Page 9 of Slots & Sticks
Aaaaand now I’m thinking about my mom’s vagina.Again.It’s been a while since anyone has brought up my mom’s old career as a stripper, at least to my face, but I spent so much of middle and high school being taunted with her naked body that I doubt I’ll ever get over it. This is another area of comparison in which I’ll never measure up. She’s still got a killer figure,whereas I was called “Dumpy Dot” for most of eighth grade, and the nickname has lingered on like a bad smell. On the flipside, I’ve had no less than three guys tell me that my mom was a stripper, so I must be easy, too. Like mother, like daughter, I guess?
“We can have Layla whip up a vagina balloon animal,” I deadpan. “A really big one.”
Mom and Dad both laugh. “I’ll see if she’s available,” Mom says. “We gotta go, baby, we’re about to hop on the highway. I love you.”
“See you tomorrow!” Dad adds.
“See you, I guess. Drive safe.” I hang up and stuff my phone back into my pocket. The house feels too big when the call ends, the silence too clean—like the air right before a storm decides where to break. I never moved out. Why bother when my mom’s rarely here? Besides, my dad needs me during hockey season, and they both insisted it made them feel better to know the house wasn’t empty all the time.
I should postpone my bookshop adventure until tomorrow. It’ll give us all something to do together that lines up with my interests. On the other hand, whenever I go out with Mom in public, someone recognizes her, and it turns into a whole thing.
I’m too old to be jealous about how my mom spends her attention and her time. Just like I’m too old to care about my birthdays. Sometimes, though, I wish she could just be my mom and nottheDelilah Shaw.
Stop whining. Your life is great. You’re spoiled, Dot. You should be grateful.I should just order DoorDash and call it a night.
No, screw it. I’m going out. I need to get out of my own head. Maybe I’ll run into Cam. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him off the ice. Too long since someone looked at me like I was a person, not a press release.
I head toward the door, but I’m stopped again, this time by the sound of whispers in the front vestibule. By the sounds of it, there are at least two women out there. I check the ring camera and shake my head when I see who it is.
Knova and Sofia stop talking and shoot each other guilty looks when I open the door.
“Dammit,” Knova complains, “you weren’t supposed to come out yet. Violet’s stuck in traffic, and she’s got your shoes.”
“My… shoes?” I stare at them. Knova and Sofia are a few years older than me, but we’ve been friends forever. Our dads all played hockey for the Vegas Venom a hundred years ago. Now, the four of them are engaged to or married to current players. My dad, Ranger, even works on the team staff now as an assistant coach. I don’t know what it is about the Venom that keeps us locked in its orbit, but at least I’ve broken free of the hockey cycle.
“Your birthday shoes!” Knova invites herself in and immediately kicks off her heels. “Also, surprise. We’re taking you out.”
“Sorry for stalking your front door,” Sofia adds as she, too, steps inside.
The last of my sulky mood from earlier melts away. “I can’t believe you remembered my birthday.”
Knova drops into my loveseat. “Pfft, as if Camden would ever let us forget. Now, hurry up and get dressed. The guys are meeting us at the Puck Drop in an hour, and we insisted that you’d enjoy your surprise party more if you got a chance to get ready first. So, off you go.”
She and Sofia start to hum theJeopardy!theme song. I shake my head at their nonsense and head back up to my bedroom to get dressed.
* * *
An hour later, wearing the cute wedges that Violet brought for me to borrow, I walk into the Puck Drop. It’s the off-season for hockey, but that hasn’t stopped the players from taking over the area of the restaurant that’s usually reserved for the Venom after home games. They cheer when we approach, especially Viktor Abbott, who wolf-whistles at the sight of his wife. Knight is more restrained, though he pulls Sofia aside for a kiss.
Camden gets up and comes over to greet me. “Happy birthday,” he says with a dip of his head. “I hope this is a small consolation for not getting to spend your birthday with your family.”
I’m surprised that he knows about that, though, to be fair, Mom’s tour info is public. I give him a brief hug. “This is better. Trust me.”
Even after we’ve let go of each other, he hovers next to me. “Better than spending time with your family?” He sounds incredulous. His parents are always traveling, so visits with them are few and far between unless someone feels like flying halfway across the globe to meet up.
“You know how Mom is.” I shrug. “Going out in public with her can be exhausting.”
“Still?” Camden’s probably remembering that surprise concert in Disneyland from when we were kids. Mom couldn’t even let me go on a class trip without dropping in to be the star of the show. Our relationship changed after that, and it never went back to the way it was before.
“Always. It’s like she can’t help herself. It’s always a show with her, you know?” I bite my tongue. I didn’t mean to word vomit all over Cam, but he’s known me forever. He gets it. “Anyway, this is great. Thanks for coming out tonight. Knova said this was your idea?”
“I guess so.” He rubs the back of his head. I have no illusions about what I mean to Cam. He was nice to me when we wereyounger and never joined the rest of his jock friends when they teased me. Still, he’s super-hot. Super athletic. Super rich. He’s always surrounded by a sea of adoring fans, not to mention puck bunnies who look more like my mom than I do. He’s only my friend, so it’s best not to read too much into it.
“Thank you for floating the idea. This is really sweet.” I pat his shoulder one last time. “I’m going to go catch up with Vivian. See you around, okay?”
“Yeah.” Camden’s head droops. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was disappointed that I’m not sure how to talk to him anymore. He has a fancy new contract. And the bigger he gets in the NHL, the farther away he gets from me.
I make my way around the room, chatting with the people I already know and making small talk with the guys who are only here since they’re on the current team lineup. I have yet to order an actual meal, but there are platters of cannolis and other desserts to pick at, and carafes of the house-made limoncello for the table. The alcohol loosens me up until I entirely relax.
