“Yeah, I have that. Sounds good.”
So that’s what we do. Grammy’s happy to see Otis again, and very interested in Easton.
“Do you fight a lot?” she asks him.
“No.” He grins. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“Well, that sounds promising.” Grammy winks at me.
I cover my face with one hand. “Oh my God.”
Then she frowns. “Does that mean puck bunnies?”
“Grammy!” I drop my hand and stare at her. “What do you know about puck bunnies?”
“I know you better not be one.” She points at me.
My eyes widen. I look at Easton.
“She’s not a puck bunny,” he says. “I had to convince her to go out with me. She didn’t think we were…what was the word? Compatible.”
I bite my lip on a smile. “Okay, I was wrong.”
Our eyes meet and hold in a loaded connection.
“Nothing wrong with liking hockey,” Grammy says. “I like it too. As long as you’re with him for the right reasons, and not just because he’s a hockey player.”
“I didn’t know you like hockey.”
“I may or may not have waited outside the Apex Center after Bears games back in the day. The old arena,” she clarifies. The Apex Center was rebuilt a few years ago.
“Grammy. You were a puck bunny!”
She laughs. “What can I say? Hockey players are hunky.”
“Hunky.” I press my fingers to my lips.
Easton pretends to preen. “I’m a hunk,” he says. “Definitely.”
Clearly, Grammy likes Easton. And most of our conversation is about hockey, if you can believe that.
“Well, she’s a cool lady,” Easton says as he holds Otis in the elevator.
“She loooooves you,” I say with an eye roll, but secretly I’m delighted. But then I have to remind myself it doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Because I’m not getting involved with Easton. Like, emotionally involved.
We stop back at Easton’s place to pick up the corn casserole I made, along with wine and beer. We debate bringing Otis to the party, but in the end agree it’s probably better not to. So we say goodbye to him and leave his sad face to walk down Riverside to the building where Colton and Layla live. It’s just as nice as Easton’s, but their view from the twentieth floor is of the city looking toward Central Park.
I’m excited and nervous about meeting Easton’s teammates. He talks about them all the time. I met Owen Cooke briefly one day at Easton’s, and I know Colton and Layla of course, but I don’t know anyone else.
Loki greets me ecstatically, which is so nice. I give him pets and rubs while Easton says hi to Colton. We carry our food and booze over to the kitchen, where a buffet is being set up on the island. On one side of the kitchen, a modern hutch holds bottles, glasses, and an ice bucket.
“What would you like to drink?” Colton asks.
I soon have a glass of wine in hand. “This will need to be heated up before we eat,” I tell Layla, gesturing at my big casserole.
“Not a problem.” She picks up her own glass. She’s gorgeous—a freakin’ Victoria’s Secret model, literally—tall, slender, with long, wavy dark blond hair, high cheekbones, and full lips. “I’m glad you came.”
“Thanks for having me.”
I have one of those moments I have from time to time with Easton, like when he said he wants to buy an Aston Martin—what the hell am I doing here with these people? I do not fit in at all. But Layla is so nice and friendly, and I try to relax.
Easton beckons to me from the living room, where all the seats are filled with people watching a giant television playing a football game. I move to his side. “Everyone, this is Lilly. Lilly…” He waves a hand. “Everyone.”
I laugh and lift a hand in greeting. “Hi, everyone. However will I remember all your names?”
Eason nudges me. “That’s why I didn’t bother with all the names. There’s too many. You’ll get them eventually.”
“You know me.” Owen waves a hand from a couch.
“Yes.” I smile.
We sit on the floor, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling windows. As we watch the game, Easton mentions names of the players there, along with a few wives and girlfriends. Some are cheering for the Falcons, and others the Saints, which makes for a lot of noise and good-natured insults.
I watch the Saints get first down and pump a fist into the air.
“Wait.” Easton stares at me. “You’re cheering for New Orleans?”
“Of course! Aren’t you?”
He laughs. “I actually don’t care. I like football, but I never got invested in American football.”
“American as opposed to…?”
“Canadian. CFL. A much more exciting game.”
“What?” Now it’s my turn to stare in shock.
He laughs. “The field is bigger and the end zones are deeper, so there’s room to run more stunt plays.” He shrugs. “Also, another player on the field means more options for the quarterback and one more guy for the defense to track.”
I blink. “Huh.”
“I think it allows for more creativity on both sides of the ball. Just my opinion. And three downs means more offensive aggression is necessary, which usually means more passing and a lot less settling for plays that might only get you a couple yards. That means a more pass-and-kick-oriented game since there are fewer downs available for short-yardage running plays.”
I purse my lips. “Really.”
“The kicking rules are different too.” He lifts his beer to his lips and drinks. “In Canadian football, there’s no fair catch rule.”
“Whereas in American football, if a kick returner thinks he won’t be able to advance the ball after recovery, he can signal for a fair catch and be immune from contact.”
He looks at me with admiration lighting his eyes. “Yeah. And in Canadian football, no player on the kicking team except the kicker and any players behind him on the field can be within five yards of the ball unless it’s been touched by an opponent.”
“I did not know this.”
He shrugs. “Not many Americans watch Canadian football.”
After a while, I go help Layla in the kitchen, along with another woman I learn is Charlotte, who is here with Ryker Murphy, a Bears center. Also helping us is Igor Barbashev and his wife, Nadia, who tell me, in their Russian accents, that they don’t really like football so they’d rather help in the kitchen.