Page 28 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)
Gabrielle
We didn’t see Maverick on Saturday or Sunday. I know Damon texted him to see if he could come over, but my son never told me Maverick’s reason for saying no.
The breathing room was welcomed.
Not that Maverick was smothering us or anything, but I needed to clear my head and not be so flustered by his … everything .
Was I continuing on my cowardly path of avoiding him? I sure was. But for now, I couldn’t think of any other solution.
Sunday night, I cooked an enormous roast with all the sides, even Yorkshire pudding, and had my cousins, their kids, and Jagger over for dinner.
Of course, Damon asked if he could invite Maverick too, and while I didn’t say no, I exhaled a deep sigh of relief when Maverick said he couldn’t make it.
Damon, unfortunately, pouted the entire night, barely engaging with his cousins, or Jagger, as they played video games in my living room before dinner.
“So, how goes things with the hockey stud?” Naomi asked as she stirred the gravy.
Danica was busy pushing the Brussels sprouts around the cast-iron frying pan, and Raina—who had freaky good knife skills—carved the roast. I’d just finished mashing the potatoes and was now transferring them to a smaller bowl.
I glanced at Naomi out of the corner of my eye. “Nothing ‘goes.’”
Her brows climbed until they hid beneath her dark, swoopy, wavy bangs. “Touchy.”
“I’m avoiding him,” I murmured, dropping my voice low so nobody in the living room could hear me.
“Because why?” Raina asked.
“Because he makes her all tingly in the pants,” Naomi replied before I could. “And she doesn’t like being tingly in her pressed slacks. Right, Gabs?” She elbowed me.
I deepened my glare. “The man is fifteen years younger than me. I should not —I can not be having tingles for him. So the easiest thing to do is not be around him.”
Even Danica made a face like I needed to get my head out of my ass.
“He’s an adult. You’re an adult,” Naomi said. “Where is the felony, counselor? Argue me that.”
“Doesn’t have to be illegal for it to just feel wrong,” I snapped back.
“I know I said earlier that it’s out of your character to do anything reckless,” Raina said, slicing the roast perfectly thin. “But maybe you should?”
I shook my head. “New topic, please.”
They all rolled their eyes. “So, what? You’re just going to tell Damon he can’t invite Maverick over anymore? How do you think that’s going to go over with your moody teenager?” Naomi asked.
“I haven’t said anything like that to Damon. He’s invited Maverick over both yesterday and today, but Maverick said he was busy and couldn’t. I’m sure he’ll come over again, and when he does, I will—”
“Hide in your room like a weirdo,” Raina finished.
“Exactly.”
They all snorted.
“I’m done with this conversation,” I said with my authoritative mom-voice as I carried the mashed potatoes over to the dining room table.
I caught my cousins all exchange smirks as I made my way back to the kitchen to grab more food.
“When was the last time you … didn’t take care of things yourself?” Naomi asked, turning off the burner and grabbing the gravy boat—our aunt Dolores’ vintage china one with the green and white Westbury pattern.
I glanced at her. “None of your business.”
“Which means you can’t remember,” she teased.
“Can you remember the last time you didn’t take care of things yourself?” I countered, carrying the bowl of Yorkshire puddings and the bowl of steamed peas to the table. “Besides Raina, can any of us?”
Danica went pink in the cheeks and Naomi looked properly put in her place.
Truth be told, until Raina got together with Jagger, all four of us had been stuck in a sexual drought.
Of our own making, of course, but a drought, nonetheless.
We just didn’t have time for relationships, and as far as casual encounters on the island went …
well, San Camanez didn’t really have the menu for it.
Not that I’d ever done anything casual. My one other “relationship” besides my husband was a contractual one with no feelings.
It was purely sexual for both of us, but it wasn’t casual.
We both knew we would do better in school with the tension release, were attracted to each other, and I trusted him.
That was it. That was enough. That was all I could manage with two small children at home and a full course load.
Add in all of our emotional and sexual trauma from our husbands, and we were the celibate Vino Vixens who had healthy relationships with our vibrators.
We finished carrying all the plates and bowls to the table, then called to the children—and Jagger—to wash up and join us. Jagger made a noise that had Raina running to his side, when he peeled himself up from the couch with the help of his cane.
“I’m fine,” he said, his face set tight. “I can do it.”
I knew my cousin felt guilty about the injuries Jagger had sustained rescuing her son, Marco, from his kidnappers. But if the two of them didn’t sort their shit out, the grief was going to eat her up, and he was going to get frustrated with her babying him.
Everyone washed their hands and joined us at the table. “Hat off,” I said to Damon, who wore a Portland Storm ball cap.
He rolled his eyes, but removed his hat and took his seat.
“So, Maverick’s going to be on the Pucktastic podcast, hey?” Jagger said, grabbing the plate of sliced roast beef and dropping a few pieces onto his plate.
“What’s that?” I asked, thanking Laurel for passing me the peas.
He shrugged. “Dunno, really. Jillian, one of our servers, was going bonkers about it today at the pub. Apparently, the host is this amazing young woman who used to play rep hockey herself. She does great interviews with athletes, but also goes deeper into more sports politics and stuff. Jillian said Maverick did the interview yesterday, and Jasmine—the host—is going to try to get it uploaded tomorrow.”
I pivoted my gaze to Damon. “Have you heard of her?”
He shook his head, brought out his phone, and was most likely Googling it.
“That’s super cool,” Naomi said. “We’ll have to give it a listen.”
I scooped some mashed potatoes onto my plate.
The kids all did what they always did when we had mashed potatoes—had a competition over who could make the best volcano.
The sides needed to be sturdy enough to contain the gravy a.k.a.
the lava, but you couldn’t make the mountain any higher than the Yorkshire puddings.
It was one of the ways we got the kids to actually eat when they were younger and far pickier eaters.
My mind flowed back to Maverick. The last thing I needed was to hear Maverick’s deep, raspy rumble.
That would just make my perimenopause symptoms get more intense.
I was awfully curious about what he and the sports podcaster discussed though.
Maybe there would be a transcribed version I could read?
“Fantastic as always, Gabs,” Raina said, smiling in contentment as she chewed her food.
Hums and nods of agreement filtered around the table.
“Feels like we’re missing someone though,” Naomi added, quirking one corner of her mouth at me.
“Mav,” Damon said, all somber and sullen at the other end of the table. “I don’t know why he couldn’t come for dinner.”
“He’s been hanging out with Logan—my cousin—and his friends. Logan mentioned that he, Maverick, Renée, and Penny—Renée’s friend and another server—were going to go grab tacos and watch a movie at Penny’s.”
A flicker of something unpleasant in my belly made me wince.
I knew what Penny looked like, but I didn’t really know her.
She lived in the in-law suite on the McIntosh acreage.
The McIntoshs were a legacy family on the island, but none of them currently lived here.
Rather, they rented out their farmhouse to Leslie Blythe, who was a firefighter and co-owned Dirt Flingers—the garden center—and her wife, Phia, a massage therapist at Unger Wellness.
Penny lived in the suite just off of the main house.
She was closer to Maverick’s age, and if Logan and Maverick were getting closer, it made sense that maybe he would start to get closer to Logan’s girlfriend’s best friend.
I swallowed down the bitter taste on the back of my tongue. I had no claim on Maverick. In fact, him getting together with Penny would be a good thing.
Scooping up some of the sautéed Brussels sprouts, I shoved them into my mouth. Naomi, Raina, and Danica’s eyes were like six hot laser beams on my forehead and I finally lifted my gaze to theirs.
I glared at them. “Leave it alone,” I mouthed.
They all rolled their eyes.
“See,” I finally said to Damon, “Maverick is just making some more friends on the island. I’m sure he’ll be by next week to see you.”
My son seemed less convinced and just hung his head until his hair flopped over his eyes.
Conversation continued to drift benignly around the table until we all sat back and patted our stuffed bellies.
“I want more,” Jagger said, “but I can’t.
I physically … can’t.” He pressed his fist to his mouth to smother a burp.
Normally, the big, blue-eyed man with the round, wire-framed glasses sported a thick, long-ish beard, but his cheekbone was shattered and his nose was broken when he rescued Marco.
So the doctors had to shave off his beard to put metal plates in his face during surgery.
His facial hair was growing back fast, and thick, though.
In the next month or so, it’d be like nothing happened.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t need the cane either, and it’d really be like nothing ever happened.
The kids helped clear the table, and while Jagger offered to help, Raina told him to go sit down and put his leg up.
He shot her a glare, but it softened when she blew him a kiss.
My cousins and I got to work cleaning up the table as Jagger and the boys returned to playing video games and the girls went off to Laurel’s room.