Page 3 of Perfect Score

She likes to tell me that I’m only one more broken nose away from having the sinuses of a short-snout dog. She’s not wrong, I snore like a freight train after a long game. When I get sick and stuffed up, my nose makes a high-pitched whistle.

It’s the curse of a hockey player's life.

My grandmother hates seeing me get hurt out on the ice, and I appreciate her concern, but hockey runs in my veins. I think sometimes she forgets that professional hockey also pays for that fancy retirement facility that she lives in.

Not that I mind paying for it.

It was my idea to put her up somewhere nicer than my grandfather’s pension and retirement funds could afford.

The place is more like an all-inclusive resort than an old folk's home, and I’ll continue to pay for it for as long as she wants to stay.

“It’s not as hard as you might think for me to find someone to love this pug-nose face, Gran. Just come out to a home game this season and see all the women who show up wearing my jersey,” I tell her.

I hear my grandmother make a tsk noise as if she doesn’t appreciate my cocky yet true statements.

Finding a woman to like my face isn’t a problem.

Finding a woman who can compete with the only girl I’ve ever wanted? Now that has proven to be a losing proposition.

“Trixie’s granddaughter is single. She’s not much of a looker but she’s a damn good cook.” My grandmother offers.

It always cracks me up when she curses.

“Not much of a looker is a deal breaker, I’m afraid, no matter how good of a cook she is. And I think you should work on your pitch… that was a bit rusty.”

“Then I guess I’ll let her do it herself because I invited her to my birthday tomorrow morning.”

Saggy retirement balls… of course, she did.

“Gran-“

“Don’t youGranme Brent. Tessa is getting married, your great uncle Larry and I won’t be alive forever, and God rest their souls; your parents aren’t here either. If you don’t find a partner to live this life with, you will end up alone.”

My gran has never been one to hold anything back, but her last remarks hit me a little harder than I’d like to admit.

“Don’t sugarcoat it on my account,” I say sarcastically, glancing down the aisle for the missing passenger who still hasn’t shown up.

The pretty brunette flight attendant who greeted me this morning smiles back at me from the front of the plane, almost like she’s been waiting for our eyes to connect again.

I give her a quick smile and nod and then glance back out the window of the aircraft. I watch as another plane begins to taxi out of their spot next to us.

With the sun lowering over the mountains, I’m reminded of just how tight my schedule will be this weekend. By the time we land in San Diego, I’ll barely have an hour to grab my luggage, pick up the rental car, and check into my hotel before heading over to the wedding venue for welcome drinks with David and Phoebe, where everyone else is staying.

“I never do,” she says. “Now, as for my birthday gift, you can take Trixie’s granddaughter out on a date while you’re in town for David’s wedding.”

Back the hell up.

Did she just say “date”?

“Whoa, what the fuck?!”

“Brent Timothy Tomlin! Don’t you dare use that kind of language with me,” she barks.

She took me off guard. She’s used to my foul mouth. She's practically the one who taught me all my first curse words.

“Sorry, Gran,” I say under my breath.

“I want to see you on your way to happiness, even if I have to do it myself.”

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