Tomboy (The Hartigans #3)(19)

“Why?” She placed a hand on her hip, lifted an eyebrow, and gave him the stare that made adults admit how that one thing got stuck in that one awkward spot which led their emergency room visit.

“It’s an experiment.” He grimaced and shoved back the flop of hair that had fallen over his pierced eyebrow. “Lucy suggested it.”

That woman. Fallon loved Lucy like a good pair of arch-supporting clogs, but she could kill her right about now. Annoyance crept up her back, tightening the space between her shoulder blades. It sure would have been nice if her bestie had bothered to give her a heads-up before Fallon skated up to her parents’ house to find Zach hanging out on the front porch.

Taking a deep breath, she prodded. “Details are your friend.”

“She suggested—and my agent agreed—that if you come to the game, and I still play like shit, then we know you aren’t my Lady Luck.” The words came out fast, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying them, either.

Before she could say anything, as if her shocked brain could come up with a response right then, her mom came out of the pantry, hollered out that the food was ready, and everyone thundered in from the living room.

There might have been four people fewer than normal at the weekly family lunch, but you’d never know it from the volume level. The family saying went that there were the black Irish, the red Irish, and the so-obstinate-and-rebellious-they-got-kicked-off-the-island Irish. The Hartigans were all three wrapped up into one loud, rowdy family that were never—not a single moment of the day—out of one another’s business. It was fucking exhausting.

Her sisters Fiona and Faith strolled in with Ford’s wife Gina, talking about how the home renovations were going for her Victorian that had been under construction since she’d met Ford. Ford came in a few steps behind, looking at his wife as if she just might be the greatest thing to ever happen to him—which she totally was. Finn strode in with their dad, Frank, both arguing in hushed tones—for them, anyway—which meant one thing; they were talking about her.

Great.

As soon as the prayer was said and the food started being passed around, the interrogation began. The questions came hard and fast. When did you know you wanted to play hockey? How did it feel to put that hit on Anton? Who’s the weirdest guy in the league? How do you like Harbor City? He responded with pat answers that sounded like he was being interviewed by a sports reporter hanging out rink-side.

“How did you meet?” Fiona asked, throwing out the first personal question.

Zach’s body tensed, and his grip on his fork tightened. “Lucy.”

For once, the Hartigans were silent, waiting for him to go on. He just sat next to her and stared at his plate. It could come off as rude. Hell, it probably did to her family, but unlike her they couldn’t see the way his knee was going up and down a million miles an hour. Zach Blackburn might be a pain in her ass, but he was a seriously freaked-out pain in her ass. Probably nothing about being a professional hockey player had prepped him for the absolutely-no-boundaries attitude of her family.

It got her in the feels just enough to stop her from sharing how he’d gotten food poisoning from tainted muffins baked by a Rage fan.

“We met after Frankie and Lucy had their big blowup at Ford and Gina’s engagement party,” she said. “He was taking care of Lucy until Tess, Gina, and I could show up.”

Her dad grumbled something to himself and then jabbed his empty fork in the air toward Zach. “And how does that explain the pictures that were all over the place of you outside his house?”

“Frank,” her mom said with an exasperated sigh. “We talked about this. You’re to give your daughter a little bit of privacy.”

“That was a misunderstanding.” Zach’s knee went into hyperdrive. “I should have reached out to Lucy to kill the story sooner.”

When her dad still didn’t look satisfied, she girded up to deflect some of the attention away from Zach before he put a dent in their floor from his leg jiggling. “I didn’t have a sleepover, well, not like everyone is saying.” Okay, that was amazingly delicate for her, but her parents were in the room and it wasn’t like she could just burst out with I didn’t fuck him. “He needed help, Lucy reached out, and I did her a favor.”

Zach stabbed his fork into a piece of ham on his plate. “I was sick.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Faith said, sounding exactly like the trusting kindergarten teacher she was. “Are you better now?”

“Yes, I’m watching what I eat.”

Of course, he meant tainted muffins, but no one but her knew that. It took everything she had not to laugh out loud when Faith’s gaze went to the huge amount of food piled on his plate and then back up at him, her blue eyes wide and surprised. That was probably, because except for these dinners, Faith spent most of her time with five-year-olds whose caloric intake was far less than that of a professional athlete.

He must have realized how much food he had on his plate because he grinned at her sister. “No more sweets.”

Across the table, Fiona snort-giggled. “Then Fallon’s just perfect for you.”

Some people might haven been offended. Fallon just embraced the truth of it. There was absolutely nothing sweet about her. Still, she sure as hell wasn’t perfect for Zach Blackburn.