Page 42

“You should be going to parties,” she said. “You should be having fun with handsome hockey players.” She stroked my shoulder the way I imagined a mother would do it. “He’s not as dumb as he seems, is he?”

I wanted to make a joke, but nothing about Liam Locke was funny. There was nothing dumb about Liam. You only had to watch him deconstruct a defense to know that.

It was his…earnestness that sometimes translated as simple.

“No,” I said.

“Well, then, I say go for it, honey. And don’t do anything that will get you in the papers.”

“I’ll try not to,” I said and ran up the steps to grab what I thought I might need for the pool party.

I’d sold nearly everything of value to pay people back. The clothes and jewelry. The shoes. I really missed those shoes. But I couldn’t sell the lingerie or the swim suits.

From the very back of my dresser, I pulled out the Missoni black bikini I’d only gotten to wear once and shoved it in my bag with my cover up and a pair of sunglasses. I was confident that even if I didn’t belong at this party, at least I’d look like I did. It was cold comfort, but I’d take what I could get at this point.

Dresses that would hold up against the NHL WAGS were not to be found in my closet. So, I thought, why suit up for a battle I would lose? Nope. I pulled on a pair of white linen pants, a pair of wedge sandals I got on sale at Target and a black tube top that I’d been wearing for six years. I put on mascara and lip oil, the only makeup I would allow myself to buy. I was as good as I was going to get.

I glanced at my watch, I had forty-five seconds to spare.

“Oh, you look nice,” Ms. Rene said when I came back downstairs. “Those pants do great things for your caboose.”

“Thank you, Ms. Rene,” I said, kissing her cheek as I ran by. “That’s what I was going for. I’ve got to run. I shouldn’t be late.”

“You better not be.”

Ms. Rene had a real problem with the neighborhood after dark and gave me constant shit for taking the bus home from work long after midnight.

She wasn’t wrong. But I was doing the best I could.

“Lock up after me,” I shouted, and ran out the door to the car thankfully waiting at the curb. I punched in the address Liam had texted me, the driver accepted the ride and we were off.

I sat back, surprised to be excited. Just a little. To be going to a party.

It had been ages since I’d done something fun. Or something that was supposed to be fun. I wasn’t sure I knew how to act.

Harrison’s house was at the very top of the ridge and made Liam’s look like a quaint cottage. It was concrete and steel with one whole wall of glass looking out over the city, surrounded by grass so green it had to be fake. There was a huge patio off to the side, with a big in ground pool. I could hear the music through the car doors.

“You sure aboutthisplace?” the driver asked. His eyes in the rearview mirror told me I didn’t belong here.

No shit, mister.

I thanked the guy and got out. My bag over my shoulder. My heart in my throat. I stepped up to the front door and before I could ring the doorbell, the door was thrown open by two kids. Twins by the looks of them.

The leader, a boy of about ten with Patrick Mahome’s curls, had a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said. “Welcome to our house.”

“You’re the greeter?” I asked with a smile.

“My dad said if I answered the door for an hour he’d pay me ten bucks.” The boy smiled. “Can I take your bag or… you don’t have a coat.”

“I don’t. And I’ll keep my bag.”

Behind him was a little girl. She wore sunglasses and a cover up that had a hood with a unicorn horn. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “What are you serving?”

“I made lemonade.”