I spin around to find the woman known as Grandma Birdie sitting in her collapsible chair, peering up at me.
"Excuse me?" I ask, not sure I even heard her correctly. I didn't realize anyone else was listening to their conversation. I definitely didn't realize Grandma Birdie would be capable.
"That Liam is nicer than all of those bitches," she continues, pulling a smile out of me. "They just think they're better because they've got a slit between their legs where he probably has a nice, thick—"
The sound of the coach's whistle drowns out the rest of her sentence—thankfully—but I can tell she isn't finished.
"They have nothing to worry about with Liam, as I'm sure you know. That man is as solid as can be—and a better parent than most. He loves that little girl more than anything. You can see it in his eyes and his smileand the way he interacts with her—she's his whole world, even with everything else he has going on."
Her words ease my anger, but I still shake my head gently. "I'm sorry, do you know them personally?"
She waves me away. "Oh, no. Not anymore than I know that one in the god-awful sweater that makes her look like a sheep. But I do knowshe'ssneaking around with the other one's husband."
My mouth drops open. "Which one?" I ask, instantly invested.
She nods toward the group of them. "Mules McGee," she says, her voice cracking with age.
"Wow," I say simply, looking at her. "And she's standing there judging everyone else."
She rolls her eyes. "It's what they do. They waste away the practice by gossiping about the rest of us to escape for an hour from their own miserable lives."
I smother a laugh because it shouldn't be funny. But somehow I know Grandma Birdie's right.
"They'll show up to the party," she reassures. "Don't you worry. They'd never allow themselves—or their bratty kids—to be on the outside of anything."
I stare in their direction, one of them meeting my gaze, then dropping hers immediately. "I'm Tessa by the way," I say gratefully, reaching out my hand.
She slides her palm into mine, wrinkled by years of life and buckets of information. "Birdie."
"And which player do you know?" I ask, anticipation replacing the heat that once flooded me.
She parts her lips, but the whistle blows again. I look over my shoulder to find Ruthie, and when I turn back around, all Birdie does is wink.
24
Liam
"Roo! The rest ofyour friends are here!" I call up to the four of them already tearing up Ruthie's hangout space when I see three girls pile out of Kenzie's mom's car. The anxiety I was carrying finally settles.
Thankfully—or not—all six of the girls showed up today. If they hadn't, Ruthie would have been devastated, and I would have had to hold back unexplainable anger toward a group of soccer moms. But I guess my gratitude should really go to Tessa—not only did she set everything up, but whatever she said at practice must have worked. They're here.
"Hey guys," I say, pulling the door open.
The three girls offer me closed-lip smiles, gift bags hanging from one arm and duffle bags on the other as if they were copied and pasted on the ride over. "Ruthie's upstairs." I step aside to let them in as a stampede of the others clunks down the steps to meet them.
I turn my attention away from the group and back toward Kenzie's mom as she strides toward me in a low-cut top and painted-on jeans. "Hey, Elle. Thanks for bringing the girls." She offers me the same forced smile—just with less of her face moving naturally—and I try not to overthink it. "Ruthie's so excited for the sleepover."
"Kenzie too," she says, pulling one arm across her chest. My eyes dart away the second I see cleavage.
"Alright, well, I'll make sure I have the girls ready by ten tomorrow morning unless you need them to stay longer."
"Oh, no, that's fine." She glances behind me, then steps up on her tip-toes to get a better view inside the house.
"Do you, um, want to come in?" I offer.
Her feet fall flat as she shakes her head. "Oh, no, that's okay. But Kenzie has her phone if she or any of the other girls need anything."
She arches a brow like that's secret code for something I clearly don't understand. "Sounds great," I say, tipping my chin up in faux understanding. "And you have my number from the RSVP ifyouneed anything."
