“Well, that works perfectly,” I reply, forcing my tone to stay bright. “Because tomorrow is Friday. You can work tomorrow and come have fun at the game Saturday.”
“Ryan—”
“There are hotdogs, Tess. And churros…and popsicles,” I tease.
She sighs. “Puppy, why are you only naming the phallic-shaped snacks?”
“Because I want a mental picture of you deep throating a churro in the stands while I’m out on that ice,” I reply. “We both know you’ll be pretending it’s me.”
She laughs, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Humor is the only thing I’ve found to rein her back in when she starts going to the dark place.
“And hey, are we still on for karaoke tonight?”
“Umm…”
Now it’s me laughing. “Tess, I told you we’re in the clear. If Shelbs and Sully were sitting on a sex tape, we’d know it by now. The camera didn’t record anything. Now, if you want to record a session sometime, that can be arranged—”
“Ryan,” she cries.
“What?” I say, still laughing. “You’re telling me you’ve never thought about it? How the hell else am I supposed to survive the away games?”
“You’re incorrigible, and I’m hanging up.”
“I’m enchanting, and I’m hanging up first,” I tease. I’m right outside the locker room. If I go in there talking to my girl with this sappy look on my face, I’ll get ribbed for a week. “Wait—so I’ll see you later, right?”
“Bye, Ryan.” She hangs up.
Yeah, I’ll see her later. Tess Owens is it for me. I intend to keep seeing her for the rest of my forever.
50
I walk into Riptide’s Bar and Grill and glance around. It’s a typical Americana-style bar with a mess of stuff on the walls and a menu too thick to be of any quality. Never trust a place that offers gator bites and quesadillas and pasta carbonara. They can do one of those things well, certainly not all three.
A pretty, college-aged girl in a Rip’s baseball shirt and cutoff jean shorts shows me outside. There are tons of picnic tables, both covered and uncovered. A stage area is set up off to the left. A central bar stands covered with stools all the way around it.
It’s nearly 7:00 p.m., which means a dusting of clouds makes for a pink and purple cotton candy-colored sunset over the grey ocean. It’s chilly too. I’m glad I have my sweater layered over my dress. The seating area is dotted every few feet with domed space heaters.
“Tess!”
I turn to see Rachel standing at the end of a table with a beer in her hand, laughing and waving me over. It looks like half the Rays are already here. I see Jean-Luc and his wife Lauren and their kids, Walsh and his girlfriend Amber, Novy and Morrow. Caleb and Jake are sitting with Ryan. His back is turned, and in all the commotion, he hasn’t noticed me yet.
“Well, well, well…”
I spin around to see Shelby standing right behind me with a little mini version of Josh balanced on her hip. He’s adorable, with dark hair, big dark eyes, and pouty pink baby lips. “Hi Shelb—”
“Nuh-uh,” she says, wagging a finger in my face. “If you think I don’t know what you did—”
“Shhh,” I cry, pulling her away from the rest of the group. “Ohmygod, it’s been days. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she counters with a false whisper, eyes narrowed at me.
“Because—well, what was I gonna say?” I huff. “‘Hey Shelby, check your nanny cam if you want a shot of me crawling in a devil costume to suck Ryan’s dick.’”
She chokes on a laugh. “Oh god, I didn’t actually see that part.”
“I—wait, what?” I blink at her, heart racing.
“Yeah, the camera angle isn’t great, so I really only saw the stuff that happened in the middle of the room,” she replies. “The stuff against the changing table was out of shot. But thanks for the visual—”
“What do I need to say or do for this to never be mentioned again?” I say, gripping her arm.
Baby Josh reaches out a chubby hand, putting it on my wrist.
Shelby considers for a moment, her caramel brown eyes searching my face. “You can sing ‘Careless Whisper.’ Now. Open the show.”
Oh my god. Of all the possible punishments, she has to pick this one? I’m an only-sings-in-the-shower kind of girl for a reason. I can’t carry a tune to save my life. “Pick something else,” I plead. “Anything else.”