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I wash up quickly and step out of the shower, drying my short brown hair with a towel and rubbing steam away from the mirror in a circular motion with my hand. I look closely to see if I need to shave.
Yep. The stubble is at a length I’d normally shave, but today I’m in a hurry. I’ll have to shave when I get home from practice later.
“Uncle Luca!” Cora calls through my closed bedroom door.
“I’m not dressed, don’t come in. Gimme a minute.”
When the kids first moved in, Jack burst into my room when I was getting out of the shower one day and got a full-frontal view of me. He was horrified, but still managed to ask if he’d look like that someday, too.
He was seven then, a little over a year ago, and I had to stumble through answering his questions about body hair and penises. My brother Matt would’ve loved seeing me sweat that conversation. Afterwards, I thought about how much I wanted to laugh about it over a beer with him.
“There’s no nail polish remover,” Cora says through the door.
“What?” I lower my brows at the closed bedroom door as I dress. “We had plenty last time we had a spa day.”
“Emerson left the lid off the bottle and it dried up.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, looking down at the dark purple nail polish smeared on my nails, knuckles and fingertips.
“That’s a bad word,” Cora says.
“I said duck.”
“No you didn’t, Uncle Luca.”
“I need to get this nail polish off!”
“I brought you some hydrogen peroxide,” Cora says, butchering the pronunciation. “Maybe it’ll work?”
It doesn’t. By the time my babysitter Sheila arrives, I have just enough time to swing by a drugstore for more remover and get to practice on time. I call out a quick goodbye, get in my Escalade and floor it.
Traffic is a bitch, though. I’m tapping my thumb on my steering wheel and doing the math. If I can get in and out of the drug store…I’ll make it. Barely.
Our coach recently reamed our asses about being on time, though. I get no special consideration for being a single parent, either.
I’ll just have to put on my gloves as fast as I can so none of the guys see my purple nails. I can’t risk being late.
It’s a solid plan, but it epically fails when I walk into the locker room, hands clenched into fists, and our goalie Jonah passes me a protein bar. Without thinking, I reach out and take it.
“The fuck is that?” he asks, the corners of his lips turning up in amusement.
I sigh heavily. “Fuck off. It’s spa day at home.”
“Spa day?”
Laughter sounds around the locker room.
“You get a pedi, too, princess?” someone yells.
“It was for the girls,” I growl.
“You got a lacy thong on under there?” Vic asks, howling.
“Wait ‘til you have kids. You’ll see.”
“I think I’ll manage to have kids and not come to practice with purple fucking fingernails.”
Ignoring him is best at this point. I put my shit in my locker and start getting ready for practice. Vic is silent until I’m lacing up my skates.
“Hey, you still coming out tonight?”
I look up at him. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugs. “Too tired, one of the kids is sick, sitter can’t make it…”
“That shit actually happens, man. I’m not making any of it up.”
“I get it. But we’re still on?”
“Yeah. Where are we meeting?”
“Bar at the Palmer House.”
I give him a confused look. “What the hell’s that about?”
“I’m trying to run into someone staying there.”
“Who?”
He looks from side to side to make sure no one’s listening, before saying, “Kristen Moore.”
“The actress?”
“Yeah. If she’s as hot as she looks on screen, I might ditch you guys.”
“You would.”
He grins. “Hell yeah, I would. Meet there at six?”
“Yeah.”
“And Luca, get that shit off your nails before tonight.”Chapter ThreeAbby
The first sip of white wine goes down so smoothly. This is as close as I get to relaxing—the few seconds I spend relishing the taste of the one glass of wine I allow myself every night.
And tonight, it was served to me at The Palmer House, my favorite place to stay when I’m in Chicago. The hotel’s ornate lobby, the staff, the incredible food…I love it, and it’s starting to feel like a home away from home with all the trips I’ve been taking here for the new stores.
While I wait for my dinner to arrive, I catch up on all the emails I got today. Anthony responded to everything he could, which helps. What’s left is a mixture of stuff he wasn’t sure he should speak for me on and random, unimportant stuff. Must’ve been a busy day at the office, because he usually takes care of those, too.
Between travel and meetings here, it’s the first time I’ve checked my email all day. Looks like my stockbroker has good news for me, I’m invited to this year’s Met Gala, and I’ve got “many good chance to double size of penis.” Not sure how that last email slipped through the firewall.
