“Or he’s got a super-bizarre sense of fun.”
Addie’s face melts into a smirk. “Oh, shut up.”
I cock a brow. “And Nick?”
Addie’s smile flashes, her eyes completely dry now. Her voice dips low, glee bursting at the edges. “That boy is hella good, Liv. HELLA. GOOD.”
We plop on the stoop, Addie hugging her knees with a sigh. I’ve never in all my life seen Adeline McAndry swoon over anyone, butthis, this is definitely swooning. It takes her several seconds to compose a sentence that won’t come out like gibberish—which totally thrills me.
“He’s not one for words, but the things he says are the right ones. That cannot be overstated. And in addition to not being shy at all about how much he appreciates my athletic awesomeness, he’s also super thoughtful and a total gentleman.”
“A gentleman?” I arch a brow at her. Seems like super-high praise for a boy who literally may earn a college scholarship for how hard he can nail people into the ground.
“I mean, he held my door! Who does that? And don’t say Grey—let me have my moment. And then today we met at Happy Cow after his practice, and he didn’t get all annoyed and machismo when I forced him to split the check. So after that, we went over to the pedal boats at Shawnee Mission Park—”
“Wait? Pedal boats? Youhatethe lake. Remember when you took those freshwater mussels home from our freshman field trip there, they killed Beluga the betta fish? You started calling it Shawnee Murder Park and wanted your mom to investigate the marina master.”
“Well, yes, but admittedly my case sucked—Beluga’s demise is on me because I put them in the tank. It wasn’t that guy’s fault I didn’t do my research on deadly ammonia spikes caused by decomposing mussels.”
I do a double take. “Who are you?”
She waves her hands overhead. “I’m a whole new woman, Olive Marie.”
“I’d say so.”
“Okay, so we did an hour on the lake and then we were hungry again, so we…”
I listen as she jabbers away, glad we have two hours until dinner.
Grey beats Dad to dinner, arriving smelling of a recent shower and dressed in yet another Nike polo and khakishorts. He’s got a half smile and wink for me when I answer the door after checking my makeup for the millionth time. “Hey, Liv.”
“Hey,” I reply, trying my hardest not to blush, the part of me that worked so hard to deny my initial attraction to him now on overdrive with it all out in the open.
“Is that Grey?” Danielle says, wiping her palms on her apron, dirty from her duty today as head chef. She offers him a hand. “Danielle, Liv’s older sister.”
“The Kansas City Star’s Softball Coach of the Year two years running—the youngest since my mom. It’s a pleasure.”
My sister beams. “Liv, I like him.”
“Grey knows how to make a good first impression,” I say, my cheeks burning.
“That’s what I hear.” All our heads swing around to the door off the garage where Dad is standing in full detective gear: button-up, slacks, and his Glock in a shoulder holster. Sweat has plastered all the wave out of his hair, and he looks totally exhausted from so many back-to-back days, but damn if he isn’t dialed in, with his full cop glare aimed at Grey.
To his credit, Grey squares his shoulders, walks right over, and offers a hand to Dad without a millisecond of hesitation. “Mr. Rodinsky, I’m Grey Worthington. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
Dad checks the grip on Grey’s handshake, but his faceis closed up tight, not betraying whether he’s impressed, annoyed, or anything else. All Dad says is, “I’m going to go change.”
He disappears upstairs, and I introduce Grey to Heather. He and Ry have already talked a few times, so they just exchange chin nods. In the kitchen, we somehow squeeze ourselves around the table, Grey sitting between me and Danielle, and across from Mom and the spot we’ve left for Dad.
When Dad appears, he’s wet down his hair and changed into the shirt he got for winning a department shooting competition last year.
Subtle, Dad.
If Grey’s intimidated, he doesn’t show it. He just spreads a napkin across his lap and tucks into the salad Mom pulled together. Across the table, my sister takes a sip of her wine and lobs a verbal grenade onto the table.
“Dad,” she says, with no prelude, “let Liv play football.”
All the breath leaks out of my lungs as I look from Danielle to Dad. Under the table, Grey finds my hand and cups it in his as the resulting silence spreads. Dad doesn’t say a thing; instead, he pops open a beer. No one else has visibly moved except Ryan, who’s fidgeting in the rolling chair, swiveling nervously between Heather and Mom.
