Page 17

LENA

I stare into my drawers at the limited wardrobe I managed to grab from Brad's apartment. Sunday dinner with the Stag family. What does one wear to meet an entire family of superstars?

I could ask my roommate, but we’ve barely spoken since we kissed and got high together the other day.

The kiss.

I finally settle on dark jeans and a forest green tank that doesn't make me look like I'm trying too hard. Maybe, I hope.

A knock on my door makes me jump. "Almost ready?" Alder calls through the wood.

"Five minutes," I reply, reaching for my makeup bag.

"No rush."

I hear him hesitate outside the door as if there's more he wants to say. But then his footsteps retreat down the hall, and I exhale.

I finish getting ready, trying to tamp down my nerves. It's just dinner, I tell myself, with about twenty professional athletes and their closest relatives. No pressure.

When I emerge, Alder is waiting by the door, car keys in hand. He's wearing mesh shorts and a navy Pittsburgh University shirt, making his eyes appear impossibly bluer. Gordie sits at his feet, looking forlorn at being left behind.

"You look nice," Alder says, his gaze flickering over me before quickly returning to Gordie.

"Thanks. So do you." I fidget with my purse strap. "I feel like I should bring something. Wine? Dessert?"

"Just yourself," he assures me. “There will be an ocean of food.”

I swallow. "Should I be nervous?"

"Absolutely not," he says, then immediately undermines this with: "Well, maybe a little. Uncle Tim will be there."

"Your lawyer uncle?"

"Yeah, he's kind of intense. Very nice on the inside, though.” Alder hesitates. "I haven't really told them anything about..." He gestures vaguely between us.

"About our arrangement?" I supply.

"About any of it." He runs a hand through his hair. "They know you’re staying here."

A moment of awkward silence stretches between us, both of us carefully, not to mention the kiss that's been hanging unspoken in the air since that night at Brad's.

"We should probably have some kind of story," I suggest.

"It's fine. They're just my family." He waves a hand dismissively, already opening the door. "They'll be too busy arguing about Gunnar's wedding menu to interrogate us."

His confidence is not remotely reassuring.

The Stag family home is a sprawling Craftsman-style house in Squirrel Hill, not far from the universities. When we arrive, the driveway is already filled with cars, forcing Alder to park halfway down the block.

"Last chance to bail," he jokes as we walk up the sidewalk.

"Would we be ordering pizza instead? "

"God. No. Mom would hunt us down and force-feed us her lasagna."

As if on cue, the front door swings open, revealing a statuesque woman with silver-streaked dark hair and Alder's jawline.

"You're late," she announces, though her smile is warm. "And you must be Lena." She opens her arms. "I'm Juniper.”

Before I can extend a handshake, I'm enveloped in a hug that smells of basil and expensive shampoo.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Stag," I say when she releases me.

"Juniper, please," she corrects, ushering us inside. "I kept my name, you know. Couldn't bear to give up the alliteration."

The house is a beautiful chaos of noise and activity. I count at least fifteen people in the open living and dining areas, many of them tall, blond, and unmistakably related to Alder. Gunnar spots us first, waving from where he sits with a curvy brunette who must be his fiancée, Emerson.

"The baby returns," he calls. "And he's brought the tooth fairy."

I feel Alder tense beside me, but Juniper swats Gunnar's arm as we approach.

"Behave," she warns, then gently pushes me toward Emerson. "Lena, meet the bride-to-be. Em, this is Lena, Alder's friend."

I catch the careful phrasing and wonder how much Juniper actually knows or suspects.

Emerson stands to greet me, and I'm struck by how she's built similarly to me—curved hips, full chest, soft arms. She's wearing a sundress that highlights rather than hides her figure and carries herself with easy confidence.

"So, you're the infamous new team dentist," she says with a grin. "And Alder's mystery woman from the soccer match."

I flush. "I don't know about infamous... "

"Are you kidding? The photo of you two was all over social media. Cara's been complaining about how you stole her thunder after that assist." Despite her words, Emerson's tone is friendly. "Come sit with me. I need a break from floral arrangements."

I glance at Alder, who nods encouragingly. "Go ahead. I'll get us drinks."

I join Emerson on the couch, where she immediately pulls out her phone to show me wedding food options. It's a surprisingly effective icebreaker, and I find myself relaxing as we discuss the merits of various Pittsburgh traditions like cookie tables and pierogis.

"You have to understand," Emerson explains, "marrying into this family means incorporating hockey somehow. Juniper's already suggested an ice sculpture."

"Of hockey sticks?"

"Of stags. Like, actual deer. On ice." She rolls her eyes, but her affection is obvious. "This family takes their name very seriously."

"I noticed the tattoo," I admit. "On Alder's shoulder."

"The family tat? They all have it. Even Cara's talking about getting one, and she's just dating Wes." Emerson leans closer. "Between us, I'm holding out until the wedding. Gives Gunnar something to look forward to."

I laugh, genuinely enjoying her company. Across the room, I spot a slim woman with an athlete's posture who must be Cara. She's watching us with thoughtful eyes, reminding me that she saw Alder and me at her game and how we used her match for our petty revenge.

Alder returns with drinks, handing me a glass of white wine. "Mom's interrogating Tucker about his removable tooth,” he explains. "I barely escaped."

"Tucker’s here?" I scan the room, looking for Alder's twin.

"He's in the kitchen, trying to escape mom," Alder says. "Food's almost ready. "

A tall, distinguished-looking man approaches us, his expression unreadable. "Alder," he says, extending his hand. "Good to see you."

"Uncle Tim." Alder's smile tightens slightly. "This is Lena Sinclair, the new team dentist. Lena, this is my uncle, Tim Stag, attorney at law and family nuisance."

Tim's handshake is firm, his assessment of me is unmistakable. "Dr. Sinclair. I've heard a great deal about you." His gaze flicks between Alder and me. Before I can respond, Juniper calls everyone to dinner.

Alder places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the dining room. "Ignore him," he whispers. "He's always looking for problems to solve."

The Stag dining table could easily seat thirty, and it's nearly full tonight. I find myself seated between Alder and Gunnar, with Tucker across from us.

"Hi, Tucker," I say. "How's the tooth?”

His eyebrows rise in surprise, and he spits his partial denture into his hand. "Good. You think I should be worried?”

I laugh. “I think you’re just fine.”

Dinner commences with a flurry of passed dishes and overlapping conversations.

Juniper's lasagna is indeed magnificent, and I find myself genuinely enjoying the chaotic Stag family dynamic.

It's so different from meals with my mom and whichever boyfriend of hers we were living with, which were often silent affairs punctuated by critiques of my appearance or eating habits.

As the meal progresses, I notice Uncle Tim watching Alder and me with calculating eyes. Eventually, he clears his throat during a pause in conversation.

"So, Alder," he says, his voice carrying down the table. "I've been seeing quite a lot about you in the press lately."

Conversations quiet as attention shifts to us. Alder's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "Have you? "

"Indeed. You and Dr. Sinclair seem to be generating quite a bit of attention." Tim's tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp. "Particularly at Cara's match the other night."

Cara, seated next to Juniper, looks up. "Yeah, thanks for bringing your drama to my game, by the way. Very subtle."

"We were there to support you," Alder protests.

"Please," Cara says. "You were there to stir up gossip and fan flames.”

I feel heat rising in my cheeks as all eyes turn to us. Wes drapes his arm protectively around Cara’s shoulders and frowns at Alder.

"I'm curious," Tim continues, "if either of you have considered the professional implications of your... friendship. The team has strict policies about fraternization. I know because I wrote them."

I open my mouth to explain that we're just roommates, just friends, but Alder speaks first.

"We're having a summer fling, Uncle Tim. That's all."

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, as he continues. Gunnar must have dropped his fork because I hear a clatter from his direction.

Somehow, Alder keeps on talking. “Besides, the season's over. It's not fraternization if we're not actively working together, right?"

I can feel my eyes widening and my cheeks burning. A summer fling? That's what he's calling this? That's what he's telling his family about me?

Around the table, reactions vary from concern to amusement. Juniper appears troubled, while Gunnar barely suppresses a laugh. Tucker watches me closely, his expression unreadable.

"I'm not sure the organization would see it that way," Tim says carefully. "There are optics to consider, especially after the unfortunate end to the season."

"I think what Tim's trying to say," Juniper interjects, "is that we're concerned about the timing. For both of you." Her kind eyes meet mine. "Rebounds can be... complicated."

"It's not a rebound," Alder insists as I sit frozen beside him, still processing his 'summer fling' declaration. "It's just... uncomplicated fun."

Cara snorts. "Is that what you call using my match as your coming out party?"

"We weren't?—"

“Save it,” she interrupts. "Half the stadium was talking about you two instead of the game."