Page 16 of Love at Teamsgiving
“What we mean is, why don’t you two kiss and make up, already?” Shane smirks.
Junie gasps, and the garbled groan from my throat makes me feel like I’m choking on a balloon. Both noises are so alarming that the background sounds of cups clattering, customers chattering, and even the mellow coffee shop song seem to go quiet for a beat.
Junie shakes her head. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I rather like that idea, so long as you don’t try to strangle me like a black widow when we’re done.” Again, my comments cannot be helped. I wouldn’t speak to anyone else like this. If my mother heard me now, even though Junie is a Popovik, she’d chase me with the broom. But withJunie, it’s like I’m programmed to be as irritating and arrogant as possible.
Or maybe it’s just a defense mechanism.
“Also, black widows are spiders. They don’t strangle. They bite. Some species even eat their mate afterward,” Junie says, getting the last word.
I don’t want to know the extent of her arachnid knowledge. Last I checked, she was terrified of anything creepy or crawly, not that she’d ever admit it. We tried going camping once and ended up checking into a hotel at midnight.
“Is this what it’s going to be like?” Shane asks his fiancée.
“I’m afraid so.” Turning back to us, Erica says, “Kids, apologize to each other. Make nice.”
I huff but opt to be a gentleman and take the high road, even though it goes against every instinct I have when it comes to net defense on the ice. “Junie?—”
Shane gives his bride-to-be a look. I’m the only person on the planet who she lets get away with that name and by the grimace I get, I’ll be the last if I don’t correct myself. But I can’t call her Juniper. She’s always been Junie to me.
Clearing my throat, I try again. “Sorry.”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest and mutters, “Sorry.”
“Sit,” Shane orders.
“Permission to speak, sir?” This sounds a lot like talking to my father, only I’d have done it in Spanish, given that our house is trilingual, with the five of us boys and our parents speaking in some hybrid variation of the three languages.
But it’s a reflex to want to escape, to avoid the lecture that’s coming. “I, uh, have to go to, um ...”
Junie shakes her head. “You’re the worst liar.”
“Then you know that my apology was genuine.”
She leans in, lips pursed. “We both know that it was a half-truth. You left off thebutpart. I know you were dying to say, ‘But she started it.’”
Junie knows me so well. Too well.
Reluctantly, we both sit opposite Erica and Shane. The coffee shop is full and the outer edges of Junie’s and my arms and legs brush, sending a jolt through me as if this is the first time I’ve ever had contact with a pretty girl.
Time to diffuse the bomb.
Shane asks, “Explain the ongoing animosity.”
I shrug. “You know. We were together a long time ago.”
“Thanks, Captain Sherlock. I wouldn’t have solved that mystery without your keen sleuthing skills. Can’t you let it go?”
His calling me captain stings a little. I was the team captain for the Liberators for a minute. It was like I’d finally gotten somewhere in life and achieved something, rather than leaving a wake of destruction in my path.
Junie wears a frosty expression as if trying to hide the hurt that this topic brings up.
“Consider us your pre-marital counselors. There are a million things I’d rather be doing right now, but it’s time to hash this out,” Shane says.
Avoiding Junie’s gaze, I toss my hand over my shoulder. “We go back. Way back. Practically to the old country.”
“Your mom is from Italy and your dad is from, where again?” Shane asks.
