How about not. “I have a hair appointment.”
She squints at me. “You just had it done two weeks ago.”
“It’s a blowout.”
“You have nothing going on tomorrow.” She continues thwarting my arguments against a faux date with this Neanderthal. “You have to get out of the house and start meeting men.” She glances at Trace, who is still standing there. “No offense, but you’re not her type.”
“I’m everyone’s type,” he says confidently.
“Not mine,” I shoot back stubbornly. “Besides, the last thing anyone wants is the general manager’s daughter showing up to ruin their fun.”
“That apparently didn’t stop you from going out with dipshit over there, did it?” He has a very good point. “You look like you could use a little fun and wouldn’t it be a blast rubbing a relationship with me in his face? The dude fucking despises me.”
“Why?”
“’Cause he’s a child.”
That explains absolutely nothing. “Well. I’m not going with you tomorrow.”
Trace Wallace, the Chicago Steam’s giant closer, levels me with a stare I’m sure is intended to make men cower. “Suit yourself, but I’m going to that barbecue and when I see your ex plaything there, I’ll be forced to tell him the truth because I hate lying.”
I throw my hands up. “You just straight-up lied to his face not five minutes ago.”
“I’m a changed man.”
“Oh my god.” He did not just say that.
“You take the Lord’s name in vain a lot,” he tells me, grabbing a small cup of vegetables and dip from a nearby tray, stuffing a stick of celery in his mouth.
I take the Lord’s name in vain? “What, you never swear?”
“Oh, half the words that leave my mouth are curses.” He chews, crunching noisily, and changes the subject. “Anyway. It was nice officially making your acquaintance. Wish me luck tomorrow. I’ll be forced to come up with a backstory all on my own, and who knows how that will end.”
Whoa, whoa whoa—not so fast. “Wait just one damn minute. You can’t go telling him we aren’t dating.”
“But we’re not. I’m not your type.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Yes it is.” He gnaws on more celery, dips it into the tiny container of dressing, and bites. “Although, it wouldn’t be lying to say we’re dating if you came with me to the barbeque as my date.”
“Right, but then I’d be stuck with you for who knows how long.”
“Ouch. That one hurt my feelings.”
Madison’s head whips side to side as we volley shots back and forth.
“I’m not going to some party with you because you’re trying to manipulate me.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.”
“But I also don’t know what you’re capable of when left to your own devices.”
Chomp, chomp. “So true.”
“What do you plan on saying to Marlon?”
Trace shrugs. “Don’t know. Probably the truth—I saw him hassling you and came over, thinking if I pretended to be your boyfriend, he would leave you alone.”
Hmm. I don’t like the way that sounds either, even though it’s the truth.
“Or I’ll tell him you have morning sickness and didn’t feel well enough to come along, because the sight of Sweet Baby Ray’s makes you want to puke and it’s not good for the baby.”
I blink.
Madison snickers.
Trace chews.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
His head cocks to one side. “Mmm, wouldn’t I?” Another stick of celery gets dipped in dressing. “I’m bored. This amuses me. I’d like to continue amusing myself with Daymon tomorrow and if no one is there to stop me…” He shrugs a pair of wide, toned shoulders. Every muscle flexing with the simple, single motion. “I should go mingle. Ladies.” He tips his head by way of salutation, and I watch him go, stunned.
Silently, my best friend and I stand there, observing his departure.
“Wow. He is really something, isn’t he?” Her tone is as dreamy as her adoring gaze.
I hold up a hand to silence her. “Do not start with that. He is a scumbag—did you not hear him try to blackmail me?”
“Blackmail you with what? No, he’s teasing you. He wouldn’t do that.”
Wouldn’t he? “Teasing me?”
“Flirting then. Hollis, give the guy a break—he came to your rescue. What would be the harm in going with him to one measly gathering tomorrow? It’s not like you have anything else going on.”
I hate when she points out the obvious. “Gee, thanks.”
“You don’t. Plus, you’d get to stick it to Marlon.”
“I don’t want to stick anything to Marlon, let alone it.” My attempt at a joke falls flat as my best girlfriend stares at one of my father’s players.
Player.
That’s what Trace “Buzz” Wallace is and I’d do well to remember that.
Still. He did try being my knight in shining armor—too bad he was wrapped in tin foil.
“I can’t do it. I cannot go to Noah Harding’s house and fake a smile for multiple hours. My lips will fall off.”
“I know, I know. Your motto is, ‘If I have to fake a smile, I’m not going.’ You say it all the time, but Hollis—he’s so cute.”