Mom cooked chicken herself instead of letting the usual caterer handle it. That alone tells me how badly she wants tonight to go right. The table is set with the nice plates again. Actually, every time we eat in the formal dining room, those are the only plates we use.
Across from me, Beau Tucker, an oil tycoon billionaire, grins politely. He’s next to another billionaire, Trey Michaels, who made his name in tech. I’ve met them before at fundraisers. Of course, I was trotted out to shake hands. This rubbing-elbows thing isn’t new. What’s new is the way their attention keeps sliding back to me, like I’ve got mashed potatoes smeared in my hair.
“So,” Trey says while cutting into his chicken, “I heard on the news you’re dating someone. Congratulations. It sounds like it must be getting serious.”
My stomach sinks straight to the flower flip-flops my mom didn’t notice I snuck in with. She hates open-toed shoes. I hate any kind of shoes in July. It’s a month meant to be barefoot, in my humble opinion anyway. I lift my fork and take a bite, which I don’t taste—or maybe I do taste it, but it’s mostly just cardboard flavor. After chewing for a ridiculous amount of time, I mutter, “So I guess I am.”
Mom’s smile is sharp as she kicks me under the table and then speaks for me. “Very serious.”
My phone buzzes again. I sneak a glance while casually lifting my Diet Coke to my mouth. I’ve got lots of practice angling the screen just enough to catch it. The arena lights explode in blue and white, and the crowd blurs as the camera scans all the fans before zooming in on the guys skating out.
My heart stutters as I squint and zero in on Ty. I’ve never been one to ogle hockey players, or really any guy, but why have I never noticed before how handsome Tyson looks when he’s in his jersey and pads?
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Beau asks, interrupting my game sneaking.
I look up from my phone too late. Everyone is watching me. “Oh, my boyfriend, um,” I drag in a breath and swallow. “He works at a museum. The Smithsonian.”
I catch Mom’s jaw tighten as she takes her water glass and sips from it.
“Oh?” Trey adjusts in his seat, sitting more upright as he finally cuts into his chicken. Eating is a good sign. That means he can’t ask me more questions. “I’ve always been a huge fan of the Smithsonian. Is he one of the curators?”
Wrong.
Apparently, he can eat and be nosy.
I take another sip of my Diet Coke to buy some time. My phone vibrates again, and I slide my leg back, pressing it against the chair, doing my best to trap it so no one can see it. I wish so badly I could see why it updated. “Um,” I say. “I should know what his position at the museum is … but, hmm. He might be a curator. That sounds smart, and he’s very smart.”
Mom exhales loudly. “They met through mutual connections,” she adds quickly. “Lottie isn’t one to spend too much time at museums. She doesn’t understand the organizational structure.”
My brows pinch together as I glare at my mom. She’s making me sound stupid. Sure, it’s my oversight that I didn’t get Bodan’s exact job title. In my defense, I have only hung out with him two times. Both times she was breathing down my neck.
“What’s he like?” Beau leans over the table, still grinning. “Personality-wise.”
“Well, he’s smart since he works at the museum.” I stir my potatoes with my fork. Not because they need it. It’s just nice to have something to do with my hands. “He’s busy, and he’s very handsome.”
“I think the handsome part is mostly keeping her preoccupied,” Mom says with a chuckle, and everyone laughs. I shouldn’t risk it, but I steal another glance at my phone. Tyson’s skating fast, his jersey clinging to him, and he looks so good my eyes practically pop out of my head.
Why didn’t I start watching hockey earlier?
My cheeks ache from the effort of not smiling.
“Are you going to try long-distance dating?” Trey asks, keeping the conversation going. I’m starting to resent that nobody has anything else to talk about.
“No,” I say too fast. Then I slow myself down. “We shouldn’t have to do distance. He lives here, so while the Senate is in session, we’ll be together, but even when Mom’s not in session, our family has been spending more and more time in DC. I’m not sure we’ll head back to Mapleton. I guess there’s really no reason for me to. It’s a little too soon to think that far. We’ll figure things out.”
Mom’s hand lands lightly on my wrist. It’s clearly a warning disguised as affection. “Lottie’s been balancing her new relationship with work so well. Bodan is a joy to have around.”
I smile a toothy grin, even though the only thing I’m managing is not tilting my phone so the whole table sees exactly what I’m watching.
The questions keep coming. Where did we meet? What do I like most about him? And on and on. I answer with borrowed details, trying my hardest not to flat-out lie. My knee bounces when I can faintly see Tyson score a goal. At that point, I have to cough to cover my excitement.
Finally, Dad changes the conversation to talk about crypto investing, and I slink down into my chair and wait for everyone to finish their food. By the time chairs scrape back on the marble floor, it feels like this dinner has taken an eternity. Everyone is polite as Mom escorts them to the door. She’s laughing in that polished way she reserves for people she considers important.
The second I’m dismissed, I bolt upstairs.
Relieved to be free, oxygen fills my lungs all the way. Rushing to my room, I flop on my bed and pull out my phone, turning up the volume. The game is almost over. It’s third period, and people are booing.
The Stripes pull their goalie, and my eyes glue to the screen. The puck is in play, and the guys spar pretty hard until someone on Ty’s team makes a shot that goes right into the empty net, bringing the lead up to 4-1.
