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Dinner’s delicious, just as Gigi promised. I don’t say much, despite her looks of encouragement. The only time things really get animated is when we discuss my teammate Austin Pope’s performance in the World Juniors yesterday. For one glorious moment, Garrett Graham acknowledges my existence.
“Is his skating really that good, or was that a fluke?” Garrett asks. “I don’t remember seeing that speed in his game film.”
“He’s that good,” I confirm. “His speed is deceptive. He fools you into thinking he’s slower, just moseying along, and then he shifts into a whole other gear and you’re like, What in the actual hell?”
I take a sip of my water, then set down the glass.
“If you’re not against picking freshmen for your Hockey Kings camp, Pope would be a great pick,” I tell Garrett. Hesitant, because I don’t want him to think I’m bringing it up for my own selfish purposes. Truthfully, I’ve given up on being selected as a coach.
“Yeah?” He sounds skeptical. As expected, he’s eyeing me like I’m running some con on him.
“Definitely. I know he’s young, but he’s a good kid. Patience of a saint. He stays late at the rink all the time to help his teammates improve their game. He’d be an asset to any camp.”
Garrett nods, the suspicion fading from his expression. “Oh. Well, we do try to avoid freshmen because they’re too close in age to some of the boys at camp. But I’ll keep him in mind when the time comes. Thanks.”
I’m just thinking we made progress when Gigi reaches for my hand. As I instinctively lace my fingers through hers, her father’s gaze tracks the movement. Then he gets all irritable again, as if suddenly remembering I’m dating his daughter and not just some dude with whom he’s discussing the World Juniors.
The finger interlocking was probably a boneheaded move on my part, but I can’t just pretend she’s not my girlfriend, so I let her squeeze my hand. I notice Hannah watching us with an indecipherable expression.
“All right, you know the drill. I cook, you guys clean,” Hannah says after we’ve demolished our meals. “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and start a fire.”
Gigi has to use the bathroom, so now I’m in the kitchen gathering dishes with her dad and brother. Both of whom eye me like I’m an international terrorist who somehow wound up in their house.
After a prolonged silence, Wyatt crosses his arms and says, “What do you want with my sister?”
“Wyatt,” Garrett says.
Gigi’s twin glances at his dad. “No, I got this. I’ll tag you in if I need you.” His green eyes return to me. “Well?”
I smother a sigh. “We’re together. Not sure what else you want me to say.”
“Together,” he echoes. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re together.”
“I’m tagging in,” Garrett says. His arms cross too. “Where do you see this going?”
Everywhere.
But I don’t want to say that. I’m not used to talking about my feelings in general, let alone with two men I barely know.
“I’m not exactly sure how to answer that. We’ve been together a while now. It’s going good.” I force myself to meet their respective gazes. “I consider it to be serious.”
Wyatt narrows his eyes. “I looked you up. You beat somebody up in the Juniors.”
I nod. “Yeah, I did.”
“Got an anger problem? Is that what this is?”
“Wyatt,” Garrett chides. Then he raises an eyebrow. “Although I am curious about that particular incident.”
“Guys, stop grilling him.” Gigi walks in, annoyance clouding her face. “Stop it. You don’t have to answer any of their questions, Ryder. In fact, Ryder helped Mom cook, so he doesn’t have to clean. He’s excused.” She jabs her finger at them. “You two do it. We’re going to hang out with Mom, a.k.a. a normal person.”
Then she drags me out of the kitchen.
“Jesus Christ. Thank you,” I murmur when we’re out of earshot.
“Sorry. They can be a little overprotective.”
“A little?”
“Now aren’t you glad you went shopping with me? It’s always good to have some bribery in your back pocket.”
Well, technically, she picked out all the gifts because I don’t know her family well enough to go beyond generic. But my presents do seem to be a hit, especially the sheet music I got Wyatt, which came in a cool metal box. He grudgingly thanks me, looking pleased.
“So, if you have dinner and open gifts on Christmas Eve, what do you do tomorrow?” I ask the Grahams. We’re sitting in the great room, the twinkling lights of the tree casting shadows on the walls. Of course, they have a bunch of old sentimental ornaments, tiny plaster casts of Gigi and Wyatt’s baby feet. It should be nauseating, but I don’t mind it.
“We get lazy.” For a moment, it’s as if Wyatt forgot there’s a fox in his henhouse. He answers me like I’m a normal person and not someone who’s trying to despoil his sister. “We eat leftovers. Break open the boxes of Grandma’s holiday cookies.”
