“Just brutal.”
“Best game ever.”
“And we got in a fight.”
“You barely fought,” Angie scoffs.
“Are you a virgin?” my cousin Violet demands.
“No, I walked in on her and Gabe from two doors down once,” Maxie says, rolling her eyes as she selects a piece of turkey from the carcass on the table for her sandwich. “She’s not a virgin, but she was definitely faking that orgasm.”
“Then set me up with one of them,” Violet begs.
“Set me up with Zayne—he has money.” Her sister giggles.
That sets off the men, who begin another ill-informed argument about the salary cap and how much of it is being spent on Zayne. A noisy argument breaks out in the living room.
I finally escape to the kitchen. My dad is in front of the stove, stoically checking the temperature of a ham warming up in the oven. Gracie’s fiancé, Hudson, leans against the fridge.
I don’t mind Hudson. He minds his own business.
Several drooly pugs snuffle at his feet.
“You get another dog?” I joke as he moves aside so I can grab some eggnog.
He sighs loudly.
“Maybe Santa will bring you a German shepherd in your stocking this Christmas Eve,” I joke.
“He’s only getting coal,” Gracie snickers at him.
“Maybe if you put a spiked collar on Pugnog he’d be a little more GSD-like. Hey.” I pause. “You were in the military, right? I have this player, Fletcher. He’s really difficult to handle.” Hudson doesn’t seem to like that we’re having this conversation. “I just need tips on how to—control him? Motivate him.”
Hudson waits a beat then shrugs. “A Taser.”
“I believe he’s got the potential to be the best player on the team.”
“Hmm,” Hudson grunts.
“Not that it’s saying much,” I continue to ramble. “He just doesn’t believe he can do it. It’s like when you have really little kids and their parents insist on dressing them and tying their shoes and feeding them. They’re physically capable of doing it—they just need someone to believe in them and tell them that of course they can. Don’t make a big deal about it. Just do it and let’s go outside.”
“I have a piece of advice for you.” Hudson rolls his shoulders.
“Here we go,” Gracie says, sprinkling cheese on a dish of pasta.
“Mine’s actually good advice,” Hudson argues. He reaches into his coat pocket and hands me a pair of handcuffs. “Lock Zayne Murphy in his hotel room before the next game, and clear out the minibar.”
I take the handcuffs. “That’s actually pretty good advice.”
“You can ask Gracie for a handcuff key if you need it.” The sexual energy just wafts off of him. You could blow up a house with him. He has eyes only for Gracie, of course.
He looks down at my dad, who’s fussing with the oven. “That ham is overcooked,” he states.
Nate sets it down hard on a trivet. “The oven’s free, Gracie.”
“Thanks, Uncle Nate.”
Hudson wordlessly picks up the ham to follow Gracie into the dining room.
