Текст книги "Major Misconduct"

Автор книги: Kelly Jamieson

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Современные любовные романы

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

My heart swelled as Christopher’s tiny lips pursed. I blinked back a little sting in the corners of my eyes and looked up at Daniel. “He’s so beautiful. I can’t believe you made this, you big ugly doodoohead.”

Daniel burst out laughing and Christopher flinched. I rocked him a little.

“Looks good on you.”

My eyes flew open at that voice and my hurt lurched to a full stop. I swallowed hard and turned to see Andrew standing in the kitchen doorway, obviously having come in behind us.

He smiled and nodded at the baby in my arms, his eyes warm, the corners crinkled so attractively, the deep dimples in his cheeks evident. Our eyes met.

For the space of several seconds, the world dropped away as I held his gaze and I couldn’t look away. Could not. Then his words sank in.

I looked back at the baby, horrified. “God no!” I handed Christopher to his mother. “He’s cute, but I don’t want one of those.”

Everyone laughed and Emily snuggled her baby into her arms again.

I sucked in a breath and rubbed my palms over my thighs. “I didn’t know you were here yet, Andrew.”

“Flew in late last night right after the game.”

“Ah.” I stared at him. “Um. Right.” I should, um, hug him. Or punch him. I moved toward him, not sure which of those it was going to be. He held out his arms and I stepped close enough for us to do a tiny air hug. Then I remembered Jon. “Oh, let me introduce you.” I touched Jon’s arm and he extended a hand, smiling. “This is my boyfriend, Jon Booth. John, Andrew Ross.”

A peculiar expression crossed Andrew’s face, fleeting, barely there, his head jerking a little, eyes tightening. But he smiled and shook Jon’s hand. None of the overprotective sizing up that my dad and brothers had done appeared on his face, just that wide, friendly smile. “Good to meet you, Jon.”

“Likewise.”

“Everyone’s here!” Mom clapped her hands and closed her eyes briefly. “I’m so happy.”

“I’m hungry,” Daniel said.

Christopher chose that moment to start wailing.

“Like father, like son.” Emily bounced her son gently. “Come on, little guy, let’s go see how that diaper is.”

“We can have lunch anytime.” Mom moved to the fridge. “I’ll just put out some cold cuts and bread to make sandwiches. Jenna, come help me.”

“Why me? Why can’t Connor help?” Wow, I was reverting back to childhood after being back in the family home less than half an hour.

“ ’Cause you’re a girl.” Connor joined me in my regression. “Cooking is girl’s work.”

We all ignored that because we totally knew he didn’t mean it. Mom had been very careful to raise all of us without gender-specific ideas about household tasks. The boys had cooked meals and scrubbed toilets as much as I had, and Dad had taught me to check my oil and tire pressure and had made me take my turn cutting the grass. Even Andrew had never complained about having to do that stuff, but then, his place in our home had been a little different.

I grabbed some tomatoes and started slicing them on a cutting board while everyone else moved into action, everyone except Dad, that is. Dad didn’t cook. Ever. I still remembered the day Daniel had called him a hypocrite because he made his sons learn how to cook but he refused to boil water. Dad had been furious and had slammed Daniel into the wall and told him to do as he said, not as he did. They’d both been incensed, and now, in hindsight, I was pretty sure Dad was so angry because Daniel had actually been right.

Also, because the reason we’d had to learn how to cook was that Mom was an atrocious cook.

Dad was a tough, strict disciplinarian who took no crap from his kids. He also loved us beyond measure, so even though there’d been lots of rebellion and shouting, door-slamming fights (mostly between Dad and Daniel—we figured Daniel kind of eased the way for the rest of us), we respected him for the values he’d tried to teach us.

Daniel grabbed a big bag of potato chips and dumped them into a bowl, while Connor sliced rolls in half and Andrew set jars of pickles, mustard, and mayo on the counter.

Okay, everybody was helping except Jon, who naturally wasn’t familiar with the kitchen and sat on a stool at the small island, a little apart from everyone, smiling faintly at the affectionate insults being tossed around.

“For the love of goats, someone needs to change that music,” I said as the song shifted to David Bowie singing “Fame.”

“This is a classic.” Mom frowned at me over the eyeglasses perched on the tip of her little nose.

“Good song for a hotshot hockey star.” Connor smirked at Andrew. Andrew gave him the finger—with his back turned to Mom so she couldn’t see. Connor threw a bun at Andrew, who caught it with flashy reflexes and a grin.

“Hey, hey, no throwing food, boys.” Mom waved a hand.

“Kind of hard to believe I’m sitting in a kitchen with an NHL player.” Jon leaned his elbows on the island.

“You a hockey fan?” Andrew asked casually.

I sent Jon a curious glance as I separated some lettuce leaves. He wasn’t much into sports, although we’d gone to a Rangers game when he’d taken clients out with the company tickets.

“I watch some games,” Jon said. “You play for the Chicago Aces, right?”

“Right. First season there.”

“That was a good game last night,” Connor said. “Volkov should’ve gotten a penalty for that hit on you in the third.”

I hadn’t watched the game and I shot Andrew a glance. “What happened?”

“Dirty hit from behind,” Connor answered for him. “Right on the numbers. Asshole.”

“He is an asshole.” Andrew circled his shoulders and winced. “Still feeling that one. But I’m okay. It’ll be nice to have a few days off.”

“How long do you have?” I set a stack of plates on the counter.

“Next game’s on the twenty-seventh.”

I nodded. We’d all come home a few days before Christmas. Jon and I were staying until the twenty-seventh, but I knew Daniel and Emily were leaving on December twenty-sixth.

“Home game?” Jon asked.

“Yeah. I’ve got a flight back that morning.”

“You found a nice apartment to live in?” Mom asked. “We need to come visit you sometime.”

“Mom. You won’t come to New York to see me. Why will you go to Chicago to see Andrew?” I was only half teasing.

“We’ve seen your apartment.” Mom gave me a look over her glasses again. “We’ve never seen Andrew’s. He just moved there a few months ago.”

“It’s okay.” Andrew flashed Mom a grin. “It’s in a safe neighborhood.”

“Well, good.”

As if a guy earning millions of dollars a year was going to end up living in some crappy apartment in a bad neighborhood. But it was nice that Mom cared.

I knew how much that meant to Andrew.

I bent my head and moved some forks around as a little lance of pain flashed through me.