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“Maybe we’ll get a skate in at the pond down the street,” Gigi pipes up. “I want to see a shootout between you two—” She flicks her finger between Wyatt and me.
He scowls at her. “Please don’t force me to play hockey.”
“You’re good at it.” She sounds exasperated.
“Yeah. Do you know how exhausting it is to be good at something you don’t want to do?”
Garrett snickers. “Ungrateful little shit. I give you all my talent, and what do you do with it? You sing songs.”
“Hey, that’s my talent,” Hannah says.
He’s quickly shamefaced. “Sorry, Wellsy. Your talent is way better than mine. Hands down.”
I think he truly means that. And the sheer love in his eyes almost has me feeling like a voyeur. I never saw my parents look at each other like that. I’ve never seen anyone look at each other like that.
I wonder what people see when I look at Gigi.
Eventually we all head up to bed. I walk her to her bedroom, and she stands on her tiptoes to whisper, “Sneak in when everyone’s asleep?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on.”
“I already told you, I’m not touching you under your father’s roof. This situation is precarious enough.”
“What about sexy texting?”
I stubbornly shake my head. “What if he and I accidentally switch phones?”
“Why would that ever happen? Come on, just one dick pic.”
“What is your obsession with me?” I drawl. “Do I need Jensen to send you his PowerPoint on sex addiction?”
I kiss her good night—on the cheek—and go to the guest room. The bed is insanely comfortable, but for some reason I can’t fall asleep. I toss and turn for a while, finally deciding to raid the liquor cabinet and try to force sleep. One of the dogs follows me silently into the kitchen. The other dog is already down there. Lying on the floor in the adjacent dining room, where Hannah is wrapping presents.
I poke my head in there. “I thought we opened presents already,” I say dryly.
“Oh, this is the second part of the tradition. We pretend all the gifts are gone, and then the kids wake up the next morning and find something extra waiting for them on the kitchen table.”
“That’s a really nice tradition.” I shrug awkwardly. “Mind if I grab a drink? Something harder than water or milk, I mean.”
“Having trouble sleeping?”
“Yeah. Unfamiliar surroundings, I guess.”
“Come on. I got just the trick.”
She leads me down the hall toward the den, which Garrett must also use as his office because there’s a commanding desk and shelves full of awards and framed photographs. There’s an actual shot of Garrett shaking hands with the president, yet my total lack of interest in politics has me moving toward a different photo. A group shot featuring around two dozen people on the dock of a lake.
Hannah follows my gaze. “That’s from our annual Tahoe trip. Garrett always insists on taking a group photo. Nobody is ever prepared, and someone usually falls in the lake.” She shrugs. “You’ll see for yourself this summer.”
“Who says I’ll be there?”
“You will.”
She pours two glasses of whiskey, and we settle on opposite ends of the brown leather couch.
“You love my daughter.”
My head jerks toward her in surprise.
She sips her whiskey, looking amused. “You’ve figured that out, right?”
I gulp my own drink. “It’s still…early.”
“So? When you know, you know.” Her lips twitch as she examines my face. “Got it. We’re still fighting it. Don’t worry, Luke—we’ll save this for another time.” She laughs softly. “Give your head some time to catch up to your heart.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
GIGI
Owen McKay
IT’S NICE HAVING RYDER HERE FOR THE HOLIDAYS. I CAN’T SAY MY dad and Wyatt have fully warmed up to him, but Mom certainly has, and it’s kind of adorable to see the two of them together. They walk the dogs in the snow. He carries her groceries into the house. Listens in rapt attention when she talks about the new singer she’s producing. It’s really sweet.
I wonder if he longs for a maternal figure. He lost his when he was six, and it couldn’t have been easy growing up without his mother. Even worse that his replacement for her was a series of foster moms who never stuck around long enough to care.
On our last night of the break, we hang out alone in my bedroom…with the door open because Ryder wears a chastity belt now. I only managed to convince him to have sex with me twice this week, and that’s after he received multiple assurances that my family would be gone for an ample amount of time. He required a two-hour buffer on either end of the fornication period. His words, not mine.
I’m dating a crazy person.
Now, he’s sprawled on my bed reading a book he grabbed from my father’s study. I know Dad begrudgingly approved of his choice, but he’s being stubborn and doesn’t want to admit he and Ryder might have something in common, so he didn’t comment on it.
