Page 49 of The Final Faceoff
He shakes his head. “No. I’ve decided I’m old enough to stop sleeping around.”
My voice comes out smaller than I intend. “Like me?”
He shrugs his shoulder. “I mean, you’re two years younger than me. The fact that they homeschooled you and had you ready for high school way before you were supposed to start is a different story—hence I’ve been babysitting your sorry ass since then.”
“Not the point,” I say, already regretting this entire conversation. “And just a reminder—this was the first time I . . .” My mouth twists as I scramble for a decent defense. “It had been a year, and I drank way too much tequila.”
Leif watches me, unreadable, his expression giving absolutely nothing away.
I shift, heat creeping up my neck. “Sure, I skipped my three-date rule, but if I hadn’t—” I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. “Do you know what it’s like to rely only on my toy collection for that long?”
His jaw moves, just the slightest flicker of something.
I tilt my head, studying him. Wait . . . is he uncomfortable? He blinks, too slow, like he’s debating something. Or maybe trying not to picture my nightstand drawer. Is he? If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d offer to show him. Let him help me pick a favorite. We could play with them.
Wait. What?
Fuck. I need sleep, or a . . . I don’t know what I need, but where did that thought come from?
“Fair enough,” he finally says, voice a touch lower than before. “Let’s focus on Marcus, you said?” The name rolls off his tongue like it’s irrelevant. Which, to him, it probably is. “So what’s the plan when you find him?”
Right. Marcus. My actual problem. Not the fact that my brain just tried to detour into having sex with my toys and my best friend because I’m delirious—no other reason.
I lick my lips, pressing my hands flat against the counter. “I don’t know what I’d do if it is him,” I admit. “I mean, I don’t even know if I want to do anything. It’s just . . . I needed to know.”
Leif nods slowly, then asks, “And now that you might?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Swallow.
“I don’t . . . I need to think about that part,” I murmur, staring down at the bento box like it holds the answers.
Leif exhales through his nose, his fingers drumming lightly against the counter before he finally speaks again. “You don’t have to figure that out tonight.”
There’s something about the way he says it—firm, but not pushy. Like he’s reminding me that there’s no rush. That I can let this sit. That nothing needs to be decided in my barefoot, post-vomit state.
I release a breath, nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”
Leif pushes the container of mango toward me. “Eat. We don’t make decisions on an empty stomach.”
I huff out a reluctant laugh but pick up a piece of fruit anyway, letting the sweetness melt on my tongue.
For now, I’ll focus on getting through tonight.
Tomorrow . . . well.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out the rest.
ChapterSixteen
Leif
What to Do When You Have a Defensive Breakdown
My dads are in town.
They’re never in town at the same time. One of them is usually flying somewhere for a foundation event, while the other is either teaching a hockey seminar or giving some kind of motivational talk about teamwork and perseverance. They’re both Hall of Famers, which means their schedules are about as manageable as a wild animal on espresso.
Yet somehow, they’re here. Sitting across from me at a café, sipping coffee like two perfectly normal retirees who haven’t spent most of their lives in ice rinks, football fields, and press conferences.
