“He’s in the kitchen on a work call,” Hatch said. “How was the slug hunt?” Sean had mentioned earlier that Franky was doing some field research nearby and would be stopping here afterwards.
I had never thought her eyes interesting, but how they glittered when her research was mentioned was surprisingly appealing. But then I usually appreciated people who dug their work, even when my comprehension of said work was sub-zero.
“Very productive, though in fact, I was looking for snails. Viviparinae Gray to be exact. They’re usually found in colder waters of the north but have started to migrate to the lower parts of the Great Lakes and associated waterways.”
“Sounds like a wild time,” I said, annoyed at how that sparkle in her eyes had drawn me in.
And here we go. I got the standard Franky St. James sneer before she dismissed me with a look down her nose. Catching Hatch’s gaze, I saw his surprise at her reaction, or maybe it was surprise at my own. Why the hell did I care about her stupid snails?
Rosie set a plate down before her with a glass of water. Franky picked up her taco with slender hands and looked over the group.
“Have I missed the discussion about Summer’s sprint from the church?”
Summer avoided looking at Hatch. Far too obvious, kids.
“We haven’t really discussed it except in surface terms,” she said.
“You made the right call. Dash Carter’s as spineless as a gastropod.” Around her chewing, Franky added, “Slug humor.”
Rosie laughed. “Tell us how you really feel.”
She sipped from her water glass and, surprise-fucking-surprise, proceeded to weigh in. “I once overheard him telling someone at a Rebels fundraiser that he couldn’t make a donation because his mother took care of the family’s gift-giving.”
“Damning stuff,” I said, barely repressing an eye roll.
Franky stared and held my gaze directly. Some weird, fucked-up part of me was thrilled that I had her attention.
“You might think that a meaningless anecdote, but it reflects a negative personality trait that no woman wants in a prospective mate. A man who exhibits that sort of selfishness of spirit is not worth a woman’s time. I only wish I’d told you sooner, Summer.”
Summer was hiding a smile. “Not sure I would have drawn the same conclusion from that, but there were plenty of other red flags I ignored.”
Franky went on. “I imagine he would have provided good genetic material for your children, though. Sometimes that’s all you need, especially when we’re talking about athletes.”
“What does that mean?”
Franky speared me with a look over her glasses, which had slipped down her nose as she ate. “Only that athletes aren’t the most evolved people on the planet.”
Oh no she didn’t. I couldn’t believe she was shoveling this shit in a roomful of athletes and their relatives. Before I could give her a piece of my mind, Hatch jumped in.
“Your dad’s an athlete, Franky.”
Only one of my favorite players. Legendary center, Bren St. James, had overcome a turbulent personal life and inner demons to win the Cup almost thirty years ago with the Chicago Rebels. That year was a banner one: a Finals win, a team legacy established, and marriages for all the owners to players on the team. I had watched that series over and over as a kid.
Franky considered Hatch’s statement. “My dad excepted. And Uncle Remy, who is probably the most evolved man I’ve ever met. Uncle Vadim is up there, too, though it took him a while. Russians are tough nuts and Aunt Isobel had to work hard to crack him. The rest of them? Idiots.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
“I think several of us have a different view of athletes, Franky,” Addy said with a smile.
“Well, you already have proof that Lars can produce a healthy child, so you can check that off the list. And I assume he has other positives that prove he’s worth your time. After all, you overcame several obstacles to get your happy-ever-after.”
Last year, my new Rebels teammate Lars Nyquist had found out he was father to cute-as-a-button Mabel after a one-night stand, and had hired my niece Adeline to be his nanny—which had led to where you’d think it would. Now he stared at Franky and who could blame him? This woman was an acquired taste. After twenty-plus years, I still hadn’t acquired it, and I hoped to God I never did.
Rosie was about the only person in the room not offended by her stepsister’s absurd opinions. “All those hurdles definitely make it worth the effort, I’d say.”
I had plenty to say about that but kept my lips zipped. Most of the people at this table were younger than me and had yet to develop my level of cynicism when it came to relationships. I wouldn’t be the one to disabuse them of the hearts-and-flowers romanticism of it all. They’d find out soon enough.
Chapter Four
