. Seemed she was the one you were a jerk to.”
Does he have X-ray vision? “How did you know?”
He laughs, eyes rolling. “Gabe, when you played croquet, you were all broody-faced,” he says, adopting a sour expression.
I wince, knowing he’s right.
“And then later, you were just kind of…” He pauses, perhaps to search for words, and I catch the sound of the front door before he finishes, “Short. Clipped.”
I drop my head into my hand, covering my face in embarrassment. “That’s bad.”
“What’s bad?”
I look up at the question as my mom comes in. She’s not alone. She’s with Ellie’s aunt Tilly. Of course. The two ladies are morning walking partners.
I waste no time with justifications. Dad was right. “I’m sorry I was a moody jerk last night,” I tell the guest of honor.
Tilly tilts her head, her gaze unsure. “About our croquet tips?” she asks, then laughs, patting my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We love trash talking you. It’s too fun to beat up on a pro baller.”
I smile, digging her easygoing style. Her quick forgiveness. She’s like Ellie—warm and inviting.
The mere thought of Ellie tugs on my heart, but I’ve got to fix what I messed up with my family before anything else.
“No, Tilly. I mean, I was kind of pissy all night at your party,” I say, then quickly correct myself. “I wasn’t kind of pissy. I just was moody, and that’s not cool. I’m sorry.”
She squeezes my arm. “It’s fine, sweetie. We can’t be perfect all the time. I barely even noticed.”
I’m grateful for the reprieve, but this is only the start. I turn to my mother. “Sorry, Mom. I should have done better.”
“It happens.” She smiles sympathetically. “I’m guessing you had woman trouble?”
I blink. What is it with my parents seeing right through me? I scrub a hand along my scratchy jaw. “I don’t know,” I mutter.
“Sounds like woman trouble, then,” my dad says sagely. Then he nudges the plate toward my mom. “Eat up before it gets cold, hon.” Dad glances at Tilly. “Want some too?”
“You’re a doll,” Tilly says brightly.
“Did I luck out or what? I married a man who feeds me and my friends,” Mom says.
Dad makes another plate, and the ladies sit at the kitchen counter and tuck in. My stomach growls, and I stare forlornly at the emptying pan. There are hardly any eggs left. No pancakes either.
But that’s okay. I glance over at my pops, the one who taught me to cook. He doesn’t have a plate either.
“Dad, you want some? I can make some for us both,” I offer.
He smiles proudly, as if I finally understood an assignment. “I’d love some.”
Then I whip up a fresh batch of eggs and pancakes. At least I fixed one problem. Too bad I can’t solve the problem of bad timing with Ellie Snow as easily.
But maybe I should start with something I can do. I need to apologize to her for how I acted last night. I can’t let her think I’m that kind of guy.
Later, when I’m back home after a big team meeting, I pack for training camp and contemplate the best way to say, Sorry, I was a jerk.
I toss a few more T-shirts into my duffel bag, still mulling over the question, then there’s a knock on my door.
My heart springs. Maybe it’s Ellie.
I hustle over and answer. On the doorstep stands Myrtle, my neighbor. I’m bummed it’s not Ellie, but I’m always happy to see my neighbor. “Hi, Myrtle.”
“Hey, handsome. Any chance you could help me put my suitcase away?”
“Of course,” I say. “Happy to help.”
I shut the door and follow her to her condo. “How was the retreat?” I ask, and maybe it’s weird that I’m asking the little old lady down the hall about her kink workshop. But, you know, maybe it’s not either.
“Oh, it was enlightening. I learned so much,” she says as we wander through her home. “New techniques. New preferences. The world is changing. Playmates like different things these days, and I need to be able to deliver for my subs.”
Holy Shit. Myrtle’s a Dom. That’s…badass boss lady.
“That’s awesome,” I say, grinning.
In her bedroom, she gestures to her empty suitcase. I hoist it up and set it on the top shelf.
Then, I dust my hands and meet her gaze. Her blue eyes are wise, crinkled at the corners, like she knows things.
Not just things about kink—things about life, and how to behave, and how to say you’re sorry.
“Hey, Myrtle. Can I ask your advice on something?”
“Of course, handsome.”
“There’s this woman,” I begin, then I lay it all out.
When I’m done telling her the story of Ellie, she just laughs. “Young people,” she says, shaking her head.
“What does that mean?”
“Sometimes you miss all the clues,” she says.
Myrtle waves me over to the kitchen counter. “Have a cup of coffee while I tell you everything you got wrong and how to make it right.”
As we chat, I thumb through the mental Instagram of my week with Ellie.
I got all these good, romantic, hopeful vibes from her and then suddenly, she was all Miss Independent before the party.
The last thing I wanted when we stopped at her house was for her to turn to me with that decisive expression and tell me she just wanted to be friends or whatever, so I interrupted her.
But she wasn’t about to go all I’ve got this on me. She was, maybe, possibly, about to tell me she felt the same way I do.
Fuck me.
I missed what was right in front of me.
28
IS THIS SEAT TAKEN?
Ellie
“And then she said, I’ll take ten of those heart necklaces,” Rachel says, setting down her wine glass at the bar, triumphantly.
Delighted with her tale of saleswomanship, I raise my glass to my new friend.
Then my old friend joins in. Maddox is here too, at Max’s Restaurant. He was finishing dinner with a client, so I insisted he join us for a post-dinner drink.
Already, the three of us are thick as thieves, sitting around a high table near the bar.
Maddox lifts his tumbler of amber liquid. “To being a helluva dealmaker,” he says to Rachel.
I stretch across to pat his forearm. “And this guy knows how to ink all the deals. He’s the best in the biz,” I say, proudly.
He waves off the compliment, then directs his attention to Rachel. “Tell me more about the boutique and what inspired you to open it,” he says.