Page 25 of Full Tilt
I rarely have conversations with my mom, let alone this kind. She’s always wished for a girl who was cutesier and less tomboy. Even today, we barely speak, and I seldom go home for the holidays. I can’t remember the last time I saw or spoke to my dad. I’m not even sure I’d recognize him if he were sitting in this café.
“Madalyn,” he replies.
“See!” I say, then mouth,Thanks, to the server before spinning around with a brown takeout bag and coffee, my phone pinned between my shoulder and ear. “That’s a much nicer na …” I trail off.
“What’s up?” Holt eventually asks, figuring out I’m likely not going to finish my sentence.
“Nothing,” I reply quickly, staring up at a towering Tommy, who smells freshly showered with wet hair styled in his usual way, wearing gray sweats and a dark blue Blades hoodie. “I actually have to go,” I tell Holt.
He grumbles something inaudible before clearing his throat. “I’m thinking of coming home for Christmas this year and spending a week with you in Brooklyn. What do you think?” he asks.
“Sounds great,” I say, still staring up at Tommy.
He smirks at me, brown eyes moving to my phone as Holt continues speaking about dates and flight prices. I don’t know if Tommy can tell it’s my brother, but he can probably hear it’s a male voice, even over the low music playing in the café.
“You didn’t take any of that in, did you?” Holt asks.
“December 23 through the 28.” I repeat the dates Holt just confirmed back to him. “Return flight prices are good right now.”
My brother chuckles. “All right, cool. I gotta go as well, to be honest. This bourguignon won’t finish itself.”
“Okay, speak later,” I reply brightly, trying not to sound like the guy who landed a punch on him earlier this year is standing right in front of me, looking all delectable.
“Your brother?” Tommy wastes no time asking as soon as I disconnect the call.
I pocket my phone in my jeans. “If you must know, yes.”
He scratches at the back of his neck as people move around us in the café. “I thought we were declaring a truce?”
“We are,” I reply, pointing to the door. “But I only stopped by for breakfast, and I really need to go.”
Tommy folds his arms across his chest, leaning down to my height. “So, your bratty attitude is your default personality and not something you reserve especially for me?”
I deadpan, “Would it make you feel more special if I told you it was just for you?”
He nods and points to a table set behind him. “Yes, it would. I also just ordered breakfast. Why don’t you come join me? I was actually on my way over to your place anyway.”
I sound surprised as I respond, “Why?”
He looks perplexed, a crease forming between his brows. “Your leggings. They arrived, and I was going to stop by with them, but since you’re here”—he reaches behind him, tapping the training bag on his back—“I might as well give you your gift over breakfast.”
Despite his permanent cocky, self-assured smirk, I can tell he’s making an effort to be friendly, and I wonder how many people he does that with.
I drop my gaze to my coffee and takeout bag.
“Unless you really do need to leave and it wasn’t the bullshit excuse I think it is?” Tommy adds, cocky smile morphing to a grin.
I tip my chin at the table. “All right. Five minutes.”
Ten minutes later, I’m the proud owner of multiple new pairs of Lululemon leggings, watching Tommy inhale eggs on toast.
He swallows his latest mouthful, chasing it down with a sip of water. “At the risk of being a flirt, you look like shit.” He circles his fork at my hair. “Did you wake up this morning and decide to make even less effort than you usually do?”
I wrap my hands around my to-go mug, trying to work out if he’s being serious since I do, in fact, look terrible.
“Maybe I did. Did you abandon your sense of humor too?” I feign a light-bulb moment. “Oh wait, for that, you’d actually have to have one in the first place.”
He laughs into his eggs, taking a final bite before wiping his mouth and throwing the napkin onto the plate in front of him.
