Read Online Room for You by Beth Ehemann - Free Book Online
Authors: Beth Ehemann
Tags: Humor, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, Sports
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straining my neck so hard to get a better look I almost fell off the stool.
“Why don’t you just go over and see what it is?” Mom said, amused.
I whipped back around and stared at my mom like a kid who just got caught with her hand in the candy jar.
“I knew you liked him. Mothers know these things. Go on.” She winked and shooed me away with her hand.
I decided not to argue with her. Instead I rolled my eyes and hopped down from the stool, reminding myself that if I didn’t want my mother sending out wedding invitations tomorrow, I needed to act like this was no big deal. As I got closer to the fireplace I saw that it was, in fact, a shirt of some sort. Before I picked it up, I grabbed the note and unfolded it impatiently.
My eyes fixated on the phone number on the bottom of the note, the phone number that I could dial and hear Brody’s voice within ten seconds if I wanted to. Just the thought of hearing his voice again sent a jolt of excitement through my body. I set the note aside and picked up the shirt curiously. It was a red jersey with a hunter green circle in the middle that was surrounding a scene of evergreens and a sunset. Two thick green stripes, one on each sleeve, bordered two thin white stripes. Confusion flooded my brain … why did he leave this for me? It made no sense.
I flipped the jersey around to inspect the back and it hit me like a ton of bricks. At the top of the jersey in white block letters read MURPHY with the number 30 below it. Murphy? That was Brody’s last name. I turned the jersey around again, still having no clue what exactly this was. In the thick green circle on the front, it said MINNESOTA WILD. What the hell was that?
The French doors leading to the back deck swung open and Fred came in, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. He used his knee to gently close the door.
“Hey, Fred! What is this?” I asked, turning the front to face him.
“Minnesota Wild jersey.”
I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, bewildered.
“Hockey. Minnesota’s professional hockey team. I hear they’re really good.”
My mouth fell open as the knot in my stomach grew bigger. Brody was a hockey player? No way. Why would he lie to me? It’s not like he didn’t have several opportunities. We chatted for hours. I was at a total loss and a little bit sad. If this was true, the chances of anything happening between us just washed away like sticks under the old bridge.
I put the note in my pocket, rolled up the jersey and walked into the kitchen.
“Hockey player, huh?” My mom eyed me skeptically.
My mind was still back in the family room processing what I just learned. It hadn’t caught up to my body enough to form a coherent sentence.
“Guess so,” I said flatly. I looked at the girls, wondering if I’d ever be able to give them the one thing that should have been inherently natural, a father. I looked over at my mom, who hadn’t taken her eyes off me. “Hey, can you keep an eye on them for a minute? I … have something to do.”
“Of course, honey.”
I got to my room and flopped down on my bed, stretching to reach my laptop. Thanks to the melded combination of Google and our fish bowl world, it was possible to find out just about anything. I took a deep breath and impatiently typed out B-R-O-D-Y M-U-R-P-H-Y in the search bar.
I stared wide-eyed at the screen while the hourglass spun round and round.
YOUR SEARCH YIELDED 3,270,000 RESULTS.
Three MILLION results? Holy shit! I scrolled down, quietly chanting to myself please-no-naked-pictures, please-no-naked-pictures . A headshot of Brody appeared at the top of the page that made my pulse race. His dark chocolate hair was a mess of loose curls that complimented his playful smile and shimmering green eyes. He was unwittingly seducing me and every other girl looking at his picture, probably a few guys too. Under his picture were action shots of him blocking goals, high-fiving his teammates and sparring
“Why don’t you just go over and see what it is?” Mom said, amused.
I whipped back around and stared at my mom like a kid who just got caught with her hand in the candy jar.
“I knew you liked him. Mothers know these things. Go on.” She winked and shooed me away with her hand.
I decided not to argue with her. Instead I rolled my eyes and hopped down from the stool, reminding myself that if I didn’t want my mother sending out wedding invitations tomorrow, I needed to act like this was no big deal. As I got closer to the fireplace I saw that it was, in fact, a shirt of some sort. Before I picked it up, I grabbed the note and unfolded it impatiently.
My eyes fixated on the phone number on the bottom of the note, the phone number that I could dial and hear Brody’s voice within ten seconds if I wanted to. Just the thought of hearing his voice again sent a jolt of excitement through my body. I set the note aside and picked up the shirt curiously. It was a red jersey with a hunter green circle in the middle that was surrounding a scene of evergreens and a sunset. Two thick green stripes, one on each sleeve, bordered two thin white stripes. Confusion flooded my brain … why did he leave this for me? It made no sense.
I flipped the jersey around to inspect the back and it hit me like a ton of bricks. At the top of the jersey in white block letters read MURPHY with the number 30 below it. Murphy? That was Brody’s last name. I turned the jersey around again, still having no clue what exactly this was. In the thick green circle on the front, it said MINNESOTA WILD. What the hell was that?
The French doors leading to the back deck swung open and Fred came in, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. He used his knee to gently close the door.
“Hey, Fred! What is this?” I asked, turning the front to face him.
“Minnesota Wild jersey.”
I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, bewildered.
“Hockey. Minnesota’s professional hockey team. I hear they’re really good.”
My mouth fell open as the knot in my stomach grew bigger. Brody was a hockey player? No way. Why would he lie to me? It’s not like he didn’t have several opportunities. We chatted for hours. I was at a total loss and a little bit sad. If this was true, the chances of anything happening between us just washed away like sticks under the old bridge.
I put the note in my pocket, rolled up the jersey and walked into the kitchen.
“Hockey player, huh?” My mom eyed me skeptically.
My mind was still back in the family room processing what I just learned. It hadn’t caught up to my body enough to form a coherent sentence.
“Guess so,” I said flatly. I looked at the girls, wondering if I’d ever be able to give them the one thing that should have been inherently natural, a father. I looked over at my mom, who hadn’t taken her eyes off me. “Hey, can you keep an eye on them for a minute? I … have something to do.”
“Of course, honey.”
I got to my room and flopped down on my bed, stretching to reach my laptop. Thanks to the melded combination of Google and our fish bowl world, it was possible to find out just about anything. I took a deep breath and impatiently typed out B-R-O-D-Y M-U-R-P-H-Y in the search bar.
I stared wide-eyed at the screen while the hourglass spun round and round.
YOUR SEARCH YIELDED 3,270,000 RESULTS.
Three MILLION results? Holy shit! I scrolled down, quietly chanting to myself please-no-naked-pictures, please-no-naked-pictures . A headshot of Brody appeared at the top of the page that made my pulse race. His dark chocolate hair was a mess of loose curls that complimented his playful smile and shimmering green eyes. He was unwittingly seducing me and every other girl looking at his picture, probably a few guys too. Under his picture were action shots of him blocking goals, high-fiving his teammates and sparring
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