Page 17 of Wake Me Up
I have to tear my eyes away from his body, not wanting to be a pervert, checking him out—because I have no business doing that.
“Mom, can we go to Maria’s?” Cash asks, slinging his duffel higher on his shoulder. “I want chicken Alfredo.”
“Meaning I won’t have to cook? Sold!” I say, looking at Cane. “What do you think?”
“Sure,” he answers with a shrug. “As long as I can get garlic knots.”
“Mom, we should ask Tripp to come with us,” Cash blurts out, looking in the direction where Tripp is walking toward his truck. “I mean, he came to my game and offered me and Cane lessons. It’s the least we can do.”
I chew my lip nervously. Sitting together at the game was already reason enough for people to start spreading rumors that I’d moved on. But if people see us all out to dinner together? Dear God, how awful would that look? And I want to make sure Cane would be fine with it too. Hockey is sometimes a sore subject for him, and now there’s this hockey-player dude showing up every five seconds.
“Yeah, he’s right,” Cane adds, as if reading my worried mind. “He’s really cool. And he’s been nice to us.” He smirks. “And … he’s famous.”
“I don’t know, guys.” I frown, thinking back to the end of the game when more people started to recognize him and came over. “Everyone there will probably freak out and want his autograph. That sounds … hectic for us.”
“Can’t we at least ask him?” Cash argues, which is unusual for him. His brother, not so much. “Please, Mom? What if he has to eat dinner all alone?”
I inhale, watching Tripp just as his hand reaches for the door handle of his truck. It is kind of sad, seeing him all alone, but maybe that’s just because I’m never alone.
Every now and then, I’d love to be …
“Hey, number thirty-five,” I call loudly, making him turn around and look at me, confused. I hold my hand up, waving him toward us before we take some steps to him.
When we meet in the middle, I swallow down my nerves, hoping he doesn’t think I’m coming on to him. I’m sure he’d find great humor out of that, with me being a mother of three with leggings and an oversizecrewneck sweatshirt on. I can’t even imagine the type of women he’s used to surrounding him. Models, I’m sure.
“We’re going to Maria’s, the Italian restaurant, for dinner,” I say, forcing the nervous words from my mouth. “Care to join?”
He doesn’t smile, but instead, he looks a bit concerned, which instantly makes me regret asking. “I’d love to, but, at the risk of sounding like a complete toolbag … it’s not easy for me to go to dinner in Portland without people asking for pictures and autographs. In the arena, I could get away with it because we weren’t super close to anyone. But at a restaurant … it’s hard.” He pauses, looking at Cash and Cane as they stare hopefully at him. “I know the owner a bit, and he’s a Sharks fan. I’ll call and figure something out.” As he talks, he seems to relax more and more, and his lips turn up in a small grin. “Let’s do it. It’ll be fine.”
Tripp’s eyes connect with mine, and he waves toward his large, dark-colored truck. “Do y’all want to take my truck? I’ll bring you back to your car after.”
My body tenses, and the voice in the back of my head reminds me that this is wrong. Even if I only asked him because the boys had practically begged and even if his intentions are solely to help my kids out—which I know they are—the fact is, I find him attractive, and he makes my stomach have butterflies. Therefore, it would be incredibly wrong of me to ride in a truck with him to dinner with my kids. Withourkids—as in my and my husband’s. But when I see my boys’ eyes light up with excitement, I know I can’t take this from them.
“Sure. Why not?” I say, shifting uncomfortably.
It’s almost as if he knows because his eyes remain on me for a few seconds, like he’s making sure I actually want him to come with us.
“Holy sh—” Cane stops himself from swearing, thankfully. “We’re going to ride in Tripp Talmage’s truck.”
“Wait till my friends hear about this,” Cash whispers excitedly, starting toward Tripp’s truck. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
The boys take off, but Tripp stays beside me as we walk. “You know, if you’re uncomfortable with this, I can tell them something came up. That way, you don’t have to be the bad guy.”
It’s crazy to me that he can read me enough to know I’m uneasy rightnow. I hid it as best I could, but apparently, I’m not a good actress. I could play it off like I’m fine, but the warmth in his voice tells me I don’t have to.
I glance over at him. “Is it that noticeable?”
His face softens, and he shrugs. “Well, maybe not to everyone else, but to me, yeah,” he says.
I frown because he barely knows me. I don’t know why it would be easy for him to notice things.
Quickly, he carries on. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Freya. If your ex-husband wouldn’t be okay with this—with us all going to dinner—I don’t want to force you into it.”
“Husband,” I say, correcting him because I can’t even stop myself. It’s an instinctual thing, but it’s also out of respect for Jamie.
“What?” he utters, coming to a stop.
“You said ex-husband, but … it’s husband,” I say sharply.
