Kiss and Don't Tell(28)

“Fair enough,” Posey says, grabbing a plate and jumping in. No shock there. Holmes goes second, then Hornsby, followed by Stephan, who announces he’s going to make a plate for Taters and take it to him.

Probably smart. Not sure Taters wants to be around us right now.

“Everything looks amazing,” I say as I pile some roasted potatoes onto my plate.

“Thanks. Hopefully the steaks are cooked to your liking.”

“They always are,” Posey says from the table.

“Hey, Winnie, help yourself to a beer or soda from the fridge,” Hornsby says.

“Oh, I have a water bottle, and that should be fine. Thank you anyway.”

She’s acting incredibly polite right now, almost demure. Not the same girl I saw this morning, and I think it’s because she’s intimidated around the guys. I know she doesn’t want to—as she puts it—bother us, but the guys really aren’t fazed. So far, she’s been easy to be around, funny. It’s not as if we don’t spend time with our teammates’ wives and girlfriends. Especially when we travel. None of us are really into the “ravenous” fans like some players are, so I doubt any of the guys feel uncomfortable. Do we give off that vibe, though? Do we intimidate her?

Once we gather our plates, we take a seat at the dining room table, and I carefully watch as Winnie piles little scoops of food on her plate. And the steak Stephan made, she takes a half of it. When I catch a glimpse of her dinner, I realize just how small it is.

And then when she starts walking toward her bedroom, bypassing the table altogether, I ask, “Where are you going?”

She stops and glances at the table. “Oh, I don’t want to impose. You guys do your thing. I’m going to eat real quick and then I’ll be back to do the dishes.”

“I got the dishes,” Stephan says from the kitchen.

“No, it’s the least that I can do. And thank you for dinner, it looks great.” She heads toward her bedroom again so I hop out of my chair and jog after her. I catch her right before she enters her room.

I put my hand against the doorframe and say, “Hey, have dinner with us.”

She shakes her head. “Seriously, Pacey, I don’t want to interrupt your guys’ trip. I’m okay with eating in here and trying to not rattle the boat . . . or however they say it.”

“You’re not . . . rocking the boat. It’s going to be awkward knowing you’re in your room, eating your dinner by yourself. You could’ve hung out with us today, too. You don’t have to hide away. You know, we’re pretty fun guys.”

“I don’t doubt that you are. I just feel . . . weird.”

“Why?”

She looks behind her and then whispers, “Given the circumstances, I’m not sure many people crash the houses of famous hockey players.”

“Ahh, let me guess.” I lean forward. “Did you look us up today once you got Internet access?”

“Maybe,” she says, looking away.

“Maybe tell a friend or two and they freaked out?”

“Maybe . . .”

“And now you’re freaked out because we’re no longer normal people in your eyes.”

“Possibly.” She nibbles on the corner of her lip.

I lift her chin with my index finger and say, “Well, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re normal people. We’re just idolized because we know how to play a sport on ice. But outside of that, we’re normal.”

“You don’t look normal.” She scans my chest and then lifts her eyes to mine.

“Can’t do much about the looks department, unless—” I snap my fingers. “Want us all to wear bags on our heads?”

“Oh my God, stop.” She pushes at my chest. It feels like a flirty move, and I like it.

I reach out and take her plate in my hand. “Seriously, come have dinner with us.”

“Pacey.”

“What?” I turn around and grin at her.

“I don’t know what to say to them.”

“Pretty sure they feel the same way. You’re a girl, after all. Your female parts scare us.” I pretend to shiver and she laughs even more.

“Stop being charming.”

“Ahh, sorry, that’s ingrained.” I nod toward the main living space. “Let’s go, Winnie. Hustle up.”

“Your sports terms aren’t going to make me move faster, just a heads-up on that.”

She catches up with me and we walk to the dining table together. “The queen is going to grace us with her presence tonight,” I say, setting her plate down next to mine.

“Is that how she wants us to refer to her?” Posey asks, his mouth full of potatoes.

“Queen Winnie, I believe,” I answer.

“God, please don’t.” Her cheeks are pink from embarrassment, and I find it endearing, though I’m sure she doesn’t at all. “Just Winnie and, Pacey, stop making this a big deal.”

“But it is a big deal. You spent the whole day in your room, working on an equation that’s going to help bring us closer to Mars, and now we’re having dinner with you. Please tell us more about your trans-planetary endeavors.”

“Really?” Hornsby asks, and I hope to Jesus Winnie takes this moment to go along with it.