Bet she takes him home to her fancy-pants penthouse and they haveS-E-Xall night.
What do I care? I don’t want Fletcher Sullivan’s dick in my mouth.
The party isin full swing at my parents’ house when Granny Murray and I pull up. The house looks like a holiday postcard.
Normally, I love the holidays—love food and family and Christmas cheer. Now, with the snow and the dark, it all just feels cold and lonely. We lost. I lost. They’re all going to hate me.
“Should have taken one of them home.” Granny Murray fiddles with the radio.
“Who?”
“The hot men you have wandering around half naked—who do you think? Bed ’em and bag ’em.”
“Home where, Gran? Home here?” We pull up in front of the house.
“It’s an expression. I would have sprung for a hotel room for you. That place near the interstate lets you rent by the hour,” Granny Murray says.
“With what money? We lost—that means you lost. How much money did you bet on this team?” I ask desperately.
“It’s okay, girlie.” Gran lays on the horn.
“Gran—”
“I took out a payday loan to bet on your next game. You’re like me”—she mimes boxing—“you’re a competitor.”
“Gran, the next game is—oh my god, I don’t even know who we’re playing next.” I pull out my phone as Gran keeps honking the horn.
My cousins tumble out of the house, oversized Santa Claus wineglasses in hand, sweaters pulled around them as they race across the snowy yard.
“Gran, stop it,” Gracie scolds. “The neighbors are going to complain.”
“That cunt from the HOA? And no, I don’t mean ‘cunt’ in a complimentary way. Let me at her. Do you know she had the audacity to complain that Trina didn’t have the right color Christmas lights up? My own daughter. You need to take me to Costco so I can buy rainbow lights just to stick it to her.”
“Costco is closed. It’s late.” Though you wouldn’t know it from the celebratory party music thumping from my parents’ backyard.
“Where are the men?” Gran complains.
“Eating, drinking, scratching their balls,” Dakota says as she hands Gracie the box with the electric warmers.
I’m not usually the center of attention at family gatherings, unlike Dakota and Gracie. I’m not sure I want to walk into the Direwolves’ celebration party in a whole parade.
Gracie beams at me. “I just have to say, I thought your interview was hilarious. Everyone’s talking about it. They can’t wait to hear about your first game. And wasn’t that so nice of Ryder to come to your defense?”
“He’s a Boy Scout.” Yep. That Ryder. Dakota’s dating him, and he’s here at the house to celebrate his win.
Yay.
“I actually think I left one of my notebooks at the rink. Maybe I should go…”
Too late. Ryder’s coming out of the house like an eager golden retriever to help unload all of the hockey gear, coolers, and empty food trays out of the SUV.
Someone’s put a little Band-Aid on his face. I wince, thinking about Fletcher’s beat-up face.
Again, Ryder’s part of the cool upper echelons of my massive extended family. It’s, uh, very weird that we’re having this interaction.
“I hope you’re not too upset about the loss,” he says as he picks up a heavy box like it weighs nothing and heads to thehouse. “We studied you guys’ tapes beforehand, you know, to get up to speed, and you guys played way better than I ever saw you play. And you haven’t even been coach for what—twenty-four hours?”
“The power of pussy,” Granny pipes up.
