“So is it because of Randy, then?” Charlene asks.

All three girls stare, waiting.

“No.”

“Liar!” Violet points at me.

“Randy isn’t the reason I’m not sure.”

“He might not be the reason, but I bet he’s a reason,” Violet replies. “Your last name is LeBlanc, right?”

“Yeah.” I’m not sure what that has to do with Randy, but then Violet doesn’t often stick with one train of thought.

“Is that your mom’s or your dad’s last name?” she asks.

“My mom’s. I’ve never even met my dad. There’s no way I’d take his last name.” I don’t mean to sound bitchy.

“You’ve never met your dad?” Violet asks. “Wow. That’s crazy. Me neither.”

“Really?” I ask.

“For reals.” Violet nods. “Apparently he’s a jerkwad. My mom says it was a whirlwind romance. I think it means she had a slutty phase and decided not to give me up for adoption.”

“Wow,” Sunny and I say in unison.

“It’s no biggie.” She shrugs. “My mom raised me on her own.”

“Just like Sidney raised Miller,” Sunny says. She gets this wistful look in her eyes. “It’s like fate brought your parents together.”

“Actually, I think he accidentally stole her coffee one day, and that’s how they met, but yeah, they love each other,” Violet agrees. “So what’s the story with your dad?”

“He was a pro hockey player, and my mom was a bunny who got pregnant.” I shrug. “He paid child support until he didn’t anymore.”

“Wow. How’s your mom feel about you boning an NHL’er?” Violet asks.

“She doesn’t get an opinion on that, considering,” I reply.

“Fair enough,” she says. The three of them go quiet for a few seconds. “Wait! So you’ve never met your dad, and isn’t Randy’s dad some ex-NHL’er who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants? Aren’t his parents divorced?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Holy shit!” She sets her glass down and grabs the edge of the coffee table. “What if you two are related? And not like me and Buck—all step-sibling and stuff. Like, it would be weird but okay if we hooked up, but you’d be for-real brother and sister. We could make a reality TV show out of this.”

“Randy’s dad isn’t my dad.”

“How do you know?”

“Because his name isn’t on my birth certificate.”

“What if it’s a fake?”

“Violet, you’re being an asshole,” Charlene says.

“My dad’s last name is Head,” I say.

“What’s his first name? Dick?” Violet asks.

“Actually he goes by Richard.”

“Are you serious? Your dad’s name is Dick Head?”

“If he went by Dick, yes.”

She’s silent for a few seconds, then she starts laughing hysterically. “Oh my God, that’s priceless.” When she calms down a bit, she holds up a finger. “So if you and Randy ever got married, your name would be Lily LeBlanc Balls. Lily White Balls!” She falls over laughing.

I want to find it funny, but I can’t. Instead I’m sad. “Yeah, that’s never gonna happen.”

We get super hammered and ring in the New Year with champagne. I get two messages at midnight: one from Benji telling me he misses me and another from Randy saying he wishes he was inside me. I can’t pretend it doesn’t make my chest ache when I realize all over again that that’s where this whole thing starts and finishes.

***

Turns out Alex doesn’t give me a choice about whether or not I’m doing the job interview. He sets it up for me and tells me when I’m disgustingly hungover that I’ll need to be at the arena the following morning.

Randy and I spend the majority of New Year’s Day in his bed. I’m not in very good shape, so we don’t have much in the way of sex. Instead, I drink ginger ale, and we cuddle. Things feel off. Or maybe I’m off because I’m hungover.

The next morning while I’m getting ready for my interview, I spot Randy’s defaced pink boxers on the bedroom floor. I snatch them up and shove them in my bag while he’s in the bathroom. I don’t know why, or maybe I do. This week has been amazing, but this thing with Randy is getting too big. I want more than he says he has to give.

Alex picks me up to take me to the interview, and Randy tongue-fucks the hell out of my mouth before he lets me get into the car. I have to go home tomorrow—possibly to pack up my things—so he’s taking me out for dinner tonight. Which, to me, sounds and feels like a real date. I didn’t mention that to him.

“I know it’s none of my business—” Alex says as we pull away.

“It’s just casual.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t move to another country for a guy, Alex. I was with Benji for seven years. I’m having some fun, and Randy’s a fun guy.” The words sound flat.

“And he feels the same way.”

“Yeah. He feels the same way.” I poke the fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror.

“You’re sure about that, too?”

I think about the message from New Years. And about how deep I’ve gotten myself in. I’m going to get my heart ripped out. “Yeah. I’m totally positive. Can we talk about something else? Like this interview? I feel unprepared.”