Ego Maniac(60)

“We’ve never gone ice skating with anyone else. I can show you my moves.”

Emerie turned to me with one brow lifted. “He’s got moves, huh? Just like his father.”

I lowered my voice. “Come. Let him show you his moves, and I’ll show you mine later.”





Emerie

“I don’t think it’s broken.” The emergency room doctor had my swollen ankle in his hand. It was already turning blue. “But we’ll take an X-ray to be sure.”

“Thank you.”

“The nurse will be by in a few minutes to get some information, and then she’ll call for the X-ray technician.”

“Okay.” I turned to Drew. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes. You were making me go too fast.”

“Too fast? A grandmother pushing a bucket on the ice lapped us. You shouldn’t have let go of my hand.”

“I got scared.”

We’d ice skated for more than two hours, and I still couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. Because I was so unsteady on my feet, my ankles were constantly wobbling back and forth, which caused my skate to loosen. The last time I fell, there’d been no ankle support, and I twisted the damn thing. It hurt, but I hadn’t thought it was broken.

Drew, however, took one look at the swelling and decided we needed a visit to the ER. There was no talking him out of it. His buddy, Roman, had met us in front of the hospital and took Beck back to his place so Drew could stay with me.

The nurse came by with a clipboard. “I need to ask you some questions. Your husband can stay if you want, but he’ll need to step out when the technician comes to shoot the X-ray.”

“He’s not...” I motioned between Drew and me. “We’re not married.”

The nurse smiled. Not at me, but at Drew. She also batted her eyelashes.

Really?

“Well, then I’ll need to ask you to step outside,” she told him. “I’ll come get you after I finish asking your…”

She waited for Drew to fill in the blank.

“Girlfriend.”

“Oh. Yes. I’ll come get you when I finish with your girlfriend.”

Was I imagining it or had she been fishing to see if we were together? Drew kissed me on the forehead and said he’d be back. As soon as he left, the nurse started rattling off medical questions. Only then did it hit me that Drew had just called me his girlfriend.





“I can walk.”

Drew had just scooped me up for the tenth time. He’d carried me from the rink to the cab, from the cab into the hospital, from the hospital into the cab, and from the cab all the way up to his apartment where he proceeded to set me up on the couch with my foot elevated. Just as the doctor instructed.

Now, he’d just had food delivered, and he was carrying me to the table.

“Doctor said not to put weight on it.”

“It’s fine. It’s just a sprain. The boot will stop me from putting too much weight on it anyway.”

Beck pulled out the chair as his father approached with me cradled in his arms. Roman, who had been taking containers of food out of the cardboard delivery box, looked at us funny. Today was my first time meeting him, and he probably thought I was a drama queen.

“I’m so embarrassed. I swear I’m not usually this big of a klutz.”

Roman continued to take in the scene before him, watching as Drew set me down and proceeded to scoop food onto the plate in front of me. I got the feeling Roman was a man who didn’t miss much.

“You’re fine. Florence Nightingale here shouldn’t have let you fall.”

Drew growled. “I didn’t let her fall. She let go of my hand.”

I winked at Roman, letting him know we were on the same page, then deadpanned. “He let me fall.”

“Bullshit.” Drew froze with a tray of ziti in his hand. He’d already shoveled way too much onto my plate. He looked to me and then to Roman. “I didn’t drop her, but I’m going to drop you if you keep starting shit.”

“Watch your language,” I said.

Roman just chuckled.

Dinner was far from peaceful. First Drew and I disagreed over politics, and then Roman, Drew, and Beck had a heated discussion about who was going to make it to the playoffs in hockey this season. It was loud, and we occasionally talked over each other, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed a meal so much.

After we finished, Drew insisted I couldn’t help cleanup and toted me back to the living room. Roman, who Drew had instructed to help clean up, cracked a beer and joined me instead.

“Want a beer?”

“No, thanks.” I slouched down on the couch and folded my hands over my stomach. “I’m too full from the twenty pounds of pasta and chicken parmigiana Drew piled on my plate.”

Roman took a draw on his beer, watching me over the top. “You two fight a lot?”

I smiled. “We actually do.”

“That’s his tell.”

Confusion must have been apparent on my face, because Roman set his beer bottle on his knee and elaborated. “We met in sixth grade. I stole his girlfriend—”

I interrupted. “The way Drew tells the story, he stole your girlfriend before you bonded over the chicken pox.”