Page 7 of Get Me to the Starting Line
“Good, then he gets to come too.”
“Do I have a choice?” I rub the back of my neck. As much as I dislike being in the spotlight, I also don’t love it when people talk about me as if I’m not here. I’m hard to miss, taking up half the table we’re sitting at.
“Unless you want to incur the wrath of Leah—”
“You don’t,” Adam interrupts. “Trust me. You don’t.”
Sighing, I drop some cash on the table and the three of us head out. Waiting outside is an Uber, but it’s so small there’s no way all three of us are going to fit.
“I figured this might happen.” Mateo sighs. “I called for two, but the other one is taking a little longer. Do you mind if Adam and I go ahead? We’re already a bit late.”
“Late for what?” Adam asks but he’s ignored.
“That’s fine. I have my truck. Text me the address.”
“As long as you swear not to tell Leah I ruined the surprise.” Mateo looks so serious I’m starting to get a little nervous about meeting Paige’s sister.
“Scout’s honour,” I say, raising my hand in salute.
“Were you actually a Scout?”
“I was.”
“Okay, good. I’ll text you the address.”
Adam and Mateo wave as they get in the car and take off. My phone pings a moment later.
Mateo Ruiz
Surprise engagement party at the Vancouver Harbour, we’ll be on the big giant houseboat to the left.
Fuck.
I hate being on the water. Give me ice any day, but being on a boat? Dealing with my motion sickness and a bunch of people I don’t know? Sounds like a nightmare I had once. I should’ve asked for more details before agreeing to be a groomsman.
My black truck is so enticing, practically begging me to drive in the other direction. When I was shopping for vehicles for the first time after getting my first paycheque from the NHL, I’d wanted to buy a cool sports car. Something super sleek. But it turns out, when you’re 6’5” and two hundred and twenty pounds, sleek sports cars are not comfortable.
There’s no flying under the radar for me, so I went with the biggest truck I could find. It’s practical too—all my goalie gear fits in the bed and doesn’t stink up the cab.
The engine roars to life and I cautiously pull out into the street, aware of the size of my truck. Making sure I have enough room, I head to the harbour. We aren’t far, thank goodness, and the usual Vancouver traffic isn’t too bad. I arrive in good time and find my way to the houseboat.
I swear the damn thing rocks as soon as I step onto it, immediately making me feel a little queasy.
The captain gives me directions to the party happening on the open top deck. I ignore her attempts at flirting, pretending I’m needed elsewhere and can’t stick around for chit-chat. In reality, I have no interest in her.
When I turn to walk down the dark hallway leading to the stairs, a wave must crash against the boat, rocking it. I try to keep my feet steady, pretending I’m on the ice, and engage all my stabilizing muscles as my stomach roils.
I try to focus on anything else—the beige walls, the wooden railings beneath my grip, the people lingering at the base of the stairs. The sensation of the rocking boat hits me again, except this time I don’t think the boat moved. I’m unsteady on my feet as I take slow steps and pin my stare to an unmoving spot.
It doesn’t do any good, though, because I stumble, crashing right into a petite woman with short hair carrying a small child.
There’s no way to stop the collision no matter how hard I try. Dread replaces the nausea because I know I could seriously hurt them. Instead of bowling them over, I instinctively reach out and wrap my arms around the pair as I stumble into the wall, protecting them both from my impact.
“What the fuck?” the woman gasps, startled by my sudden attack.
“S-Sorry,” I mutter as she disentangles herself from me.
“Did you have to grab us?” Her brows are pinched over bright green eyes. Green like poison with the way she’s glaring. She looks ready to kick my ass.
