“What?” My gaze frantically went back and forth between Kacie and the girls.
“First of all, don’t say bony ass. Second of all,”—Kacie looked from Lucy to me—”it was Kendall.”
I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“Relax. It was fine.” Kacie gently squeezed my hand. “She was her usual charming self, but Darla really gave it to her. Then it was my turn. I wasn’t quite as good as Darla, but for once I didn’t freeze. Proud of me?”
“Always.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek as we got to the parking lot that led to the players’ vehicles.
I opened the doors for them and stepped back. “You know I haven’t talked to her, right? I wouldn’t lie to you. Ever.”
For just a brief second, Kacie’s face fell into sadness and her eyes looked at the ground. “I know you wouldn’t. I totally believe you, that’s why I’m not worried about it. I’ll follow you to your house.” She planted a small kiss on my lips as she walked by.
By the time we got home, the girls had perked back up and were excited for a fun night. They fell out of Kacie’s Jeep and yelled all the way to the elevator, listening to their echoes in the parking garage.
We walked into my house and Diesel damn near stroked out from all the excitement of the girls being there. As soon as we were in the door, I ordered a couple pizzas since it was already late.
“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” I asked Kacie.
“Not sure. We don’t have anything planned, but the girls do have school Monday, so I didn’t want to leave too late.” She walked over and grabbed her purse off the counter.
“Sounds good. Wanna have breakfast at Scooter Joe’s?”
Her face lit up. “Yes! I miss Joe. The girls will love it there.”
“What is this?” I asked as she put two twenty dollar bills in my hand.
“For dinner.”
“Hell no. Are you nuts?” I tried to give her the money back, but she wouldn’t take it. “I’m not taking money from you.”
“Yes, you are, or I’ll be mad.” She crossed her arms and put her nose up in the air dramatically.
“I don’t need the money, Kacie.”
“I know you don’t, but that’s not the point. You got us tickets, parking, and enough souvenirs to last a lifetime.” She pointed to the stack of T-shirts, mini hockey sticks, pucks, and Brody Murphy bobblehead dolls on my counter. “I need to pay my own way.”
“Fine, fine. I don’t want to spend my time arguing with you. Just know that you’ll get it back,” I promised. “Anyway, change of subject. Did you guys really have fun tonight?”
“We had a really good time. It was great watching you out there. My favorite part, though, was watching you after the game.”
I motioned for her to follow me into the living room. “After the game?”
“Yeah.” She sat down on the couch with me and snuggled into my side. “In the hallway outside the locker room. With all those kids around you, talking to you, taking pictures. You were in your glory.”
She was right. That was one of my favorite parts of this job. It’s definitely good for the ego to come out of the locker room after the game to a group of cheering fans, even if you lost.
“I love that part.”
“I can tell.” She smiled sweetly. “Tell me about it. How amazing does that feel?”
“Before I knew how it felt to be the player, I knew how it felt to be that kid. One of my favorite childhood memories: April 18th, 1999, Madison Square Garden with my dad. We flew there just to see Wayne Gretzky’s last game. My dad bought me a Gretzky jersey that we probably couldn’t afford and insisted that we stay after to get his autograph.” She laid her head on my chest and sighed. “Am I boring you?”
“No way.” She rubbed my inner thigh. “I love when you talk about your childhood. Keep going.”
“You keep rubbing my thigh like that and my brain is going to seize up.”
“Sorry.” She giggled, moving her hand to my stomach. “Continue, please.”
I propped my feet up on my coffee table. “We waited for over an hour. There were so many people there. I remember biting my nails down to stubs, worried that he was going to send the rest of us away, but he didn’t. He signed every paper, picture, and jersey people put in front of him. When it was my turn, my dad told him I was a hockey player too. Gretzky probably heard that from every dad that brought his kid up to him. Anyway, he acted interested, like it wasn’t the millionth time he’d heard it. He looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Remember, kid, you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.’”