Page 127 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
Dad doesn’t look away from Oliver, but he reaches over and pats my back.
“Unclear, sir,” Oliver mutters. A flush creeps up his neck. “We haven’t really discussed it. But your daughter has grown on me.”
I’m going to die.
“Since the beginning of the semester.” Dad sighs. “Keep your head on straight, Oliver. You have your whole life ahead of you to date girls. And not this girl.”
“Okay,” I mumble. “I’m going to…”
I motion toward where Perri is pulling something out of the oven. I mean, we have one heart-to-heart and now he’s going to try and forbid Oliver and I from seeing each other?
“You’re scowling.” She hands me plates for the table.
“Yeah, well…” I shake my head and go set the table.
Did Mom ever care who I was dating? She had passing interest in it when I was in college… she eyed Carter like he could be my salvation. Because he comes from a wealthy family and will most likely be headed to the NHL after college.
In high school, though, I never brought any guys home. I messed around with some in their cars, parked away from prying eyes. They didn’t bring me to their house either. It was transactional more than anything. Kissing and blow jobs and fucking, but that was it. No emotional value.
I glance across at Oliver.
Are we transactional?
He meets my gaze over Dad’s shoulder. Just for a second, I feel something. Something I really don’t want to feel.
A skip in my chest, a fluttering of affection.
Bad heart.
Dad goes to attend to the protein on the grill, and Oliver doesn’t seem too bothered to be made to stand out in the cold in just a t-shirt and jeans, his hands in his pockets. But they return in short order. Perri hands Dad a sharp knife while Oliver and I transfer everything to the table.
It’s a fantastic spread and probably too much food for just the four of us. Grilled chicken, roasted brussels sprouts and bacon, a salad, halved baked potatoes and toppings.
“This looks amazing,” I tell her.
We take our seats, Perri and Dad at the heads, Oliver and I on the long sides across from each other. The next few minutes are full of quiet shuffling and passing of plates, until we’re all loaded up and my mouth is watering.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Oliver tells her and my father. His foot touches mine under the table.
“Do you get home-cooked meals very often?” Perri asks.
“Only when I visit my family. Which isn’t enough if you ask them, but plenty for me.” He tells her where they live, which seems to be only a few blocks away from their business. “Sometimes my abuela sends my siblings with food to make sure I’m not starving.”
He cracks a smile at that thought.
“They come to the games,” Dad says to Perri. “Very supportive family, although your grandmother is one to be reckoned with.”
“She’s hard to please.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, Sydney met her a few weeks ago…”
Right. She definitely didn’t like me, if hard to please reminded him of our introduction.
Dad’s eyebrows are in his hairline. He sets down his fork and clears his throat. “So, Sydney, you’re meeting his family?”
“Oh, uh, no?—”
“So it is serious,” he concludes. His attention fixes on Oliver. “You’re dating. You’re introducing her to your grandmother. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” I blurt out.