Adam paused for a second. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
“You won a gold medal?”
“Ah, no. Maybe one day.”
“Then it ain’t the World Cup of hockey, is it?”
“Grandpa, hockey doesn’t have a World Cup. That’s soccer.” I put my glass down.
“Well,” Adam said slowly. “Technically, there is a Hockey World Cup, but it’s field hockey. Not ice hockey.”
I picked my glass back up and pinched the straw, looking at him. “There’s more than one type of hockey?”
“There’s more than one type of football, depending who you ask,” Grandpa offered.
“Yes. There’s American football where you use your hands, then soccer football where they use their feet,” I muttered, drinking again.
One of these wasn’t going to be enough, was it?
“Oh, enough. I know what hockey and football and soccer are,” Grandpa says. “I also know who your boyfriend is. He plays hockey for the Orlando Storms.”
“He told you that!”
“So? I still know!” He stuck his tongue out at me. “Adam, son, let me tell you about the time I was stationed in the Netherlands with the Army.”
Jesus, no.
No.
No.
Nobody needed these stories.
Grandpa clutched his glass of Bloody Mary and leaned toward him. “Are you familiar with the Red Light District?”
I waved to the barmaid and, ignoring the straw, swallowed the last of my vodka. “Can I get another? Please?”
“I have,” Adam said warily.
“Well, do I have a story for you. It was back in, oh, I don’t remember, but there was this lady. Hot as a heatwave in Florida,” Grandpa said. “And she came to us and she said, “Fellas, I’ve got a treat for you!” We were young and thought she meant a damn beer or something, so we followed her and—”
“Thank you!” I exclaimed to the girl who put the drink in front of me.
Adam squeezed my hip.
I drank.
And Grandpa?
He carried on telling the story of how he and his friends got lured to a brothel in Amsterdam.
I was done.
So. Done.
***
I stepped off the main stage into Adam’s waiting arms. I’d gotten away with any kind of speech, but I’d been forced to greet every single fucking guest to this damn pre-wedding dinner.
And I’d had more than two vodkas during Grandpa’s story time this afternoon.
Thus, I’d been on water during the entire rehearsal dinner.
“This is the longest wedding I’ve ever been to,” I said into his chest.
He chuckled, his whole body shaking. “Have you ever been to a wedding?”
“Only as a reception guest. Otherwise, no.” I turned my face to the side, resting my cheek against him. “Have you?”
“Yes. And you are correct. This is the longest wedding I’ve ever been to,” he replied. “Although that might have been your grandfather.”
I groaned, wrapping my arms around his waist. It was all for show for my family, but I wasn’t going to deny that being wrapped around him koala bear style wasn’t nice.
“He’s unreal,” I said. “I told you. He’s insane. He thinks everyone wants to know about his life. Be thankful you didn’t hear about his pensioner swing parties.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. After my grandma died, he was lonely, so joined a bingo club. Turned out bingo was a front for old-people swingers.”
“That’s…interesting.”
“Mhmm. Keep holding onto me. It’ll stop anyone else talking to me, okay?”
He tightened his arms around me, bringing his lips to the top of my head. “Duly noted. Your mother is looking at us.”
“Of course, she is. She’s imagining our wedding right now,” I scoffed.
“So, a time where Bloody Marys aren’t on the menu for your grandpa.”
“Exactly that. And my mom doesn’t get to choose cocktails. And nobody knows who you are or any embarrassing stories about my childhood, of which there are plenty.”
“We’re eloping then,” Adam said.
“Absolutely. If we ever get fake married, eloping is the only way to do it.” I pulled back and tilted my head to meet his eyes. “How else will we be able to convince everyone we actually did it?”
He laughed, dropping his forehead to mine. “Well, there is that. Eloping sounds good. Where would we go? Vegas? That Gretna place in Scotland?”
“I do like Scotland. They don’t wear underpants under their kilts.”
“Oooh.” He blew out a long breath. “I don’t know if I could do that, Red.”
“We can negotiate. How do you feel about going pantless under a kilt when we’re married?”
“Are you also commando?”
“Only after the wedding. You can’t pick and choose, hockey boy. That’s not how this works.”
He mock-sighed, his entire body moving with the exhale. “I suppose we can make that work.”
“I like when you agree with me. It makes the vodka I snuck at the table a lot more reasonable.”
Leaning back, he met my eyes. “You were drinking up there?”
“Did you hear my mother’s speech?”
“I did. I didn’t see you drinking.”
I tutted him. “Vodka. Water. And a lemon. A la Rihanna.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I tucked myself back into his body. “I needed it to stay sane. I need another. Are you finally understanding my family?”
Adam stroked my lower back with his fingertips. “Slowly. Your aunt Jean asked me if I was into older women, and if I change my mind, to call her.”
“Sounds like her.”
“Then, your uncle Peter asked me if the Storms would win against this season, and apparently, “I hope so, sir,” wasn’t the answer he wanted.”
“He’s a gambler. You should have given him your guess for a team.”
“My guess is the Storms. I’m in the team.”
“That’s cocky.”
“I know. He didn’t accept that answer either.”
I laughed, moving to his side. I didn’t release his shirt, keeping my fingers tucked into it as much as I could. He never loosened his grip on me, holding me firmly against his side.
I hated how normal it felt to be against him. Hated how good it felt to have him by my side, holding me, tucking me into his body.
It wasn’t supposed to feel anything close to this good.
“Wanna sit?” he asked into my ear.
I nodded, allowing him to pull me over to the closest empty table. He pulled my chair out for me. I sat, and the second he brought his chair to mine, his arm was around me against.
I leaned into him. He didn’t seem to mind at all. His fingers drew lazy circles on my bare upper arm, while his other hand sat happily on the table until he had to motion for a server to come over to get us a drink.
I didn’t say a word as he ordered me a vodka cranberry and him a beer. I had drunk enough water today that it didn’t make much of a difference, and I’d been to enough family gatherings like this to know that it was a necessity.
Dad slid into the chair next to me. “Save me, Pop,” he said without looking at me.
“Am I fucking Batwoman today or something?” I asked him.
“No, honey, but my flask is out of whiskey,” he replied.
I tapped my fingers against the table. “How big is it?”
He showed me a baby-sized one.
“I’ll fill it if you bring a bigger one tomorrow. I’ve already done Grandpa duty once.”
Dad made a face. “My poor girl. All right. You slip me a whiskey, and I’ll slip you one tomorrow after your speech.”
“Done.” I held one hand out flat on the table.
He tapped it with his in our form of a deal. “I’ll be back in five.” He got up as smoothly as he came. Seconds later, our server returned, and I asked her for my dad’s preferred drink before she left.
“I feel like that’s a habit with you two,” Adam said, picking up his beer.
Slowly, I nodded. “We survive these events knowing that we’re there for one another. I buy whiskey, he’s there in the hall when I can’t take my mom anymore. He’ll still pull a shotgun on anyone who hurts me because I’m his little girl, but he’ll booze me like the adult I am, because we both get the shit end of the deal in this family.”
“So if you break up with me because I cheat on you, he’s gonna shoot me?”
“God, no.” Rosie sat two seats away from me. “He only pulled a shotgun once, and that was because he found a pregnancy test in my bathroom that belonged to our cousin.”
True story.