for lunch and she planned to be on site to demonstrate her … wit? Charm? Sexual magnetism? (Mighty hard to achieve in the presence of an older, scowling brother, but she had to take her shots where she could.)
Alert to her arrival home, her funny little Pomeranian came bounding around the corner on stubby legs. “Gordie Howe! Who’s a good doggo?” She hunkered down to give the toast-colored bundle a rubdown, then led him upstairs. “Come on, buddy. Mama needs fashion advice.”
Thirty minutes later she walked into the living room to find her brother shirtless, revealing his many tats, in his usual king-of-all-he-surveys position on the sofa. This was made all the more annoying by the fact everyone had to attend to him after knee surgery. People told her she resembled him, with their coal-black hair and blue eyes, but she couldn’t quite pull off the moody supermodel look, Vadim’s bread-and-butter.
“Where’s Isobel?” What she really meant was “where’s Tommy?” She was sure she’d heard the doorbell and the low rumble of his sexy voice.
Her brother narrowed his eyes at her. “Why are you all dressed up?”
“This?” She waved at her outfit, a cute sundress that showed her bare shoulders. So she didn’t wear dresses much—or at all—but she wouldn’t call it that unusual. Gordie gave a yelp of approval. He’d sniffed at it earlier, signifying it was the one. “This old thing? It’s just a dress, Vad.”
“You are always in sweats. That is what I am used to.”
“Well, God forbid I dress in something you’re not used to. Again, where’s Iz?”
“She’s still over at Harper’s.”
“Is everything okay?”
He eyed her. “There is discussion of a new franchise. A new women’s hockey franchise. In Chicago.”
Her heart leaped. She sat, practically on her hands to cover her excitement. The National Women’s Hockey League had undergone significant birthing pains from the start and only now seemed to be gaining traction. Expanding to Chicago, a huge sports town, was a good move. “That would be amazing. Are they going to invest or something?”
“Perhaps. Or do a co-host with whatever team starts here. Why? Are you interested?”
“You know I am. I took a break for a while but now I’m working my way back to form. So you didn’t like my choice but it made sense for me at the time.”
“I worry that you have delayed when you could have already won the Cup. Twice.”
She smiled, glad that even when he was mad at her, his confidence in her abilities never wavered.
“There’s still time, Vad. I’m only twenty-four. You didn’t win until you were almost thirty. Practically drawing social security!”
“So insolent. And I was twenty-seven. Hardly old.” Vad returned her grin all the same. Things had been a little tense between them—Vadim didn’t approve of her career choices post-college and Mia couldn’t tell him her exact reasons why she’d gone that route—but it seemed to be easing now that she was refocused on her hockey career.
“Whose voice did I just hear?” She cast a glance toward the kitchen as the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floors increased in volume. Her heart sped up, recognizing that tread, knowing she would see him any moment now. Her beautiful Tommy.
Her gaze clashed with a pair of stunning eyes the color of … fall leaves? Now hold on, there was no good reason for this blatant insult to her fantasies.
“What are you doing here?”
Cal Foreman—even worse, Cal Foreman in a Red Sox tee—took a seat on the sofa and handed off a bottle of water to Vadim. “I’m here for lunch.”
“I mean—I thought—” She jerked her gaze back to Vadim. “Aren’t you supposed to be having lunch with your agent?”
Vadim unscrewed the cap of the bottle. “He had to meet another client who won’t be in town long, so Cal came over instead.” Said as if this was a perfectly normal substitution for Tommy. It was not!
“Wait, your agent is coming over?” Cal sounded annoyed. “You never said that.”
“The point is that he is not coming over. He will be here this evening and we will have dinner.” Vadim cocked his head at his friend. “You need a new agent?”
Cal made a sound of disgust, and while it wasn’t clear what exactly he was annoyed about, Mia could think of a reason.
Five hundred comments and counting reasons.
The first rule of pranking is that if you don’t have the stomach for it, you shouldn’t spend time with your victim in the immediate aftermath. She hadn’t expected to be confronted with