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“If I don’t return at midnight, I’ll turn into a pumpkin.”
“Noted.” There’s a tiny pause, and I clear my throat. “I’m sorry about … that.” I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until a lock of hair falls into my eyes. I brush it away. “It really wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It wasn’t you with two women practically sitting in your lap?” Her smile is wry. One brow arches, and I chuckle.
But I’m also seriously glad Bailey didn’t walk by a minute sooner to see the womenactuallyon my lap.
“You’re messing with me. Yes—it was that. But it just happened and?—”
“It was me.” A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, one attached to Van. “I’m a very bad influence. Are you looking for a bad influence in your life?”
“No,” I say. The word comes out somewhere between a growl and a groan. “She’s definitely not.”
Bailey laughs. “No, thank you.”
“This is Bailey,” I tell Van, debating on whether I should give him some context or if doing so would make the whole thing worse. Or give him the wrong idea.
Too late. Van looks pointedly between us. I can almost hear the gears in his head grinding to a stop. He turns fully to Bailey with a smile.
“I’m Van. I play hockey with this fool.”
I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. Or smiling at her. Or standing so close to her.
“Nice to meet you.”
Bailey’s voice is muted, soft enough to make me want to lean closer so I don’t miss a word. Or so Van’s not closer to her than I am. She reaches forward, her small hand disappearing in hispalm. When Van lifts it to his lips, his eyes are on mine, daring me to react. I don’t take the bait.
Even though I’d like to rip her away from him, yank Van by the back of his shirt collar, and drag him right out of Mulligans.
The flush in Bailey’s cheeks spreads, reaching the tips of her ears and even her neck. A swell of protectiveness rises in my throat.
I crowd closer, nudging him away with my shoulder. “Dude, she doesn’t want your germs. Sorry,” I tell Bailey. “He’s incorrigible.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Van says, looking pleased with himself. “What’sincorrigiblemean?”
“Google it,” I tell him.
This earns me a laugh from Bailey, even though she still looks hesitant, like she’s not quite sure how to respond to any of this. Shy Bailey is back, it seems. She takes the tiniest step closer to me, like I make her feel safer.
Good. I like that.
With no warning, Van curls an arm around my neck and starts to ruffle my hair. “Dude. Get off!”
We scuffle, and I shoot Bailey an apologetic look from under Van’s armpit, which is not a location I ever want to be. She watches, her toffee eyes wide.
“So,” Van grunts, his mouth way too close to my ear. I’m used to having the guys invade my space, but usually it’s on the ice. The feeling of Van’s beard on my neck in this bar istooclose. “Is she the next hopeful Mrs. Eli Hopkins?”
Now I’m the one with him in a chokehold, breathing hard and speaking right into his ear where he’s not possibly able to misunderstand me. “Shut up about that. Okay? She’s a … friend.”
The last thing I’mevergoing to bring up again around Bailey is the whole marriage thing. It was a disaster, even if I didn’tintend to even tell her. I picture her on the shelter floor, eyes glistening and cheeks red from coughing. No—definitely not doing that again.
It took me months to get her to feel comfortable enough to talk to me. I’m lucky she’s still talking to me now after even joking about my situation.
“Right. Because guy and girl friendships worksoooowell,” Van says on a laugh.
“Yeah, like you’d know. Have you ever tried to be friends with a girl?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to because Van lives firmly in the men-and-women-can’t-be-friends camp and cannot be convinced otherwise.
