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Was it crazy that I felt an outsized sense of pride as I walked into Stephano Mizzoni’s backyard with Clara at my side? I’d felt a shade of the sensation before—the girls I dated were usually gorgeous, and generally made it clear to anyone watching that they thought I was attractive. Or maybe they just thought I was famous. And rich. And could therefore give them things...but it was no great feat convincing one of these women to join me at a team event.
The pride I felt now was matched with something else though, and maybe it related directly to why I’d dated those other girls. It was fear. The superficial women that dated me because of who I was didn’t expect anything beyond what they saw on the surface. But Clara? I wasn’t entirely sure why she was with me. What did she want from me? And why did I feel like I’d move heaven and earth if I could, just to give it to her?
“Sly!” Elks and Gillespie stood next to the barbecue, and greeted us as we rounded the garden path toward the extensive outdoor kitchen and deck next to Mizzoni’s pool.
“Wow, this is really nice,” Clara said, looking around.
I slid an arm around her waist as we stepped onto the deck. “Hey guys. I’d like to introduce you to Clara.”
They stared at me for a beat too long, and I realized they were waiting for the rest of the introduction. Maybe for me to add, “my girlfriend.” But that wasn’t what this was. Not yet, anyway.
“Clara, nice to meet you,” Gillespie said, stepping forward and giving Clara a kiss on the top of her outstretched hand. The guy was always weirdly formal, and there was some speculation that he’d descended from royalty or something, but he said he was from New Jersey, so it didn’t seem likely.
“Glad you could make it,” Freddy Elks told her. “It’s really nice to meet you. I hope you won’t hate us all after you see what we’re really like.”
Clara shook her head and laughed. “I don’t have any preconceived notions about what any of you are like,” she told him. “So I don’t think I’ll be disappointed.”
Elks shot me a look like he couldn’t believe I’d brought such a catch, and then returned his attention to her. “So what do you do with yourself when it’s not hockey season, Clara?”
“Um, pretty much the same things I do when it is hockey season, I guess. When is hockey season?”
Elks and Gillespie shared a look of surprise, and then seemed to mutually decide Clara was telling a joke, and burst out laughing. Clara wrinkled her nose, adorably unsure what she’d said that was so funny. “No offense,” she added quickly.
I shot them a hard look and pulled her away. “Let’s get a drink.”
Mizzoni’s place had an entire bar outside next to the kitchen, where a couple of the other guys were already seated, in deep conversation about something.
“Sly,” Tyler Cornwall said, turning to me as we approached. “Settle an argument for us.”
I frowned at Corny and Simpson, who both looked too invested in whatever they were arguing about for anything good to come from me taking sides. “Just grabbing a drink, guys. Meet Clara.”
“Hey,” Cade Simpson said, shooting her a smile and a nod, and then his face took on a serious expression and he said, “Clara, you help us decide. If you could be either really, really big or really teeny tiny, which one would you choose?”
Corny turned his attention to Clara, and I watched him give her the once-over, feeling my arm tighten instinctively around her waist as he did.
She laughed, a nervous melody, and then said, “well, I guess they’d each have challenges. How big is big? I mean...if you couldn’t ride in a car or fit through doorways or into buildings, that’d be a pretty significant issue. But if you were super small, you’d be in danger all the time. Cats, dogs...getting stepped on. I don’t know.”
“Small is better,” Corny said.
“No,” Simpson argued. “Now we have to decide how big is big. And how small is small?”
Corny nodded while he sipped his beer. “You’re right.”
“We’ll leave you to it. Let us know when you figure it out. Critically important,” I said, ushering Clara to the other end of the bar, and then moving behind it to face her. “What can I get you?”
“This is pretty serious,” she said, regarding the extensive line of alcohol bottles on display along the back wall.
“Mizzoni just moved in a while ago. He’s a little particular, so we’re no longer allowed inside the house.”
Clara laughed. “Why? What’d you do to the house?”
“It wasn’t me,” I assured her. “But I think some of the guys might’ve gotten crumbs on the couch.”
“That’s awful,” she said, barely covering her amusement.
“Making fun of me again?” Mizzoni appeared, stepping through the screen door and sliding it shut behind himself, a bowl of tortilla chips and guacamole in his hands.
“Of course not,” I told him. “That’s so much more fun to do when you’re actually present to witness it.”
