Page 60 of My Lucky Charm

“I’m not sitting with the wives,” I say and sign. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“I’m not a wife,” Poppy signs, but doesn’t even bother to speak it.

I cock my head and shoulders back and forth while my hand does the Shoulda put a ring on it move. She raises her spoon like she’s going to launch the mashed potatoes at me.

“It’s fine. I’ll sit wherever Beverly puts me,” I say, signing.

“What if Raya comes too?” Poppy asks, signing the question.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Mom says, with both her hands and her voice. “Raya, you could use a break. You work so hard, honey.” She reaches over and squeezes my sister’s hand.

“You do look a little rundown, Ray,” I say. “No offense.”

How is it? Dad signs with an expectant look on his face.

“How is what?” I sign and say back.

Working for Grayson Hawke. His eyebrows are lifted, anticipating my reply.

I shrug. “Fine, I guess.”

“Your father is having a hard time reconciling the man he thought Grayson Hawke was with the man who grunted his way through Sunday dinner,” Mom says, signing.

He was a jerk, Dad signs.

I can’t argue that point. He was a jerk.

I feel like Gray is misunderstood. There are traces of good in him, I can feel it. But thinking that makes me feel like Luke trying to turn his father back from the Dark Side.

Plus, I’m not going to say that out loud. Or sign it. Raya will jump all over me and accuse me of having feelings for the guy.

Which isn’t the case. I’m his assistant. Employed by his team.

And I’m ninety-eight percent sure he has a girlfriend.

But that two percent took over for about five minutes, and I dug a bottle of red nail polish from my bag and painted the tiniest heart on the end of his hockey stick—not a romantic gesture, just a small reminder that this game is more than a job. Or a burden.

It’s a game that he loves. That he was born to play.

The odds of him even seeing it are next to nothing, and I practically had to scale a wall to get in and out of the locker room without anyone seeing me.

I tell myself it was me trying to be a supportive assistant, but my feelings for Gray are a mess. I think I’m going to have to institute a “no shirtless around Eloise” rule if I ever hope to get them sorted. He is off limits and involved with someone else.

Maybe.

Probably.

Only now does it occur to me that this heart-painting gesture could be misinterpreted, and my stomach twists at the thought.

“I think it would be hard to be traded,” I say, signing. “He had a home in Philly. A team he really liked. A girlfriend.”

Across from me, Poppy frowns. “I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”

“I heard him on the phone with her.”

Her frown deepens. “Dallas asked him if there was anyone they could set aside tickets for, at home or on the road, and he said no. If he was involved with someone, wouldn’t she come to at least some of the games?”

“He said he loved her,” I say, signing. “Her name is Scarlett.” I spell out her name letter by letter. When I see Poppy still looking at me, I add, “And don’t ask Dallas about it. The last thing I need is for Gray to think I’m talking about his personal life.”

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