Five
November
Porter
It was Thanksgiving and the team was having a family dinner at Ant’s house. Word around the locker room was his wife did great dinners.
“You about ready in there, Ports? Fuck, you take longer than a girl,” Nico complained from, I assumed, the living room.
Nico treated me like his kid brother, but he wasn’t as assholish about it as my true older brothers sometimes were. He was a good guy. Turned out, he had a brother a year younger than him, playing in New York, and another brother, my age, who was going to school in Madison.
Small freaking world, he said. He lost one brother to Wisconsin, only to somehow end up with another.
He earned a middle finger for that one.
But otherwise, we got along well.
After our game yesterday, Ant took control of the locker room, as he usually did after games. This speech however, wasn’t about the game. It was about the holiday.
“Anyone not doing dinner tomorrow with family, you’re invited to my house. The wife insists. If she finds out you didn’t have dinner and didn’t come, she will be pissed. It’s an Italian thing.” The room laughed. “Now, she also told me to tell you all to not dress up, but if you boys come over in anything less than khakis, you best have flowers for my wife and a pumpkin pie to share.”
As such, I was wearing khakis and a button down, but Nico and I were still bringing a pie nonetheless.
I buttoned my cuffs, looked at myself in the mirror, and unbuttoned them again.
My dad would probably have something to say about going to dinner with my shirt sleeves rolled up but he wasn’t here to police it today. Last weekend, when he and Mom were here…
I grinned at the memory.
For so long, I suffered severe youngest-child-syndrome, fighting my parents and siblings at every turn. I did things against their wishes, made choices that wouldn’t have been their first choice, or even their last choice. But my parents being here last weekend, getting to watch me make my first shoot-out goal, and the excitement on their faces when I looked up at them in the stands?
I was finally completely content with where life had taken me. I had been a hardheaded asshole, yeah, and I definitely went the long way to becoming a Prescott in my own right, but I did it.
Life would only be sweeter if a certain brunette could find time for me…
Sleeves rolled up, I nodded at my reflection and left the bathroom.
“About damn time, fucker,” Nico grumbled, pushing past me, clothes over his arm.
“You could have changed in your room,” I shouted through a now closed bathroom door. There was only one bathroom in this townhouse and apparently, I took too much time in it.
“I had to piss,” Nico informed me, seconds before the sure sign of a hard stream hit the bowl. I nodded. Yep, he had to piss.
I left him to his business and went to take the pie out of the fridge, sure we would forget it if it wasn’t out on the counter. Just as I placed the pie down, the doorbell rang.
Frowning—who the hell was here on Thanksgiving?—I went to answer it.
And was met with a surprise.
“Mo.”
I shook my head, sure that she was an illusion in front of me. How…?
“Hey, Porter.” She smiled up at me, and I was hit in the gut with the familiarity. She hadn’t changed over the months. Hell, it had only been four.
While I found I craved her familiarity, I was slightly ashamed of myself for wishing the feeling was here right now due to a different brunette.
“How did you get my address?”
When she frowned, I realized my mistake. That was a pretty cold greeting. “I mean, hey. Sorry. It’s great to see you.” I held out my hand, reaching for her elbow to bring her inside.
I forced myself to relax my brow; I could feel the frown there.
I felt like a fucker, but I honest to God hadn’t thought of Mo since…
Well shit, since the day I met Asher.
That made me some kind of asshole, I was sure.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, her smile having dimmed but still genuine. “I wanted to surprise you. I’m on break.”
“I see that. I mean, yeah.” I was really fucking this up. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I walked her to the couch and she sat down, purse in her lap. I saw now that she had a small duffle with her too, sitting by her feet.
I stood in front of her and crossed my arms, then moved to sit beside her, but before my ass met the cushion, I stood back up.
My distress must have been evident. Mo’s smile this time was pitiful. “You don’t want me here.”
I lifted my brows. “No. No, it’s not that. It’s just…”
“I got your address from your sister,” she said apologetically.
Avery? Were you fucking kidding me?
“Myke,” she quickly added. “I tried Avery but she must have been busy. I haven’t heard back from her.”
“Look, I’m really glad to see you, Mo, but my roommate and I are going to a team dinner. Are you sticking around? We could…” I shrugged, trying to come up with something that didn’t sound like a blow-off, and coming up empty.
This girl had been my best friend for years, and now I was shoving her off.
That didn’t sit well with me, but I told her I wasn’t interested in pursuing us for a while yet. Not until we both were settled with what we were doing in our lives.
And then now, with the added player of Asher…
“Dude, you ready?” came from down the hall and soon, Nico entered. “Hey, is this Asher?”
Mo’s face morphed so quickly, it would have been comical if it weren’t so fucking wrong.
She stood abruptly. “Oh, my God. I really am stupid.” She shook her head. “You broke up with me so you could play the field. Do the athlete thing. And here I thought we could give this long-distance thing a go.” She grabbed her duffle and headed toward the door, all while I stood like a dumbass.
Fuck.
“Mo! No, Mo, it’s not like that,” I said, as I found my feet and hurried after her. I reached for her arm but she yanked it away from me.
“Good luck, Porter.”
She slammed the door behind her. The townhouse was eerily quiet.
For all of three seconds, anyway, before Nico piped up, “So I take it that wasn’t Asher.”