Good Boy (WAGs #1)(41)

“I’m doing that now,” he answers, sounding grumpy. “Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehole.”

“Molehill,” I correct.

“Nah, J-Babe. That can’t be right. Moles dig underground, they don’t build shit.”

Oh for God’s sake. “But the dirt they kick up out of the lawn gets…” I see at least a dozen eyes on me, and they’re burning with curiosity. “Never mind,” I mumble, and Blake chuckles.

“Beer?” he asks. “There’s probably some girly white wine around, too.”

“Beer would be awesome,” I say quickly. And keep ’em coming.

I meet both of his other sisters and then Blake’s dad. To say that Mr. Riley isn’t what I expected is an understatement. Blake is six inches taller than his father, and he outweighs him by at least a hundred pounds. Mr. Riley shakes my hand as politely as a school principal, and then he steals a sperm cupcake out of the box and slides quietly out of the room.

Just when I’m ready to declare the science of genetics a fraud, there’s a great pounding of feet and an enormous woman launches herself at us.

“BLAKIEEEEE!”

“Oof,” my faux boyfriend says, catching her. “Easy, Ma. Good to see you, too.”

“It’s been NINE DAYS since you came home for dinner!” she hollers.

“But who’s counting?” He grins.

“I MADE BRISKET! You need protein if you’re gonna POUND MONTREAL INTO TINY BITS OF DUST.”

“Awesome,” he says. “Hey, Mom? This is Jess. My girlfriend.”

I brace myself as Blake’s mother turns to inspect me. Unlike Blake’s sisters, she doesn’t gasp or express shock and dismay. She does, however, look me over from head to toe, as if I’m a brisket she might purchase, depending on whether or not I’m worthy.

“Nice to meet you,” I say in a shaky voice, extending a hand.

Her giant mitt closes over mine. She has a handshake like Mike Tyson’s. “Welcome to our home, Jessica. How long have you known my boy?”

“Um, since March. He and my brother are friends.”

“Six months. Hmmm…” Mrs. Riley muses, arching an eyebrow. “And what is your favorite thing about him?”

Just as my traitorous brain offers up a truly inappropriate image, Blake jumps in to rescue me. “Mom, Jessie hasn’t gotten the tour yet. We’ll catch up with you in a little while?”

His mother frowns, unhappy with this interruption. I get the feeling she’d rather pull me into a windowless interrogation room for a little truth serum and waterboarding.

Blake’s hand closes around mine. He passes me one of the two beers he’s collected, and I take a deep swig as we make our escape out a pretty set of French doors and into the backyard.

“Cheezus,” Blake gasps when we make it outside. “J-Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d go all DEFCON 4 if I brought someone home with me.”

“When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?” I ask.

“Uh. Five years ago.”

“Okay…” The puzzle pieces are sliding together in my head. “So you broke up with whatsername and then stopped dating entirely?”

“Pretty much,” he says gruffly. “Check this out.” He sweeps his hand across a gorgeous yard with a shimmering pool at the far end. “We dug this ourselves the year I was fourteen. It was a blast.”

“Looks like fun, too.” There’s a basketball net at one end of the pool, and I can just picture all the larger Rileys battling over it together. On the surface, Blake’s home and mine look nothing alike. But I feel a familiar big family vibe here, and it’s comforting to me. That weirdness in the kitchen really wasn’t so bad. “Nice place you got here, Blakey.” I hook my arm in his. “Show me some more.”

He takes me to the pool house, with its refrigerator full of Canadian beers. We return to find that the baby shower is just getting going in the huge sunroom off the kitchen. Guests are arriving in ones and twos, piling gifts on one table and sampling appetizers on another.

“Let’s find you something to eat,” Blake says, rubbing the small of my back. “I know my mom is a little much, but she’s a damned good cook.”

“Sounds great.”

He hands me a plate, and I help myself to a mini quiche and a deviled egg. His sister Britt gallops over, smiling at me. “There’s a lot more food right in there,” she says, indicating the dining table through the French doors. “And we’re playing a party game.”

“Quarters?” Blake guesses. “Beer pong?”

His sister rolls her eyes. “No, Blakey.” She doesn’t even have to stand on her tiptoes to attach something to his shirt pocket. It’s a safety pin with a tiny blue ribbon on it. She hands me one with a pink ribbon. “For the whole party, you can’t say the word baby. If you do, you forfeit your pin to whoever heard you say it first. There’s a prize for the person who has the most pins at the end.”

“Beer pong is funner,” Blake argues.

She pats his chest. “Eat some brisket. Make Mom happy.”

We queue up for the buffet. The Riley dining table practically sags under the weight of all the food on it. As I load up my plate, Blake gets pulled into a discussion with his brother-in-law about the team’s chances for the season.