Page 47 of The Fake Husband Play
But gaudy is part of New Orleans. We like things bright, shiny, and loud.
I tell Jean-Louis as much, he reminds me that he was raised in Paris with his mother, where people are classy, snotty, and have made criticizing everything and everyone a national pastime. We share another laugh before I return to wrapping my stick, layering on black tape, white tape, then black again.
It’s the same pattern I’ve used since I was playing in the juniors, when Beanie bought tape in bulk because I was so particular about getting it just right.
Around me, the pre-game energy continues to build. Nix bounces on his toes, earbuds blasting death metal. Parker returns from the showers with his miraculously dry—and still stinky as hell—socks in hand, talking shit about Omaha’s defensive pairings with Dyer.
Even Blue looks almost animated. I swear I hear him laugh, very softly, when Parker tells him that his socks are teaching him about Zen. He’s learning to ignore the discomfort of his nose in favor of focusing on his higher self and the fact that he’s single-handedly saving the team from bad juju while everyone else goes around washing their luck away without a care in the world.
“First fucking game, brothers!” Torrance vibrates with nervous energy as he jogs in place, keeping his muscles warm. “Let’s go!”
“Down, rookie. Heel,” Capo calls from across the room. “Save some juice for the ice.”
But I get it. The kid’s excitement is infectious. I’m feeling it too, that electric jolt to the nervous system that comes with firsts.
First game in this jersey. First time representing my city at the highest level. First time for my mama to watch me play pro hockey in our hometown in a fancy ass box seat, just like my little queen deserves.
First time with Elly and Mimi in section 102, ready to cheer their lungs out for their new roommate…
I already know they’ll be hollering louder than anyone else.
They’re hardcore for hockey, those two.
And I’m getting increasingly hardcore for the Thibodeaux girls. Living with them these past four days has been one hell of a surprise.
But a good surprise, the kind that makes you think maybe someone up there is looking out for you, after all. It just feels so good to have them in my home, in my life.
Like last night on the terrace…
I was grilling chicken to go with a salad Elly was making in the kitchen, and sharing a fancy water with Mimi while she helped me cook. She calls seltzer water garnished with a lime wedge “fancy” water and likes to have a glass with me before dinner, while we catch up on all the school and locker room gossip. She told me about the boy in her class who keeps getting in trouble for making fart jokes. I told her about Torrance, who also makes fart jokes—some boys never grow up—before we moved on to more important news like her entry into the school art competition and my preparations for the opening game.
“I bet that’s a thing that feels pretty nervous in yourbelly,” she’d said, her big brown eyes full of compassion beyond her years.
“Yeah, it is,” I’d said. “But it’s okay to be nervous. And sometimes, if you try hard enough, you can convince your brain that the nerves are excitement, instead. That’s when things get fun.”
She’d thought about that for a second before nodding. “That’s smart, Gee. I like that you’re smart.”
“I like that you’re smart, too, Meems,” I’d said, a wave of affection filling my chest for the wise little soul sipping fancy water beside me in her overalls and tiny pink tennis shoes.
And then there’s her mama…
Her equally clever, funny, kind, sexy as hell mama, who gives my blood pressure a workout on the regular.
This morning in the kitchen, when she was stretching for Mimi’s water bottle on the top shelf, up on her toes in those criminally short pajama shorts, her camisole riding up to reveal golden skin that made my mouth go dry.
I moved in behind her to help, reaching past her just as she shifted backward, and suddenly we were pressed together—her back against my chest, her heat seeping through my T-shirt, her hair brushing my jaw. I had to lock every muscle to keep from pulling her against me, from wrapping my arm around her waist and dropping my lips to the skin on her beautiful neck.
Then, her breath rushed out, and her ass pressed the slightest bit closer to where I was fighting like hell not to get hard, and hope spiked in my blood fast enough to make me dizzy. If Mimi hadn’t barged in at that exact moment, begging Elly to help her find her rainbow sweatpants, who knows what could have happened?
Ellyhadpressed closer, right?
I didn’t imagine it?
Fuck, I hope I didn’t. The only thing worse than catching forbidden feelings for my fake wife would be fooling myself into thinking she’s feeling them, too. I don’t want to be alone in this.
Then what do you want? You’d better figure it out and talk to Elly about it before you do something stupid like go in for a kiss and scare her into moving out. She and Mimi have been through enough.
“Hey, you cool, dude?” Parker whispers as he settles onto the bench beside me. “You look nauseous. Is it my socks? Are they really that bad?”
