“What is—did you make thisyourself?” her eyes widen, and she looks up at me.
“A few months ago,” I admit, cheeks going hot when some of the others glance over, curious about her reaction. This was back when I needed something to do before coming to Milwaukee. Something to keep my hands busy so they didn’t do something that would violate my parole. “I took a wine-making class, and it just finished aging. So, I thought I’d bring it as a gift.”
“Wren—no, please, that’s so special! We can’t take it.”
“In all honesty, it’s probably wretched,” I laugh, waving my hand like a fly is in front of me. “Taking it off my hands would be a kindness.”
Ruby shakes her head, holds the wine in her hand like it’s something precious. “You’re too funny. Seriously, thank you—we’ll get it chilled and do a little taste test later.”
The moment she steps aside, Maverick appears, hugging me and thanking me for coming. “Homemade wine?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to poach my wife.”
“If I could,” I joke, “I would.”
A filthy rich, gorgeous partner would solve a lot of my problems. Although, if my dad found out about it, I’d have to worry about his constant attempts to get some of that money. Or the inference from him that it was the only reason for the marriage.
“Whatever you’re thinking, Ms. Strategy,” Maverick warns, “just know that we already have a kid together. She’s mine.”
That makes me laugh, then Maverick is disappearing into the crowd again, and I’m stuck in that awkward limbo of the person who’s just come in the door. That is, until I see Sloane’s arm waving from across the room, ushering me over.
“Come on,” she says, gesturing to her brother across the table. “Mandy is a no-show, so we need another to play.”
It’s a pool table. I clear my throat, open my mouth to tell them that it probably wouldn’t be fair for me to compete, but in the next second, Luca is at my side.
Pressing a pool cue into my hand, he says, “Let me guess, you’re some sort of pool expert, aren’t you?” His mouth is close enough to my ear that it makes a shiver run the length of my spine.
I glance at him, and the expression on my face must be all he needs.
“Great,” he says under his breath. “Don’t tell them.”
“What happened to being Mr. Honest?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.
In the weeks since that first good strategy meeting, they’ve only gotten better and better. On a few occasions, I’ve let some of my colors show. Like the time we got locked out of the meeting room, and I picked the door open, Luca watching me with interest the entire time.
But the difference is that he’d just breezed past me inside, getting right down to business without focusing on it. Or making obvious comments about what the lock-picking would mean.
More and more we’re able to build on one another’s ideas, adjusting our strategies accordingly. Luca comes in with the intimate knowledge of hockey, and I supply my observations of the players, teams, atmospheres, and arenas.
Uncle Vic eyes us suspiciously each time he finds us laughing together, or in a heated debate about a player, or another team’s strategy. When he’d mentioned Luca and me, our sudden camaraderie to me, I just asked him if he wanted us to go back to not liking one another.
Sometimes though, Luca still jumps to not believing me on things. Like last week, when he had been incredulous after I said the Canuck’s coach was cheating on his wife. Maybe I’d been a little abrasive with the delivery—my phone was vibrating incessantly in my pocket, no matter how many times I was sure I’d set it to silent, and it was a constant dampener on my mood.
“No way.” He’d crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in that obstinate way I’d come to recognize. “I know that guy—typical Canadian. Nicest guy you’ve ever met. And totally devoted to her. There’s just no way on this one, Beaumont. You’re wrong.”
“There are a few things you fail to realize,” I’d countered, using the voice I knew he hated. “First, that the coach might be different around you. Men act differently around other men.”
“Oh, now you’re an expert on men.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. And the second thing is that nice guys can still cheat on their wives. In fact, sometimes outward kindness is a front for internal misalignment. Which is part of the reason I’m calling adultery.”
Luca shook his head. The affair was in the news the next day—not only was he cheating on his wife, but he was doing it with a friend of theirdaughter’s.
“That is freaky, Wren,” Luca had said, shaking his head in amazement, showing me the headline on his phone. “We should have bet on it,”
I’d only barely kept myself from telling him that I wasnotallowed to bet on things anymore.
Now, goosebumps erupt over my skin when Luca leans past me to grab a cue, his hand braced against the table. I can smell his cologne, something heady and surely expensive. He lowers hisvoice so Sloane and Callum can’t hear him, “Those two arefartoo cheeky about being the best at things. You should see them on a dance floor. It will be nice to beat them.”
My cheeks warm at his confidence in my skills despite never seeing me play. The quiet, companionable feeling of us being on a team, going against someone else instead of each other.
