I arriveat Elliot and Brody’s house fifteen minutes late because I changed outfits three times and I’m definitely still underdressed.
“Finally!” Elliot yanks me inside before I can knock. “We were about to send a search party.”
“I got lost,” I lie.
“GPS exists.” She hands me a very full glass of wine. “You know Goldie, that’s Sarah, my best friend visiting from Phoenix?—”
“My husband plays for them,” Sarah interrupts, already topping off the single sip I took. “Tommy Harrington. He played with Brody before he got traded.”
“And I’m Chloe,” the blonde on the couch waves. “Anderson’s better half. Though that’s a low bar. I was just explaining why cowboys are superior to hockey players.”
“They are!” Sarah insists. “Chaps!”
“Hockey players have those thick thighs though,” Goldie counters, sprawled on the couch. “Dex can crack a walnut with his.”
“That’s disturbing,” Chloe says, then pauses. “Anderson probably could too.”
“We tested it,” Goldie admits. “He can.”
“LADIES!” Brody’s head appears from the basement doorway. “Quick question about the wine?—”
“No,” Elliot says without looking. “Whatever it is, no.”
“But I just wanted to?—”
“Basement. Now. Or I tell them about Porkocalypse.”
He disappears immediately.
“Pork...what?” I ask.
“He tried to grind an entire pork shoulder in the kitchen disposal and flooded the first floor,” Sarah supplies. “The fire department was called.”
“Anyway,” Elliot says loudly, “we’re discussing this month’s selection: ‘Star Crossed Skates.’”
“The one where he’s a hockey player and she’s a figure skater who hates hockey players?” Chloe holds up the book. “Literary excellence.”
“I have questions about chapter thirty-five,” Sarah announces. “The bathroom counter scene. Is the height difference really that convenient? Because Tommy’s six-two and I still need a step-stool for that angle.”
“Maybe fictional hockey players are proportioned differently,” Goldie suggests.
“How would that affect logistics?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Everyone turns to stare at me.
“From a medical perspective,” I add weakly.
“Right, medical.” Sarah grins. “Marnie, you work with shirtless hockey players. Have you noticed any... unique proportions?”
“I’ve noticed that Roman has a tattoo on his thigh,” I blurt out, then immediately want to die.
The room explodes.
“His THIGH?” Chloe shrieks.
“Upper thigh or lower thigh?” Goldie demands.
“How much of his thigh have you seen?” Sarah’s leaning forward like this is the most important information she’ll ever receive.
