So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(28)

Isobel made a face at Harper, who responded with, “Just asking.”

Violet looked puzzled. “What am I missing?”

“All allusions to lesbianism come with the obligatory ask after my mom’s health.” Isobel leaned in and cupped her hand over her mouth. “Because my mom’s a lesbian.”

“I didn’t know that!” Violet threw a look of giddy glee at Harper. “But I thought she was remarried to some guy called Danny and playing golf in Scottsdale.”

“Dani is a woman. When my parents divorced five years ago, she finally came out.”

Harper chuckled evilly. “Cliff was pissed.”

More than pissed. The notion that the gold-medal-winning ice skater he left Harper’s mom for faked her way—in every possible way—through her marriage had made him livid with rage. What did the man expect when he’d chosen his second wife like a man chooses a breeding mare? Ice-skating pedigree. Check. Childbearing hips. Check. The rest. Who cares?

As for why her mother had not only hidden who she was but also married a brute NHL enforcer—and wrecked another home in the process—Isobel had never really obtained a satisfactory answer.

I had sponsorships, Izzy, expectations of my sexuality because of my career in ice-skating. And your father was very persuasive . . .

God save us from alpha dickheads who could make women “forget” they were lesbians. Isobel was determined she wouldn’t make her mother’s mistakes. Not that she was hiding who she was, but she wanted control over her life. And that included both her professional life and her sex life.

She was still mulling over Vadim’s “warning” about getting involved with Kelly. What business was it of his—of any of the team—whom she dated? And while he half seduced her with all that Russian ferocity at this morning’s practice? The nerve of this jerk.

Affirming the soundness of her internal process, Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” came on, sending the bachelorettes at the next table into a frenzy.

“So I have a hypothetical.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Let’s imagine there’s this guy who on paper looks like he could check all the boxes. Good-looking, common interests, easy to talk to, and best of all—”

“Hung like a horse?” Violet offered.

“Interested in me.”

Harper and Vi looked suspicious, wondering about the catch.

“There doesn’t seem to be any problem—”

“Except . . .” Harper did her eyebrow thing again. Tomes were communicated.

“Being with him might start people gossiping.”

Violet pointed. “You sneaky cur! Is some bangin’ hockey player trying to get in your sweatpants?”

“No. This is hypothetical. There’s this guy I sort of like—not a player!” She glared at Harper, who was giving off her patented Harper Does Not Approve look. Hypocrisy levels through the roof. “But it might look like I’m using him to get ahead in my career.”

Harper sucked down a mouthful of martini. “Would you be?”

It had never occurred to her until Vadim Petrov had opened his big, sexy mouth.

“No. I actually like him.”

“This guy”—Violet squinted—“it’s not Moretti, is it? Because he’s playin’ golf with your momma, if you know what I mean.”

“I know that, but daaamn, right?”

A moment of silence was offered for the female tragedy that was Dante Moretti’s homosexuality.

Vi continued. “So this guy could be the one. The one who meets all your requirements. Tall, built, looks good in a suit.”

“That sounds sort of shallow,” Isobel mumbled, though those were the specs she’d listed during a previous sister-bonding session. They also happened to fit a certain Russian to a T.

Not thinking of him.

“So he’s perfect on paper,” Harper said thoughtfully, “but you’re looking for excuses to sabotage it before you’ve even given it a chance.”

Isobel nodded with the enthusiasm of a very happy basset hound. “Basically!”

Over the sound of their laughter, Harper’s phone rang and a smile lit up her face. “Speaking of out-of-bounds players, I’m going to take this somewhere quieter.”

Watching while Harper moved out of earshot, Violet popped another truffle fry into her mouth and chewed slowly.

“You and Kelly would make beautiful babies, chica.”

Isobel’s cheeks warmed. “Let me guess. That gossip Cade Burnett.”

“You were spotted in the Empty Net weaving your tangled web.”

“Which I didn’t even know I was weaving until Kelly asked me out to dinner.”

Violet grinned, her smile so like their father’s that Isobel’s chest tightened.

“And you said?”

“Sure! Let’s do that sometime!” Her fake cheer gave way to worry. “But now that the old biddies are gossiping, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m using Kelly to get entrenched with the backroom staff.”

Violet scrunched up her face. “Why would you even think that? Did someone say something? Because Cade didn’t mention it.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “No, not at all.”