Page 15 of Making the Save

She shook her head. “I’ll just have some fruit and yogurt.”

“Babe,” I chuckled. “That ain’t gonna cure a hangover.”

That was just sound medical advice. She smiled and snatched a piece of bacon off my plate. She ate it in one bite and then totally blissed out on pig and grease, she closed her eyes, tilted her head back.

“So good!”

My dick twitched again.

I pushed the plate into her hands and got up to make another one.

We sat on the couch filling our faces like two savages who hadn’t eaten in months. It was satisfying watching her eat with gusto from the plate I made for her.

Beatrice’s phone, still on the glass table, buzzed. The name Tyler lit up the screen.

Bea looked at us with a perfectly arched silver eyebrow.

“Fine,” Sydney said. “Let’s get it over with.”

Beatrice accepted the call. “Tyler, I’m with Sydney. We have you on speaker.”

“Sydney! What the fucking hell were you thinking? No, wait. I know you weren’t thinking because you were drunk off yourass, not to mention showing it around town like some Vegas stripper. Are you dumb? Are you thickheaded? Did someone drop you on your head at birth?”

I reached over the table and ended the call.

Sydney gasped, but Beatrice’s expression remained neutral.

“You hung up on Tyler!” Sydney said, like I’d hung up on God.

“Dude’s got to check his tone.”

“It’s not personal. He talks to everyone that way.”

The phone buzzed again. Like it was angry.

Beatrice accepted the call and put it on speaker.

“Did you just Hang. Up. On. Me?”

“Yeah, that was me,” I said. “We can have a conversation without the name calling.”

“Oh. My. God. Is that the husband? Sydney, he’s not even the good hockey brother. Liam Locke I could have made work. This guy is a brooding neanderthal.”

“Brooding?” I asked Sydney. Neanderthal I’d heard a time or two. “Do you think I’m brooding?”

Her eyes sparkled and I swear she was hiding a smile under her fingers.

There she is, I thought. The girl from yesterday. Carefree and happy.

“Listen to me, Hockey Player…”

“That’s Mr. Hockey Player to you,” I said and winked at Sydney, whose eyes went wide.

“Jokes? This guy’s got jokes now? We don’t have time for jokes. We need to get this fixed. This is already viral and they’re creating a narrative.”

“Creating a narrative?” I looked between Sydney and Beatrice.

“Telling a story,” Sydney shrugged. “A made up one. Something salacious. I’ve got a drinking problem and daddy issues. I’m flaky. I go through guys like tissues. I’m a…”