The Goal
Page 75
“You didn’t play football?”
“Not after ninth grade. I played hockey year round. Coach Death’s rink was an hour north and I’d drive there pretty much every day.”
“So tell me about these three girls.”
“You’re that desperate for a distraction?”
“Yes,” she says eagerly.
I tap my fingers against the wheel, pulling up my dusty memories. “I dated Emma Hopkins in seventh grade until she got asked to the homecoming dance by a ninth grader. After that, she was only interested in older men.”
“This is fascinating. Tell me more.”
I grin. I can suffer a little personal embarrassment if it keeps her from worrying about meeting Mom.
“June Anderson was my ninth grade crush. We had nearly all of our classes together, but the clincher was that she could tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. At ninth grade, that was up there with a tightrope walk across the Grand Canyon.”
Sabrina laughs. “I think for some guys it still ranks as one of humanity’s greatest achievements. I bet Brody lists it as a requirement for hooking up with him.”
Her scornful tone doesn’t go unnoticed. The first time that Sabrina and Brody had met didn’t go well. It started with him suggesting that her pussy would be destroyed by childbirth and ended with her telling him that regardless of the state of her lady garden, he’d still never be invited to see it.
“That guy is such a douche,” she grumbles. “Is it terrible living with him?”
Yep.
“I’ve had better roommates.” Glumly, I think about the awesome time I had in college with Dean, Logan, and Garrett.
My problem with Brody isn’t that he’s a horndog who chases skirts from the moment he gets up until he passes out at night. I mean, my old roommates slept around regularly. Hell, even I had my share of shenanigans, including a booze-soaked foursome one crazy New Year’s Eve. It’s hard not to go a little nuts when you’re playing hockey at the level we were playing. There was a non-stop stream of girls in the house.
And yet even having experienced three sets of tits rubbing up against me and three tongues on my dick, I’d still pick Sabrina over a drunken orgy any day. That’s not really a thing I can tell a girl, though. Not even Hallmark can make a greeting card that conveys the message that you once banged three chicks at the same time, but none of them are as good as her.
Brody’s problem is that he has zero respect for the opposite sex.
“Does he really refuse to take selfies with a girl, or was he making that up to toy with me?” Sabrina asks.
“No, that’s a real thing for him. He thinks that any pictures of him with a girl pressed up to his side would drive other potential hookups away. Selfies are a sign of commitment.” He’d expounded on this topic at some length after instructing me to keep my Tinder account active and to not tell anyone I was having a kid.
“Ugh. He’s so gross.”
“I signed up for a fake Instagram account so I can troll him. When he posts something, I’ll wait a day or so and then pop on to comment about how cool it is that he and my grandpa are rocking the same shirt. I’ve done that twice now and each time, I’ve seen him shoving the shirt down the apartment’s trash compactor.”
Sabrina throws back her head and cackles. “You do not.”
“Hey, we all have to get our jollies somewhere, right? For me, it’s negging Brody on Instagram and choking my baby mama in breathing classes.”
She laughs even harder, her belly bouncing up and down. I reach over and stroke the curve myself. It feels good to see her laughing again.
“Mom’s going to love you,” I assure her. “You’ll see.”
*
Mom hates her.
Or at least, she’s doing a good job of hiding her love. The initial meeting wasn’t so bad. We picked Mom up at the Holiday Inn and drove her back to my apartment, which is thankfully free of Brody at the moment. He and Hollis are celebrating the Fourth in New Hampshire with their family.
On the ride over, Mom and Sabrina had chatted awkwardly, but the tension had been manageable.
Now, that tension is damn near suffocating me.
“Where do you live, Sabrina?” Mom asks as she surveys my two-bedroom apartment.
“With my nana and stepfather.”
“Hmmm.”
Sabrina winces at this obvious lack of approval.
I shoot Mom an irritated glance. “Sabrina’s saving money so her debt won’t be too big when she gets out of law school.”
Mom raises a brow. “And how much debt will that be?”
“Too much,” Sabrina jokes.
“I hope you don’t expect John to pay it off for you.”
“Of course not,” Sabrina exclaims.
“Mom!” I say at the same time.
“What? I’m looking out for you, baby. Just as you’ll be tasked with looking out for your daughter.” She tips her head toward Sabrina’s belly.
Sabrina smiles tightly and decides to change the subject. “I wish we’d been able to come to Patterson. I bet it’s a great place to raise children. You certainly did an amazing job with Tucker.”
Sincerity bleeds out of every word, and even my mother can hear it. Thankfully, she softens slightly. “Yes, it’s a wonderful place. And they have a delightful Fourth of July picnic. This year, Emma Hopkins was the organizer.”
“Your old girlfriend, Tuck,” Sabrina teases on her way to the refrigerator. “We should’ve tried harder to fly down.”
“The airline wouldn’t let us. Besides, we can get drunk and shoot off bottle rockets here, and it’ll be just like we were there,” I say dryly. “Speaking of drinking—Mom, you want a glass of wine?”
“Red, please,” she says, settling into a stool at the counter.
Sabrina pulls out the beef patties she’d carefully constructed earlier today. I’m more than capable of cooking, but she wouldn’t allow me to lift a finger. Everything from the potato salad to the baked beans had been prepared by her.
We manage to make it halfway through dinner without any hostility, as Sabrina asks Mom a ton of questions about Patterson, Mom’s salon business, and even Dad. It’s the stuff about my father that really gets my mother talking.
“He said his car broke down, but I don’t believe him,” she declares between bites of her burger.
“Not after ninth grade. I played hockey year round. Coach Death’s rink was an hour north and I’d drive there pretty much every day.”
“So tell me about these three girls.”
“You’re that desperate for a distraction?”
“Yes,” she says eagerly.
I tap my fingers against the wheel, pulling up my dusty memories. “I dated Emma Hopkins in seventh grade until she got asked to the homecoming dance by a ninth grader. After that, she was only interested in older men.”
“This is fascinating. Tell me more.”
I grin. I can suffer a little personal embarrassment if it keeps her from worrying about meeting Mom.
“June Anderson was my ninth grade crush. We had nearly all of our classes together, but the clincher was that she could tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. At ninth grade, that was up there with a tightrope walk across the Grand Canyon.”
Sabrina laughs. “I think for some guys it still ranks as one of humanity’s greatest achievements. I bet Brody lists it as a requirement for hooking up with him.”
Her scornful tone doesn’t go unnoticed. The first time that Sabrina and Brody had met didn’t go well. It started with him suggesting that her pussy would be destroyed by childbirth and ended with her telling him that regardless of the state of her lady garden, he’d still never be invited to see it.
“That guy is such a douche,” she grumbles. “Is it terrible living with him?”
Yep.
“I’ve had better roommates.” Glumly, I think about the awesome time I had in college with Dean, Logan, and Garrett.
My problem with Brody isn’t that he’s a horndog who chases skirts from the moment he gets up until he passes out at night. I mean, my old roommates slept around regularly. Hell, even I had my share of shenanigans, including a booze-soaked foursome one crazy New Year’s Eve. It’s hard not to go a little nuts when you’re playing hockey at the level we were playing. There was a non-stop stream of girls in the house.
And yet even having experienced three sets of tits rubbing up against me and three tongues on my dick, I’d still pick Sabrina over a drunken orgy any day. That’s not really a thing I can tell a girl, though. Not even Hallmark can make a greeting card that conveys the message that you once banged three chicks at the same time, but none of them are as good as her.
Brody’s problem is that he has zero respect for the opposite sex.
“Does he really refuse to take selfies with a girl, or was he making that up to toy with me?” Sabrina asks.
“No, that’s a real thing for him. He thinks that any pictures of him with a girl pressed up to his side would drive other potential hookups away. Selfies are a sign of commitment.” He’d expounded on this topic at some length after instructing me to keep my Tinder account active and to not tell anyone I was having a kid.
“Ugh. He’s so gross.”
“I signed up for a fake Instagram account so I can troll him. When he posts something, I’ll wait a day or so and then pop on to comment about how cool it is that he and my grandpa are rocking the same shirt. I’ve done that twice now and each time, I’ve seen him shoving the shirt down the apartment’s trash compactor.”
Sabrina throws back her head and cackles. “You do not.”
“Hey, we all have to get our jollies somewhere, right? For me, it’s negging Brody on Instagram and choking my baby mama in breathing classes.”
She laughs even harder, her belly bouncing up and down. I reach over and stroke the curve myself. It feels good to see her laughing again.
“Mom’s going to love you,” I assure her. “You’ll see.”
*
Mom hates her.
Or at least, she’s doing a good job of hiding her love. The initial meeting wasn’t so bad. We picked Mom up at the Holiday Inn and drove her back to my apartment, which is thankfully free of Brody at the moment. He and Hollis are celebrating the Fourth in New Hampshire with their family.
On the ride over, Mom and Sabrina had chatted awkwardly, but the tension had been manageable.
Now, that tension is damn near suffocating me.
“Where do you live, Sabrina?” Mom asks as she surveys my two-bedroom apartment.
“With my nana and stepfather.”
“Hmmm.”
Sabrina winces at this obvious lack of approval.
I shoot Mom an irritated glance. “Sabrina’s saving money so her debt won’t be too big when she gets out of law school.”
Mom raises a brow. “And how much debt will that be?”
“Too much,” Sabrina jokes.
“I hope you don’t expect John to pay it off for you.”
“Of course not,” Sabrina exclaims.
“Mom!” I say at the same time.
“What? I’m looking out for you, baby. Just as you’ll be tasked with looking out for your daughter.” She tips her head toward Sabrina’s belly.
Sabrina smiles tightly and decides to change the subject. “I wish we’d been able to come to Patterson. I bet it’s a great place to raise children. You certainly did an amazing job with Tucker.”
Sincerity bleeds out of every word, and even my mother can hear it. Thankfully, she softens slightly. “Yes, it’s a wonderful place. And they have a delightful Fourth of July picnic. This year, Emma Hopkins was the organizer.”
“Your old girlfriend, Tuck,” Sabrina teases on her way to the refrigerator. “We should’ve tried harder to fly down.”
“The airline wouldn’t let us. Besides, we can get drunk and shoot off bottle rockets here, and it’ll be just like we were there,” I say dryly. “Speaking of drinking—Mom, you want a glass of wine?”
“Red, please,” she says, settling into a stool at the counter.
Sabrina pulls out the beef patties she’d carefully constructed earlier today. I’m more than capable of cooking, but she wouldn’t allow me to lift a finger. Everything from the potato salad to the baked beans had been prepared by her.
We manage to make it halfway through dinner without any hostility, as Sabrina asks Mom a ton of questions about Patterson, Mom’s salon business, and even Dad. It’s the stuff about my father that really gets my mother talking.
“He said his car broke down, but I don’t believe him,” she declares between bites of her burger.
