Is this the big, beautiful, DJ in the sky’s way of telling me to cue the track?!
All of a sudden, a voice in the background shouts something, derailing the notion altogether, “Fuckme, I gotta go, Gilly.”
“Already? Wejuststarted the convo.”
“I know, but they wanna do brewskies with Reichy before has to get back to NY. His team’s got even more shit going on than mine does.”
Surprise tilts my head slightly to the side. “Dalvegan’s got problems?”
“Few injuries that haven’t healed – putting us at a disadvantage to start the season – couple players we were expecting to resign but can’t – fucking with cap space – one of the Goonie Tunes has some huge issue with the new, on deck chef, plus the usual round up of media scheduling, training camp, the annual team outing as well as our exhibition games.”
A sympathetic wince is all I seem capable of offering.
Okay.
Perhaps nowwouldn’tbe the right time to add me dating one of his players onto the pile.
“Not to mention we’ve gotta get all the kids back to school stuff together including their yearly doc appointmentsandcleaning with you.”
“I see them next week.”
“At least I know I can always count onsomeone.”
An undeniable ache spreads viciously through my chest, yet I force myself to nod in agreement.
“Yeah!” he abruptly barks to someone offscreen, attention darting over to the person. “Fuck, bud. I’m coming.” The instant our eyes lock once more he half-heartedly grins. “Sorry, sis. I’ll text later. Maybe the boyfriend can spare you for a few and we can do another call.”
“Maybe.”
“Tell that plug to stay on the O and he won’t need to get on the D when he finally meets me.”
“Okaythatwas definitely a sex reference.”
M warmly chuckles, winks, and ends the video chat leaving me to bittersweetly smile all alone.
As much as I wish we had more time to talk, I’m not so sure I could keep the details of dating Thayne to myself for much longer.
And honestly?
Floss more, whiten less, honestly?
I’m kind of enjoying what we havewithoutoutside influences or opinions.
Particularly one that has quite the habit of making or breaking things sometimes.
Vibrations indicate an incoming text from my parents; however, a sassy knock followed immediately by my office door opening prevents it from being opened.
“Ooooo, Doc,” Rhonnie croons the instant her stare meets mine. “Your personal soap opera has not stopped since they’ve been here.”
Not grinning isn’t even considered.
“They’re giving me full fledgeDynastymeetsDallasbitch slapsDays of Our Livesshow finale vibes.”
“That’s sounds so dramatic.”
“That’s what they’ve been this entire time,” Rhonnie sassily smirks. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard them.”
“I haven’t.”
