Page 30 of Taking It To Overtime

“I missed you,” she says, and he grins because thank Wayne Gretzky she felt it too. “When did you get so good at taking care of things?”

“Your’e mine, Vera Novak. I’m always going to take care of you.” This time she lets him unwind the scarf and loop it around her neck. He leans in close until his mouth is almost touching her ear. “Even when we’re old and like thirty. I’ll still take care of you. Forever.”

I knowthis whole fake relationship was my idea, but the only thing stopping me from blurting out the truth is the sheer joy on our parents’ faces. Incidentally, it’s the whole reason I asked Robbie to go along with the misconception in the first place. Either he’s an Oscar-worthy actor or I’m the only one floundering in this charade.

It’s easy with his parents. Viv met me at the door with a smile and a tight hug, rocking me back and forth as she squeezed my shoulders.

“I’m so glad you’re here, sweet girl.” The words pressed against my ear, through the bulk of my hair, and I felt something inside me soften.

The living room looks exactly the same as I remember it. Same blue gingham curtains framing the big bay window, same solid oak coffee and end tables. Robbie’s dad still sits in the same dark green recliner. He gets to his feet a little slower than he used to, but the kiss he presses to my cheek as Robbie closes the door behind me is still the same as it used to be.

“How’re you doing, kid?” He kisses my other cheek. “We always hoped to get you back.”

My eyes dart to their son, still standing with his back almost pressed to the heavy front door, and my insides twist with a dash of guilt. There was a time when I’d hoped for this too, a futurewith Robbie. And yet here we are, faking all the way. My mom follows Robbie’s into the kitchen, and his dad offers mine a beer, and then it’s just me, my past, and the blonde kid he brought home with him.

I busy myself with the nearest photograph, trying to look busy but not out of place. Anything to prevent the awkwardness that is slowly rolling through the room like a thick fog. Most of the pictures are of Robbie and his parents. I recognize his floppy hair stage, the patchy facial hair stage, photos of him on the ice in an assortment of different jerseys.

He watches me as I move through his parents’ living room. I can feel his eyes tracking over the bare skin of my shoulders and along the length of my arms.

Stop staring. I want to snap at him.We’re supposed to be a couple. I’m not a bug under a microscope,but I’m not exactly being any less awkward, so I keep my mouth shut.

“I’m surprised you still have some of these,” I say, stopping in front of a picture of the two of us. I refuse to let my gaze linger on the couch we used to sit on, his hands tracing up the inner face of my thighs, cuddled under a chunky knit blanket to avoid detection. His mom still has the same throw pillows nestled into the corners. The ones Robbie used to push me back into as he sipped from my lips every time one of his parents stepped out of the room.

“He probably won’t tell you this,” Jack says from where he stands near the archway to the kitchen, sipping from a tall glass of lemonade, “But all those photos of you were in my room.” He gestures to a few other frames around the living room.

“What?” I frown first at the picture, and then at the hockey player. He brings the cup to his mouth, winking at me over the rim, and I hear a throat clear behind me.

“Clear out, Spags.” The deep voice is considerably closer than I thought.

“No wait,” I say, “I have questions.” I tap my finger over a shot of me and Robbie at the local fall carnival, surrounded by fat, orange pumpkins. Mostly why they’d be in the guest room, and now in the living room, or why they’re still out at all.

“I might have shown too much interest in them,” Jack winks again and I feel the shift in temperature as Robbie steps up behind me. “I’m going to check on the lovely Vivian. Behave you two,” and then he’s out the doorway, whistling as he goes, and I’m left alone with Robbie Oakes.

“Ignore him,” he tells me, his voice sliding over my skin like a warm breeze. “He’s taken too many hits to the head.”

His hand comes up to rest on my waist and I swear my whole body sighs at the brush of his fingers over the sliver of skin between my shirt and my shorts. Practice, I remind myself. We’re alone right now, no one watching how close our bodies are, or the way his fingers press into the dip above my hips, but so aware of each other that we might as well be magnets pushing apart.

“Thanks to you?” I ask, swallowing the lump that’s grown in my throat.

“And Vic. It’s a team effort.”

That’s right. They’re playing together again.

“Be nice to him,” I say, my eyes slipping closed as he moves closer. “I like him.”

“For you,” his breath fans over my neck, ruffling my hair. “I’ll try.”

Robbie’s free hand slides up the outside of my arm, a warm caress that has the air catching in my chest. I don’t realize that I’ve moved until my back presses against the hard planes of his chest. Robbie has been an athlete all his life. Even as a kid he was leanly muscled, not an ounce of extra body fat. It’s different now. He’s all man behind me, broad and strong, and I refuse to shift my hips back to feel anything else.

“I missed you.” The words pour out of me like water through a sieve. Out before I can overthink them, or question them. Out before I can swallow them back down or play them off. His hand spasms on my waist and lips brush my skin, feathering over the silver chain around my neck. My heart thunders against my ribs.

“Are you lovebirds planning on joining us anytime soon? Or are you going to make my grand baby right here on my couch?” Vivian is standing in the archway, chewing on her lower lip to stop her smile. If it was another couple getting “caught,” I’d laugh too. Right now, I’d prefer the hardwood floor to open up and swallow me.

“Now Viv, they’re just kids. Let’s not rush anything here.” My mom says, stepping up next to Robbie’s with a matching drink in her hand.

“I tried to stop them, honest.” Jack says, crowding in too, and I don’t believe him for a second, but the interruption is much appreciated.

Robbie lifts his head from my neck and drops his hands. I expect him to put space between us, but he links our fingers, bringing my hand up to press a soft kiss to my palm.

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