“Nash,” I say, bumping my shoulder with his. “Stop being Nash.”
“We have a curfew.”
“You have a curfew. I could stay out until four am and dance naked on this table the whole damn time,” I say and reach for one of his untouched wings. I put it to my lips and tear into it. He watches me with an eyebrow up.
“Umm… that’s my food.”
“We’re married. It’s half mine.” I wink.
“Speaking of that, where’s your ring, Ten?” The question comes from one of the rookie defensemen’s girlfriends. I forget her name.
“I don’t wear it out,” I reply without missing a beat. “I misplace things all the time. And I would just die if I lost it. It means everything to me. Not as much as Nashy-Poo, but almost as much. It’s gorgeous.”
As soon as the nickname for him that I just magically thought up leaves my mouth, I feel him tense on the stool beside me and my smile grows. Success! I really should talk to my therapist about why I enjoy bugging him so much.
“Do you have any pictures? You must have a picture!”
“No. Sorry.” I take another of Nash’s wings. He swats at my hand with his napkin but I eat it anyway.
Crew makes a face. “You really like those putrid teriyaki wings or are you just that eager to tick him off?”
“These are the best flavor at Musica’s.”
Crew blinks and bursts out laughing, slapping the table with his wide palm. “Jesus. You two really are meant to be. No one, and I mean absolutely no one, likes that flavor.”
I look around at the empty baskets. He’s right. Not one of them has the dark brown, almost black sauce smeared on the paper inside the baskets. It’s all various shades of barbecue sauce on the other baskets. Nash and I lock eyes a minute but we’re both instantly uncomfortable—I can tell by the way he grabs his beer and turns away. I shrug. The newbie WAG is not giving up her quest to know everything about my imaginary ring.
“Is it oval or umbral cut? Or square? How many carats? White gold or old school yellow or?—”
Jesus. If I were this girl's boyfriend I would think the ring obsession is a bit of a red flag. I'm about to make something up, trying to think of the most outrageous ring I can think to describe when Nash answers for me. “It’s cushion cut with blue sapphires on the band—to match her eyes. And it’s platinum.”
That gets Crew’s attention as he freezes, his beer against his lips, but he doesn’t take a sip. I’m about to ask him what’s up but the girlfriend sighs dramatically. “You picked a ring to match her eyes? Oh my God, that’s the most romantic thing ever.”
“It sounds like it, doesn’t it?” I say, shooting Nash a dry smirk. “It’s even more romantic when you get to know him. Because he’s got the personality of?—”
Nash stands and talks over me. “Curfew is in an hour guys.”
“Plenty of time to get home,” Grady says as he comes back to the table with Landon.
“I should get going,” Tate announces. “This future Hall of Famer needs his sleep, don’t ya bud?”
He lifts Dylan off his shoulders and puts him on his hip. Dylan nods, eyes wide open, and says, “I don’t like sleep.”
Everyone laughs. I slip off my stool and walk around the table to give my nephew a hug. I kiss his cheek as he leans out of his dad’s embrace and wraps his chubby little arms around my neck, squeezing me as hard as he can. “We have sleepover, Auntie?”
“Not tonight, love bug. Maybe on the weekend? When Daddy’s away you, me, and Mama Mal can have one?” I suggest and he claps his hands as he pulls out of the hug.
“Yay!” He squeals as Mallory grabs her WAG jacket and smiles at me.
The three wave goodbye and head for the door. When I turn back to my seat Nash is staring at me with an intense gaze. “What?”
He clears his throat. “We should go too.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I look at the ring-obsessed WAG. “Make sure you don’t accidentally marry the boring twin.”
"Oh, Rylan doesn't even have a brother."
“Cool,” I say and give her a smile. “See you at the next home game.”
