Page 50 of The Pucking Proposal

I guess I haven’t spit out that much vitriol about Milligan before, but after he hurt Dalton’s feelings, I’ve been even more contemptuous about the man than I already was. I’m also not going to examine why I’m angrier about Milligan hurting Dalton than I am about him treating me like an annoying female fly in his sports soup.

Mom glances at the screen, then back to me. “I guess he’s not that handsome after all.” When I meet her eyes, she gives me a quick wink of support. If I’m anti-Milligan, she is too. Out of the side of her mouth, she whispers, “Do we like Matt at the local station? He does a good job on the NHL games.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Mom. Matt’s great. I like working with him.”

She grins happily, but then she throws a chip at the television the way I did. “Change it, Jim. We don’t care what this ... um,blowhardhas to say.”

Thankfully, Milligan’s not even talking about hockey anymore, much less the minor league Moose vs. Rockets game, so when Dad changes the channel, I fake a yawn and a double-arm stretch. “I’d better get going anyway. I know you’ve both got work in the morning.”

I stand, moving to pick up Mom’s chip of support and drop it on my napkin too. “I’ll help get this all picked up.”

Mom and Dad both rise, shooing me off simultaneously. “We got it, honey. Be safe driving home this late. Love you!”

They basically shove me out the front door, waving as I get in my Mini Cooper parked in the driveway. Before I have time to back out, the front door’s already closed, the porch light’s off, and I watch Mom and Dad’s bedroom window go bright as they turn on that light.

Yeah, they’ll clean up the living room mess.Later.At least they didn’t get right to it in the spilled chip mess.

It’s a good thing they’re such great parents. Otherwise, I’d be icked out. As it is, they’re pretty much couple goals, and I love that for us Barlowe kids. Good examples lead to high expectations. Of course, high expectations can lead to disappointment. But they can also lead to pure happiness. I’ve seen it in Hope’s case, and I have every belief I’ll achieve that too. One day.

Maybe it’ll start tomorrow?

I don’t fight the smile that steals across my lips at the hopeful thought that doesn’t seem quite so scary now. Of course, it’s scary that it’s not scary, but I’m having faith ... in myself, in Dalton, and in ...gulp, us.

Chapter 20

Dalton

My phone dings and I jerk it up to my face, praying it’s not a “changed my mind” text. I’ve been worried I’d get that all day. Instead, Joy sent ...

On my way!

Okay, she’s excited too. Probably not as excited as I am, but if she’s using exclamation marks, that’s a good sign. Before I can reply, it buzzes again.

Ducking autocorrect. I typed omw and it got a little overzealous.

Well, shit. There goes that good sign. Taking the new cue, I send her ...

All good. Just getchur ass here.

She doesn’t respond, presumably because she’s driving her tiny clown car to my house and not because she decided to ghost me for being bossy.

I finish getting things ready. Truthfully, I undo and redo the things I’ve already done. Charcuterie board—on the top shelf of the refrigerator, ready for when she gets here if she’s hungry, or for sustenance between sex rounds one and two.Or maybe two and three,I think hopefully. Drinks—two beers iced plus wine chilled in case she’d rather have it. Bathtub—filled with steaming hot water and bubbles, surrounded by candles. Bed—made, but it’s easy enough to yank the duvet back.

And of course, everything’s scrubbed clean, spick-and-span, including me. I swipe a hand over my freshly shaven jaw. I typically only trim during the season, but when I was in the shower earlier, I thought about possibly leaving beard burn on Joy’s thighs and pulled out a razor to be smooth as silk for her.

I force myself to sit down and wait patiently, two things that are not in my wheelhouse. I’m a man of action, but all I can do is kill time until she’s here.

Finally, headlights run across the front window and I jump up, rushing for the door. Joy parks in the driveway, and my strides eat up the ground as I scramble to get to her side. “Oh, hi!” she says as she pushes her car door open, nearly hitting me with it.

“Hey,” I say, my voice rough. “Let me.” I hold my hand out, and with a tiny smile of surprise, she slips hers into mine so I can help pull her from the vehicle. “You look beautiful.”

Her face is still covered with stage makeup, her hair fluffed and curled, and beneath her open coat, she’s wearing simple black slacks, a burgundy blouse, and black heels. She could be a professional in any office, but I’m glad she gets to work where her heart lies.

Her smile grows. “Not too shabby yourself,” she drawls, boldly scanning me up and down. I dressed for her, too, in black jeans, a cream-colored sweater, and slip-on leather boots. “You shaved.”

“Of course I did.” I grin.

I look down at her, thankful for the dark of the night because I stop us right there in the front yard. Cupping her face in my hands, I place a gentle kiss to her lips, sipping at her. When she relaxes intome, gripping my belt loops for support, I feel like I’ve finally made it beyond her defenses.

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