Kiss and Don't Tell(5)

“Fuck.” He sticks his phone back in his pocket and then thinks for a second.

“I know.” He pulls out the umbrellas from the umbrella stand and tosses one to Posey and one to Taters. He doesn’t bother with Holmes, because we all know he hasn’t even lifted his head since our visitor knocked on the door. Then he snags a coaster off the coffee table and says, “Let’s show her. Lawes, set up a goal.”

“Seriously?” I ask.

His eyes land on me. “Yes, I’m fucking serious.”

Sighing, I push two bar stools to the side in front of the island, using the counter as the top of the goal and the chairs as the side. I stand in front of the goal and get in position.

“Now, watch carefully as we display our extreme athleticism.” Hornsby, our defenseman, drops the coaster on the floor and moves it back and forth with the tip of the umbrella. It’s comical that he’s attempting to have some semblance of coordination like Holmes. “This isn’t ideal, especially being guarded by two players. Holmes, I could use your help.”

“Nope,” he says.

With a sigh, Hornsby says, “Taters, you’re out. Make this two on one.”

“Fine by me.” Taters takes a seat and uses the umbrella as a mic. “I’ll announce.”

Hating every second of this, I watch as Hornsby gets in position, Posey defending him. Together, they tap the ground and then each other’s umbrellas. They do this three times, and then Hornsby snags the coaster and spins toward me. Look at Horny, making the moves—most likely trying to impress the girl since he’s not playing his actual position right now. Posey is right on his ass, though, using his shoulder like he does best as he reaches for the coaster.

“Welcome to an impromptu exhibition of umbrella coaster athleticism,” Taters says. “Guarding the goal tonight, we have Pacey Lawes. Quick on his feet, he’s a menace in front of the net. They’re going to have to work hard to squeak something by him. Socking across the hardwood floor, we have Eli Hornsby with the green umbrella, struggling to keep the coaster close to him, or to even slide across the floor. I believe he’s regretting his choice of puck at the moment.”

“Accurate,” Hornsby says, his voice tight.

“And with the yellow umbrella, we have one of the best defensemen in the league. Unafraid to throw a punch and then end the night with a bologna sandwich, Levi Posey sticks to Horny like glue.”

“Don’t call me that in front of company,” Hornsby says as he spins toward me. I keep my eye on the coaster, ready to make a grab for whatever shot he attempts.

“Horny is zeroing in on his target, but will he be able to get by the Chips Ahoy annihilator? Or will an entire pack of cookies affect Posey’s ability to move quickly enough to steal the coaster away?”

“Really feeling those cookies?” I ask.

“Light as a feather over here,” Posey says, grappling for the coaster.

“Knock it off with your goddamn elbows,” Hornsby says as he takes the coaster the other way, then switches back.

“He’s closing in. This goal will be his. I can feel it,” Taters says. “Signature move. Deke to the left, spins and . . .”

Hornsby flicks the umbrella, shooting the coaster to the upper left side of the “goal.” Without even a second thought, I reach up and block the coaster. Hornsby had no chance.

“And the coaster is stopped by Lawes, a block he could’ve easily done in his sleep. That must sting for our dear friend Horny.”

“Uh, what about my superior defense?” Posey asks.

“I think it was the take down of the Chips Ahoy package that helped you. You were unmovable.”

Done with this, I toss the coaster on the counter and take a seat at the island again while Hornsby shoves his umbrella in the stand. He pushes his hair back and asks, “So, does that help?”

The girl stands there, holding the straps of the backpack resting on her shoulders, taking in the scene. I don’t blame the absolute confused look on her face right now. Hell, I’d pay good money to know exactly what she must be thinking at this moment.

“Uh, no, just made you more insane. And the nickname ‘Horny’ doesn’t help either.”

“They’re idiots,” Hornsby says.

“Here,” Holmes says from the couch, handing over his phone.

Taters walks over to him and takes his phone in his hand. “You have the team photo on your phone?”

Holmes doesn’t say anything. Instead, he goes back to his book.

Hornsby snags the phone and shows it to the girl, who examines the photo intently. Smirking, she asks, “Why aren’t you all smiling? It’s a team photo, after all.”

“Athletes aren’t supposed to smile in photos,” Taters says. “We’re supposed to be intimidating.”

“Oh, was that the look you were going for? You look more constipated than anything.”

We all bust out in laughter as Taters snatches the phone from her. “You realize this is my house you’re trying to gain access to, right? Referring to me as constipated isn’t going to grant you access, but rather punch your ticket out of here.”

“Settle the fuck down,” Hornsby says. “Come on, at least dry off for a bit. We have Cheez-Its and bologna sandwiches and plenty of beer. Maybe we can find some cell service while waiting it out.”