Page 11 of Hot Set

Jay’s hands travel across the table to check in with mine the way they’ve been doing for the length of time it took us to get to our third pint of Guinness. A tractor company is footing the bill for an open bar at this post-tournament shindig, so Jay and I settle our bets free of charge.

“Treat Graham, what is the man, a cracker? No. I’ve got it. He’s the chocolate and marshmallow sandwich you toast over the campfire.”

“A s’more.”

Jay pounds the flat of his hand on the table. “Yeah. Treat S’more Graham Cracker.”

“The best part is that it isn’t even his real name. He swapped Ronald for Treat.” I crimp my fingers into air quotes. “Ronald isn’t sexy enough.”

Jay nods. “Why use your given name when you can sound like dessert?” We laugh so hard I almost knock over my half-drunk pint. “And the bastard has no idea you’ve left him?”

I raise my glass. “Nope.” I take a long drink, then whip my head side to side, searching the pub with a baffled look. “Where’s Gilly? Where’s the girlfriend I cheat on and adore but don’t love? Ireland, you say.”

Jay leans across the table to look me eye to eye. “Tell me you realize S’more doesn’t deserve official notification you’ve sent him out to sea. If the bugger was blind to the value of what he had in you, then you walking away without a word is grand.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “And just the right amount of wicked.” He shoots me a calculating look. “Be the cat and he the little mousy. Bat him around a bit before you go in for the kill.” His grin is as dazzling as the rest of his face.

“And this coming from a man who, according to Doolin, has integrity tattooed on his ass.”

Jay’swhoopis loud, hearty, and full of fun. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this easily with a guy. I can’t remember the last time I laughed with Treat at all.

“Doolin never lies. Here, do you want to see?” Jay stands, lifting the tail of his jersey to stick his bum in my direction.

I fan my hand at him to sit down. “Maybe later.”

He sits, laying those big warm hands over mine. “It’s best you’ve sailed over the wild Atlantic. Never look back.”

Jay is someone a girl could melt into. My hands turn to soft clay under his. “I do enjoy the concept of Gilly the Wicked,” I say, fascinated by the way his blue eyes turn slate gray in low light.

“Gilly? You don’t call yourself Jilly for Gillian?” Jay runs a finger across my knuckles, igniting a series of electric shocks that travel up my arm, down my body, and land in the place where tingles get you in trouble.

“Blame my dad. It’s a mash up of silly girl. I’m his silly girl. Always have been. My daddy’s Gilly.”

Bobby sidles up to our table when his PR rounds with the charity reps finish. “Keep her trapped here in a dark corner until she agrees to join us for more than a season.” He’s none too steady on his feet.

Pressure punches through my fantasy drunk and builds in my chest. “I call foul. That doesn’t jive with the ‘easing me in’ you promised.”Wait.Has Jay been appointed to sweet talk me into extending my trial run before I’ve dipped a toe?

Jay pulls a chair over and sits Bobby down on it. They both stare at me. My fuzzy brain drinks in the anticipation on their faces. These two super nice men are inviting me to play on their big-league team. It is a refreshing change to be the prettiest girl at the party for once instead of someone’s dirty little secret.

Oh, Treat. Why’d you have to grope Lanie Blesch in the woods? Why couldn’t you be okay with everyone knowing we are together?Weretogether. I haven’t used past tense out loud yet. My trigger finger itches to send a definitive “We’re done” text to Treat. Not exactly the high road.

Bobby takes my hand in both of his. “Face it, Gillian. I read that episode breakdown you shared with me, and here are my notes. You belong with us on a show where thousands of women want to claim the treasure beneath the leading man’s tunic.”

“Whoa, Bob,” says Jay, extracting my hand from Bobby’s. “We’ve got a lady here.”

“I’m just quoting what Deidre says about Donal Cam, the Chieftain’s son, loyal lover and all-around great guy.” He sits back in the chair. “My apology, Gillian. I didn’t mean to be crass.”

I pat his hand. “I’ll give you one pass since I coldcocked you with a golf ball, but next time, I blow the sexual harassment whistle.”

Bobby bows. “Most gracious of you. Apologies if I crossed a line. Now seriously, your instincts about the show are dead, dead, dead on.” He knocks on the table three times. “I knew you and Deidre LaRochelle were connected on some cosmic level. Holy God, the way you morphed the characters of Mac and Mary into one. Never occurred to me, but it completely solves the snafu we’re heading into.” His voice rises in volume and draws attention to our cozy little table.

A buzz of self-satisfaction swirls through the Guinness in my veins. “I’m glad it passed muster.”

Bobby clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m rarely wrong about people. Fair warning, I will campaign to keep you.”

“Before I’ve written a single word for you?”

My new boss pairs a slightly off-target finger point with a drunken, lopsided smirk. “Wondrous magic weaves through family that surpasses even the machinations of gods…”

This is the first time anyone has quoted words I’ve written back to me. Like the Grinch when he hears the Whos down in Whoville singing their Christmas song despite his chicanery, my heart grows three sizes.

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