Page 154 of Waiting Game

“All the more reason to do something that counts.”

That’s when I realize Burrows’s pulling into the underground parking in my building.

Fuck.

Five minutes later, Hailey’s still grousing at me as I make it to my front door where Liam and Gracie are waiting.

Gracie scowls at Hailey. “What the fuck are you doing here, Pirenzi?”

Hailey merely smiles at her. “Gracie, what an honor that you know my name.”

“All I know is that you got my player clipped today. What the fuck was that about?”

Hailey folds her arms across her chest. “I had to speak to him.”

“Do it on his own time.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Hailey retorts.

Finger prostrate, Gracie narrows her eyes and wags it—Liam and I automatically shuffle to the left. “You should get lost.”

Hailey sniffs. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him. He’s refusing sponsorships.”

“That’s his prerogative.”

“No, that’s monetary suicide. He’s got eight years at the most to make enough money to live off for the rest of his life?—”

“You do know who his father is?”

Hailey scowls, knowing she’s lost her argument. She slaps the button to the elevator and, to me, snarls, “Send me more of this mission statement of yours and I’ll find you the fucking brands. Don’t bitch at me if they can’t afford to pay exorbitant fees for a suddenly eco-conscious hockey player.”

With that, she steps into the elevator and, a mocking smile locked in place, flaps her fingers at Gracie.

As the doors close, I wouldn’t be surprised if that turned into her flipping us the bird.

Liam’s brows skyrocket. “You’re not taking sponsorships?”

Awkward.

“I’m busy,” I excuse as I unlock the door.

“Doing what? Playing with yourself?” Gracie responds.

When I think about how I spent most of the summer, I snicker. “Something like that, G, yeah.”

She rolls her eyes and heads into the kitchen. Before I can ask why they’re here and not in their own pad, I realize she’s holding?—

“HOLY FUCK, ARE THEY PIEROGI?”

“They are,” she drawls.

Liam slaps me on the shoulder. “Well done tonight, bro.”

“You scored most of the goals,” I dismiss, focus locked on the carb-heaven in Gracie’s arms.

No one makes ‘em like Gracie or Hanna, her mom.

“Yeah, but you were your usual annoying self and it worked like a charm.” He smacks his fingers to his lips. “When you waggled your tongue at him, I thought Berg was going to cry.”

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