I can’t believe I’m missing your graduation, Mike had texted earlier in the day.
Honestly, I’d rather watch the game, she replied. But my parents are coming, as is my ninety-year-old grandmother, and I haven’t seen her for months.
I’ll be thinking about you.
Don’t! she quickly replied. Think about the puck instead. If you win, I’ll sneak into your house later to help you celebrate.
And if I lose? :(
Then you have to sneak into mine. And—hey—I need Castro’s autograph. It’s for the night doorman’s daughter.
But not my autograph?
Sure, honey. I’m sure she’d like yours too.
You’re hard on my ego.
Even when I’m moaning your name?
Okay, not then. See you tonight. :)
As it happened, Brooklyn won game four about an hour after the dean read Lauren’s name. The series was tied 2–2, and the giddiness Lauren felt made it easier to survive a late dinner with her parents.
“You looked lovely, dear,” her mother said, “even if black isn’t really your color.”
Lauren took another sip of her water glass, wishing there was Scotch in it. Or maybe tequila. Her mother’s greatest talent was missing the point. The color of her cap and gown couldn’t matter less. She’d put herself through college without their help.
To celebrate her victory over their lack of generosity with tuition money, her parents had decided to take her out to an insanely expensive restaurant. Her father ordered a pricey bottle of champagne, of which she had three sips because she was not about to disclose her pregnancy. That conversation could wait until her clothes weren’t fitting anymore, or at least until she and Mike figured out how the next few months were going to work.
After the dessert course, her Katt Phone buzzed with a message. Excusing her rudeness, she checked to find a text from Mike. Don’t come to Brooklyn, I’m coming to you.
Her chest fluttered with excitement, and suddenly the evening became more bearable. Can’t wait! Good game tonight. Wish I could have seen it.
You’ll get your own personal highlight reel a little later.
She smiled and put her phone away. “Brooklyn won game four,” she announced to the table.
Her father made a sour face. “Fucking miracle, then. The new guy is gonna drive that team right into the ground.”
Lauren couldn’t guess who he meant by “the new guy” when there were so many possibilities: Nate, who’d fired him, Hugh who’d been promoted into his old job, or Coach Worthington. She didn’t bother to clarify because it was so obvious that her father was a bitter old man. The team had gotten further than anyone expected this year, and would likely kill it next year, too.
“I’m quite tired,” she said instead of engaging him. “Thank you for this lovely meal, but I think I’ll head home.”
“Well done, honey,” her elderly grandmother said, nodding sleepily from across the table.
“Now if only we could find you a nice, available man,” her mother mused.
“Thank you, gran,” Lauren said, ignoring her mother and rising to leave. “That means a lot.” And now it was really time to make her exit.
“This is for you,” her father said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She tucked it into her bag, where her cap and gown had been stuffed after the ceremony. She kissed her parents quickly and went home to wait for Mike.
? ? ?
An hour or so later they lay in a sweaty heap together, catching their breath after an enthusiastic romp on her bed. She kissed the slightly furry centerline of his chest, then laid her cheek on it.
“When can I get you to marry me?” he asked suddenly.
Her heart skipped a beat. “You want to get married?”
“Of course I do.” His hand sifted clumsily through her hair. “But I know some women don’t want to walk down the aisle with a belly. What are your thoughts regarding weddings and baby bumps?”
“This will be the second time you marry a pregnant wife.”
He hauled up his chest so he could see her face. “The circumstances couldn’t be more different. I would have married you beforehand if I thought you would go for it.”
She smiled down at him. “I know. And I don’t like weddings all that much, honestly. They’re so predictable.”
He let out a bark of laughter. “What do you mean?”
“White dress. Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Tiered cake. They’re all the same, and yet you can just feel how hard everyone labored to try to make it special.”
“I love cynical girls.”
“You must.”
“What’s the solution, then? You don’t want to get married?”
“I’d love to be married to you,” she whispered. “I don’t care about the wedding. There’s always Vegas.”
“God, you’re fun,” he chuckled. “We could do that.”
“We could let Elsa pick the venue. The fake Eiffel Tower, or in a helicopter, or by Elvis.”
He snorted. “The power would go right to her head.”
“I don’t mind. The venue isn’t important to me.”
“Elsa told me in no uncertain terms that we have to get married.”
Lauren lifted her head. “Really? Why?”
His handsome face broke into a smile. “I don’t know her angle, exactly. But I wasn’t going to argue until I spoke to you about it. If you want to elope to Vegas, I’m down with that. Or we could invite our parents.”
“No.” She snuggled against him again. “Let’s just go the three of us. Right before training camp, maybe?”
“The four of us,” he corrected, placing a hand on her belly.
“Aw.” She relaxed against him.
“Seriously, Lo. I can’t wait to make this promise to you and slip a ring on your finger. It means a lot to me.”
Her throat got tight. “It will mean a lot to me, too.”
“I wonder if I’ll be as good at picking out rings as I am at picking out blue dresses? Maybe you should help me. Nobody is more stylish than you.”
“The design isn’t important,” she said quietly.
“Aw, I know you love me, Lo. But if you’re wearing it every day until you die, maybe you should approve of the design?”
“When you put it that way.” She grinned against his warm skin, and he gave her a pat on the rump. “Hey—you won’t believe what my father gave me for a graduation gift.”
“What?”
“A hundred thousand dollar check.”
Mike made a choking noise. “Your father is such an asshole.”
“Thank you!” She knew she sounded like the worst stubborn brat on the planet right now, but the man was the worst sort of control freak. “If he’d given me the money when I was eighteen, I would have graduated a decade sooner.” Thinking about it almost made her feel twitchy with anger again. Almost. She couldn’t quite muster up the outrage while Mike stroked her skin with patient hands.
“You know . . .” He cleared his throat. “That vile man did me a favor, though. If it wasn’t for your long tenure in the front office, I might not have found you.”
Now there was a freaky idea. “Yes, you would,” she said quickly. “I would have been the manager’s daughter who hung around at home games, instead of the manager’s daughter who ran the front office.”
“You’re right,” he said sleepily. “That would have been enough.”