Page 46 of My Wife
I wipe a bead of condensation on my plastic cup of soda. “Yeah, tomorrow. Did I mention he made up all these dumb rules?”
Cara shrugs. “Not surprising. As you know, for reasons unclear, my father made him captain. He tried to lay a bunch of rules on the team. Too much too soon.”
I roll my eyes.
Cara gets a glint in hers. “But you could break the ones he made.”
“Aren’t you the coach’s assistant?”
“And daughter.”
“So shouldn’t you be trying to protect him and the team? Sounds like you’re suggesting subterfuge.”
Cara laughs. “Friends first, but I wouldn’t suggest anything that would compromise his ability to play hockey. Perhaps you could even enhance it.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “Doubtful, but what did you have in mind?”
Cara leans in and we conspire about how I could break Mr. Meanie’s rules when I realize I already did.
14
LIAM
Best case scenario,my new personal assistant can lighten my load remotely. There’s no reason she needs to come to my loft again, leaving behind her cinnamon, spice, and everything nice scent. Her sweet and unrelenting smile isn’t welcome in my home. The last thing I want or need is her help, but the last few days haven’t gotten easier.
So maybe she can pick up a little of my slack.
At the Ice Palace, Vohn gets us started on agility and tosses me the puck as it were. While I’d like to go hard, if we’re going to get to the Finals, we need to start building our mental muscles.
I run us through a few control and accuracy drills and then pair everyone off.
“You’re going to pinpoint your opponent’s weak spot. Then you’re going to exploit it.”
Grimaldi rubs his hands together. “With pleasure.”
“Wrong idea. The point of this exercise is for all of us to know where we fall short because I guarantee the opposition is evaluating this too.”
Despite my excellence on the ice, unfortunately, Jessica has been able to point out my shortcomings without saying a word. She’s great with the kid and while I’ve overachieved at everything I’ve ever done, I’m not going to qualify for Father of the Year anytime soon.
After a team talk and shower, I check my messages, hoping Mrs. Kirby still has all her teeth. For the first twenty-four hours after Jessica left, the kid seemed to have adjusted. Then things went downhill fast.
He started acting out, was clingy, and refused to eat anything but cookies. After dinner, he cried until I positioned myself on the edge of the bed. I’ll admit it’s better than sleeping on the floor, but he’s like a pygmy donkey and kicked me in the kidneys twice.
Instead of an ALL-CAPS essay from Mrs. Kirby commenting on who she calls “My maladjusted son,” the message is from Jessica.
I instantly regret giving her my number and suggesting that we communicate through text only. She severely abuses the use of emojis. A thumbs up is fine to use as necessary, but each message is littered with sparkles and hearts and smiles.
Jessica: I appreciate your making clear my role as your new personal assistant with your rules. Here are some of mine:
Me: That’s not how this works.
Jessica: Here are my rules:
1. Please reply promptly to questions I have, particularly for time-sensitive tasks.
Me: Fair enough.
Jessica: 2. Because I will be in your home from time to time, do not touch my private chocolate stash if you find it.
