Page 11 of Boyfriend
“Leave it out there for now. And you and I can drink it later,” he says, his voice richening to a suggestive pitch. “If you’re into that.”
Wait. Now hold on a second. Did Weston just proposition me? For real? I might do a happy dance right here on Lila’s fussy new rug.
“Hello, sir,” Weston says in the next breath. “You must be Dr. Ritter.”
And sure enough, my stepfather is right here with us, reaching out a hand to shake Weston’s. “Call me Dalton,” he says.
They introduce themselves to each other while I stand here feeling befuddled. A second ago—when Weston suggested we save the wine for later—it felt so real. My mind offered up a few naughty ideas on command.
But now I realize that Weston probably saw Dalton approaching and whispered to me because it made us look like a convincing couple. Just a hot hockey player having a private moment with his girlfriend, right?
That has to be it. Weston is just doing his best to nail this acting job.
And it’s too damn bad. Because white wine and a hookup with Weston Griggs would be the most fun I’ve had since…ever.
“Abbi?” Dalton’s voice breaks through my reverie. “Are you coming?”
“Yes,” I say quickly.
Weston takes my hand in his and gives it a friendly squeeze. And that feels nice, too.
It’s all pretend, Abbi, I coach myself. Don’t you forget it.
Four
Mr. Smooth Has Fled the Building
Weston
Mr. Smooth must be losing his touch. I nearly propositioned Abbi under her stepfather’s nose. Awkward much?
Now Abbi is looking at me like she doesn’t quite know what to think. And who could blame her? I should have been more patient before breaking out my hey baby, let’s drink wine and dance the naked tango speech.
This girl, though. She makes me a little stupid. I’ve got to pull myself together.
After hanging up our coats, I follow Abbi and her stepfather through a fancy-ass house to a gleaming kitchen. “It smells amazing in here,” I say, because it does. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not a thing,” Lila crows, the corkscrew in her hands. “Would you like a glass of wine? I also have beer.”
“I’ll have a glass at the table,” I say. “I don’t drink much during the hockey season.”
“Unless you lose a game,” Abbi points out. “Then it’s like the whole team is on fire and beer is the only thing that will extinguish it.”
I let out a bark of laughter because she’s right. “Good thing we don’t lose very often.”
“Good thing,” she says with a little toss of her head. Then she smiles at me, and this weird date feels like the smartest thing I’ve ever done.
Sometimes you just have to put yourself out there in the universe, you know? Hang up a flyer and see what happens. Maybe the cutest girl at Moo U will call your name.
* * *
We make some small talk in the kitchen for a while, until Lila announces that dinner will be served momentarily. Abbi and I help to ferry several dishes through to a dining room with a large round table containing five chairs, five gleaming china plates, and enough silver and crystal to stock a palace.
I pull out Abbi’s chair for her, and she gives me a glance of unguarded appreciation.
Yeah, Mr. Smooth is back. And he’s going to close the deal later.
I sit down beside her. And that’s when an unfamiliar guy sort of slumps into the room. Midtwenties. Dark, shapeless hair. Beefy face and body. He wears the half-alert expression of someone who’s just awoken from a nap.
