The Summer Proposal by Vi Keeland by Vi Keeland

I shook my head with a grin. Otto had no intention of going anywhere, and we both knew it. But I hadn’t yet told him I was in talks with the LA team, though somehow he must’ve gotten wind. “I would say these walls must talk, but I’ve never had a conversation about another team in this place.”

Otto stood. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “No fucking selfies while driving that thing!” He grumbled as he sat back down. “Bunch of morons with those phones.”

I smiled. Yep. There was no better way to start my Saturday than time with Otto.



• • •



“Thank you for helping me.”

Jenna set a tray of veggies on my dining room table. She smacked her hands together, cleaning them off, and looked around. “Helping would imply you did something to contribute.”

I reached to take a carrot from the tray, but she swatted my hand. “Those are for the guests.”

“So I can’t eat any before they come?”

“I’ll let you eat one. But don’t dip it in the dip. You’ll mess up how nice it looks.”

Jenna’s husband, Tomasso, walked over. He grinned. “She won’t let you dip, huh? I warned you she was bonkers about shit like this when she offered you help.”

Jenna’s hands flew to her hips. “You called me bonkers? Next time you want to have people over, you can order and make things look nice. I’m sure everyone will love Ritz crackers with Cheez Whiz.” She was all of about five-two, a solid foot shorter than her tree trunk of a husband.

Yet he shoved his hands into his pockets with a sulk. “Sorry, babe.”

I chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?” She wagged a finger my way. “Go do something about that little furball over there. He keeps trying to get up on the coffee table where the charcuterie board is.”

I lifted my hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”

I took the dogs into the kitchen and fed them, even though it wouldn’t stop them from trying to swipe something.

A little while later, the first guests arrived. I’d invited twelve people—or rather Jenna had. She’d said it was the perfect number to qualify as a party, but also not so many that I’d have to spend all night playing host, which would take away from my time with Georgia. I didn’t argue, since she was doing all the work, but the people coming were my friends—they wouldn’t give a crap if I ignored them. Which was exactly what I’d be doing once Georgia got here. The woman had gotten to me.

At about eight, almost everyone had arrived, except the person I was throwing this sham of a party for. My cell was on the charger in the kitchen, so I went to go check if maybe she’d texted.

There’d been a missed call around six thirty and then a text around seven.

Georgia: Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got my voicemail. I’m sorry for canceling last minute.

Shit.

I swiped into my voicemail and hit play next to her name.

“Hey. It’s Georgia. I’m sorry to call at the last second, but I’m not going to be able to come tonight. I wasn’t feeling so hot yesterday, and this morning I woke up sort of achy and wiped out. I took some Motrin a few hours ago hoping I’d feel better and laid down for a little while, and I actually just woke up. I never nap, so I didn’t expect to pass out for almost three hours or I would’ve called sooner. Now my throat is a little sore, and I’m running a low fever. I feel awful for canceling on your birthday, but I’m not going to be able to come. I’m sorry, Max. I hope you have a great party.”

I frowned. This sucks. When I read the text, I assumed she was blowing me off. But she didn’t sound so good, and that caused an ache in my chest. So I hit Call Back and leaned against the counter, waiting for her to answer.

On the third ring, I thought I was about to go to voicemail, but then she answered. Her voice sounded worse than on the message.

“Hey,” she croaked.

“You don’t sound so good.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel too hot. It hurts when I swallow, and my head weighs a hundred pounds. I’m really sorry I can’t come.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”

“I don’t think I’ve been sick in ten years. Not even a cold. I’m sort of a big baby when I don’t feel well. You must think I’m a total wimp. Hockey players play with broken bones and injuries all the time.”

“Nah. That’s different.”

She laughed. “Thank you for lying. How’s your party going?”

“It’s fine. Four is being his usual con self. He’s perfected the big-eyed, pitiful stare that women fall for. He sits at their feet and looks up until they lift him and tell him how cute he is. Then he eyes whatever they’re eating as if he hasn’t been fed in a year. Nine times out of ten, I get yelled at for not feeding him enough. Meanwhile his bowl of dog food is full in the kitchen. If he were a human, he’d be one of those guys who run shill card games that take tourists for all their money near Penn Station.”

Georgia laughed, but the laugh rolled into a coughing fit. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

“No problem.”

She sighed. “I was looking forward to meeting Four.”

“He was looking forward to meeting you, too. You’ll have to make it up to him.”