She glances at the steamer in her hand and then the vest. When her eyes return to mine, she says, “Stress steaming your suits.”
“Stress steaming?”
“Yes, well, you know, it was stressful watching your game tonight. I had to keep myself busy, so I unpacked your clothes, which I know is a huge violation of privacy, but I couldn’t just let them sit there in your suitcase all crumpled up, especially your suits. And when I pulled them out, I realized they needed a solid steam, so I set up a system and started steaming. One suit led to another that led to another, and honestly, I’m glad you actually arrived because I’m pretty sure your boxer briefs were next.” Her eyes widen. “Not that I noticed much about your boxer briefs. I mean, I did touch them but not in a creepy way, but in a these need to be put away kind of way. It was minimal touching of your private garments. They’re shoved in a drawer.” Her eyes widen even more. “Oh God, did you not want to be unpacked? I mean, that’s really presumptuous to move you in like that and give you a few drawers in my dresser. It’s not like a you’re my boyfriend dresser drawer. I just thought you would be more comfortable—”
“Penny, take a breath.” She collapses on the couch and drapes her arm over her eyes.
After a few seconds, she finally says, “You guys were atrocious tonight, and I know it’s my fault.”
Seeing where this is going, I move to the couch and take a seat, making sure to keep an appropriate distance. “We did suck tonight, but it was not your fault. It takes a team to lose a game, not a baby mama.”
She glances over at me. “I hate that term. Can you not call me that?”
“Should I call you the woman carrying my child?”
“You can just call me Penny.” She sits up. “Your head wasn’t in the game, and neither was Pacey’s. I knew this was going to happen. This is why I wanted to wait to tell you two, but then Blakely, with her horrendously thought-out ideas, came swooping in and convinced me to tell you now rather than after the season.”
“After the season would have been too far out. It’s probably best that you told us now.”
“And ruin your chances at the run for the cup? Sure, that seems like a great idea.”
“Penny, it was one game.”
“Yeah, well, one game will turn into many, and before we know it, you’re packing up your locker in May rather than getting ready for the next game. Everyone will hate this baby because you know the media will catch wind of it. It’s bound to happen, and then what? All of Vancouver hates on little Jimmy John or Johnny Jim or Peggy Leggy.”
“Peggy Leggy?” I ask, my nose curling. “Please don’t name our child Peggy Leggy.”
“You know what I mean. I ruined everything.”
“You didn’t. Stop saying that. We both made this baby. It was one game. We’ll find our stride.”
“Sure you will.” She gets up and goes back to steaming my vest, continuing to work through the wrinkles. She doesn’t say anything else. Her concentration is solely focused on the tweed fabric of my vest.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, unsure of what else to do.
“It’s fine.” And she continues to work.
You could cut the tension with a fucking knife. It’s thick. It’s unruly, and it’s extremely uncomfortable.
Normally after a game, I’d hit up the weight room with the guys, stop by my favorite late-night sub shop to pick up an Italian special with extra veggies and meat, and then go home and relax on the couch while tuning into the latest show I’ve been bingeing. After a few episodes, I usually settle into bed once the adrenaline has worn off.
Or . . .
I go pick up a girl after the game and wind down with sex.
Today, well . . . today my entire routine is off. Instead of my favorite sandwich, I settled for one of the to-go meals the team provides, scarfed it down in my car, and then drove here as quickly as I could to make sure everything was okay with Penny.
I’m not sure why I rushed now.
It doesn’t seem like she wants anything to do with me.
Clearing my throat, I stand. “Well, at least let me help you get these suits out of the living room.”
“That’s okay. I have a process of where I’m putting them.” She glances past the hanging vest and says, “You can, uh . . . go out if you want. I know you like doing that.”
Is she insane?
Go out?
When she’s pregnant?
No, my random one-night stands have been terminated for the time being. The only action I’ll be getting is probably in the shower.