Page 27 of Offside Bride

He blows me an exaggerated kiss, beaming like he’s just won the Stanley Cup, then skates backward, shooting me a triumphant grin as he takes center ice.

Show-off.

I stick my tongue out at him but instantly regret it when he wags his brows suggestively, mouthing the words, “Later…wife.”

“A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.”

— MIGNON MCLAUGHLIN

8

SAWYER

I'm pacing the foyer, phone pressed to my ear, trying not to wear a hole in the fancy area rug my sister, Siobhan, bought me six months ago. She’d said it gave my house a more feminine touch and that I’d be grateful for it one day. Now that Maggie’s living here, the idea of a feminine touch from my wife takes up a good portion of my thoughts.

“Sawyer, breathe. We’ll figure this out,” Siobhan says over the phone.

“I don’t like that he’s sending you cryptic messages.”

“Dad’s messages really are getting weirder and weirder. They don’t even make sense.”

“Probably best we don’t understand them, sis. The less we know about his ‘business,’ the better.”

“Look on the bright side,” Siobhan quips. “At least we’re not solving crosswords like normal families.”

I run a hand through my hair, messing up the careful styling I’d done earlier for my dinner with the CEO of Sunrise Foods. My only consolation is that the strange messages from Dad are left for Siobhan in inconspicuous ways, so she’s safe for now.

“This is what you’re going to do. Send an email to Uncle Whitey. Make sure it’s traceable so anyone who might bemonitoring your digital trails can read it. Tell him you are disowning Dad and for him to pass it along next time he visits the prison. You are to make it clear you want nothing to do with Dad and that you are completely clueless about the business—about everything. Do you understand?”

“But what if Dad is trying to tell us something important?”

I snort. “No, Siobhan. Let him stew in his own juice for a while.”

Siobhan sighs heavily. “Fine. But what about Mom?”

I hear footsteps on the stairs and turn to see Maggie in a red dress with a slit up the leg the size of the Grand Canyon. My brain short-circuits.

“Uhghuh…” is all I can say, letting the phone slide down my cheek while Maggie descends the stairs. She takes her sweet, sweet time, each step exposing her perfectly fit leg.

“Sawyer? You still there?” Siobhan’s voice echoes over the phone’s speaker.

“Gotta go,” I mumble, ending the call without taking my eyes off Maggie.

“Close your mouth, O’Malley. You’ll catch flies,” Maggie smirks, stepping onto the landing.

I snap my jaw shut, trying to regain my composure. “Took you long enough,” I tease.

“What? It’s my everything shower day.”

Do I really want to know? I shouldn’t ask, but I do anyway. “What the heck is an everything shower?”

Maggie hitches one shoulder and snorts. “That’s between me and my lady garden. Ready to go?”

“I was ready two hours ago, wife.” I reach over to her and run a finger over the slit in her dress. “Although, I don’t think we should ride my Harley tonight.”

“We’ll take my car, then.”

“Actually…” I grin, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small box. “I’ve got something for you.”

---