“Why are you panting?” I ask and see that it’s almost five a.m.
“I work out from four thirty to six, seven days a week,” she says, and I shake my head. “This is what I have to do in order to eat cake, chocolate, and carbs. The question is, what are you doing up?”
“I’m on my way home,” I say. Two days ago, I went to her house and told her about Evelyn. She didn’t like it. Only because she didn’t want Murielle to hold it over my head. So she set a plan in motion, and hopefully, I’ll be free in the next month.
“Where does Cruella think you are?” she asks. She gave Murielle that nickname three years ago when she tried to get Becca fired.
“No idea. I didn’t see her at the game. I’m going home now. I’ll be there for Jaxon, and then I have no idea.”
“Well, I’ll see you tonight,” she tells me, and I don’t say anything. “You forgot, didn’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” I say.
“There is an ugly sweater party tonight. They do it every year before Thanksgiving. Nico invited me,” she says, and I suddenly remember. “He knows I am going to have the up-and-coming rookie sign with me, so he’s wooing me,” she pants out. “Anyway, I’ll see you tonight.”
She hangs up, and I get out of the car when I get home and walk in, carrying my jacket. I walk to my bedroom and slip into the shower. I slip on shorts and a T-shirt and get into bed, falling asleep until Jaxon wakes up at eight thirty.
He slips into bed with me, and I cuddle him while he watches television. He lets me sleep an extra hour before he complains he’s hungry. I get up, walking down to the kitchen to start the coffee and make him breakfast. I’m cleaning up the mess when Murielle walks into the kitchen, kissing Jaxon on the head.
“Look who decided to come home,” she says, and I look over to see if Jaxon heard her. He is oblivious as he plays a game on the iPad that I told him he could play. “You’re going out often these days.” She brings the cup of coffee to her mouth, and I don’t even bother answering her. “What time should I be ready?”
“For?” I dry my hands and shut the dishwasher.
“The ugly sweater thing. I have yours upstairs in my room,” she tells me.
“Can’t you take your car?” I ask, and she just looks at me.
“It’s a team function, so the press might be there. What is it going to look like if we don’t show up together?” I roll my eyes at her. “Jaxon, do you want me to get Elizabeth to come and watch you tonight?” He looks up and nods.
“Dad, are we still having a guys’ day tomorrow?” he asks, and I nod. I grab a bottle of water and walk to the living room, turning on the television. I’m itching to call Evelyn, but I wonder if she’s up already. I wonder what she’s going to do today. I grab my phone and check the highlights of last night's game. When I hear Jaxon walk up the stairs, I follow him to my room. Locking the door behind me, I call Evelyn.
“Hey,” she answers, and she sounds like she is out shopping.
“Are you out?” I ask her.
“I’m out with my mom. She wanted to go have lunch, and then we decided to get manis and pedis. How are you?”
“I’m good. Tired but good. We have Jaxon’s game at one,” I say. “I have a team function tonight.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice getting soft, and I wish she was coming with me. I wish that I was walking into the party with her. “Talk to you later,” she says and hangs up. I get up when I hear a knock on the door and see it’s Murielle, and she hands me the sweater.
“What the fuck is this?” I say, looking down at what looks like a moose head.
“It’s a moose head.” She points at it. “You put the head in the front and the ass in the back.” She turns and walks away. “I have the glam squad coming at one.”
“It’s a small get-together,” I say. “Just the team’s members.”
“There are going to be pictures taken, and I need to look my best,” she says, walking away.
“Then I suggest you get a bag and put it on your head,” I mumble and close the door.
Jaxon’s hockey game is uneventful, and he runs into the house to take a shower. I do the same, and I’m slipping on my shirt when I hear Murielle yell my name. I grab the moose head and walk out, stopping when I see her. “What the fuck are you wearing?” I ask, and she turns around as though I said that in a good way; she wears black nylons and thigh-high boots. “You don’t think a leather skirt is extreme?”