“Yeah, I’m totally in,” Ian says, carrying the plates to the long table between the kitchen and the living room area where we eat, study, and play cards on Sunday nights. “I’m excited about it. You guys are great people. Whoever you end up with is going to be hella lucky. And if I get to play a part in helping great people find other great people…then that’s awesome.”
“I agree.” Harlow moves into the kitchen to fetch utensils and cloth napkins from our stash by the sink. “And I believe your intentions are pure, Ian. But that doesn’t mean you have the skills to pay the matchmaker bills.”
“Well, I won’t really be a matchmaker,” Ian says. “I’ll be more like a coach, training and prepping my team to compete at the highest level.” His eyes glitter as he pulls out two chairs and nods toward Jess and me. “The more I think about it, the more psyched I am to get started. You guys are in great shape. You just need a little fine-tuning, and you’ll be ready to dominate the New York dating scene.”
“But what’s in it for you?” Harlow demands. “Don’t say the satisfaction of helping other people or I’m going to vomit. And unlike our little whiskey exorcist over there, I never miss my target.”
Jess grabs my hand, hauling me up off the couch. “It will keep his mind off his own heartbreak and romantic failure. Right, Ian? You did say Whitney broke up with you, right?”
“Yeah. What happened?” I ask as I settle into my seat amidst the mouthwatering aroma of steamy sausage and pepper scrambles and savory pancakes. “Are you okay? I thought you two were in it for the long haul.”
He shrugs before taking the seat across from mine. “Things haven’t been great for a while. I wasn’t meeting her expectations and didn’t know if I’d ever be able to meet them, so…”
“She wanted you to put a ring on it,” Harlow says knowingly as she sets silverware beside my plate. “And you want to run free like a wild stallion.”
Ian’s lips hook up on one side. “No, I didn’t want to run free like a wild stallion. I just didn’t want to make a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep. From what I’ve seen, marriage isn’t easy. It’s like…trying to walk a tightrope in an earthquake.”
Harlow grunts as she holds out his silverware. “That’s a good analogy. And admirable behavior.”
Ian’s brows shoot up as he accepts the napkin, fork, and knife. “Was that a compliment? From you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get too excited. You’re still on probation in the court of my affections. And I will be sitting in on these ‘lessons’ of yours to make sure you don’t lead my best friends astray.”
“I won’t,” he assures her. “Of course, I won’t.”
“I’m serious, Ian,” she insists. “These three people are my entire world. If you hurt them, I’m going to be very angry with you, and you won’t like me when I’m angry.”
“You really wouldn’t.” Jess points her triangle of freshly buttered toast Ian’s way. “She’s like an Irish banshee—noisy and out to reap souls first and ask questions never. You may think you’ve seen her angry, but you haven’t. And you don’t want to.”
“So, calling me ‘asshole’ or ‘Hitler’ for years was—”
“A symptom of mild irritation,” Harlow supplies. “Yes.”
“But once she’s your friend, she’s the best person in the world to have on your side,” Jess says, grinning at Harlow as she takes the chair beside hers. “A more loyal, fiercely loving, or funny friend is hard to find.”
“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” Harlow says, throwing her napkin at Jess and then instantly leaning in to hug her tight.
“Looks like the only thing left to decide is when class is in session,” Cameron says, sitting down with his plate and digging into his scramble.
We all tuck into our delicious breakfast-for-dinner meal as we chat about our schedules. Preseason games don’t start for Ian for another two weeks and the rest of us always have Monday and Thursday nights free after work and school. We decide on a bi-weekly schedule to begin in just three days’ time.
That gives me three days to build up my courage.
Three days to decide if I have the guts to act on the fizzing, floating feeling that fills me every time Ian shoots a grin my way or if I’m going to let fears about the fallout with Derrick and all the other things that could go wrong scare me into sitting around with my thumb up my ass.
And I swear, that’s the exact thought going through my head as a fist pounds on our front door and a deep, outraged voice shouts through the heavy wood, “Evie Eleanor Olsen. Open this door. Right now!”
Chapter 7
Ian
Evie’s eyes go wide and all the color drains from her face. “Oh no.”