And Steve hadn’t been at the last reunion, either, but Conor had messaged him on Facebook last Christmas and got a reply in February. Steve told him he’d be there. That was when Conor had started mulling it over in his mind, debating if he’d lost said mind as he recalled the last reunion and the clingy women who’d wanted to be his friend after ignoring him all those years.
“Penny for your thoughts, boss.”
Conor shook his head, realizing he’d tuned out and saw that Morgan had a small notebook and pen beside her plate. “Sorry. I was just wondering how my friend Steve’s been all these years. Haven’t seen him since the summer before I left for college.”
“You’ll find out tonight.” Morgan wiped her fingers on the white paper napkin. “So…to do list, Conor. What have we got to do today?”
“You already said this is like a vacation, Mo. That means you don’t have to write a list.”
No way would he tell her the scowl on her face made her look cute. “Fuck that. I don’t feel right if I don’t.”
“Fine. Then how about this? Shower? Check. Breakfast? Check. Part of it’s already done. Next, get tux at Conor’s parents’ house, get ready for reunion, go to reunion. That work?”
“I still don’t get why you didn’t just get your tux yesterday.”
Conor cut a piece of cinnamon roll off with his fork. “Are you nervous about meeting my parents? Might I remind you we’re not actually engaged?”
“Yeah, right. That’s it. I’m nervous about meeting your parents.”
“It’s not like we have a lot to do this afternoon anyway. It won’t take us hours to get ready.” He sliced at the roll on the plate again. “Well, you maybe, but I just have to get dressed.”
“You want me to look good or not? I could easily wear a pair of shitty sweats and rat out my hair. That would keep those crazy women at bay.”
He couldn’t help laughing again. “When you finish there, we’ll walk up and down Main Street just so I can show you the town a little bit.”
“I already knocked that off my list yesterday…but I guess we’re going to repeat all that today, huh?”
“You didn’t have a tour guide then.”
Morgan arched an eyebrow—but then she penciled exercise onto her to do list before polishing off her cinnamon roll.
* * *
Morgan wouldn’t admit it out loud to Conor, but she enjoyed seeing his hometown through his eyes. Being here gave him an enthusiastic, boyish spring in his step and a devilish twinkle in his brown eyes that she hadn’t seen before.
It made him adorable and all but irresistible—so much so that Morgan laced her arm through his and, when he gave her a look of confusion, she said, “We actually look engaged this way, Conor.”
Once they’d strolled the length of Main Street, they crossed the road and began walking down the other side. At the next block, Conor stopped. “Holy shit. This place is still here.”
Morgan looked at the sign: Games and Fortune. Then she glanced in the windows. It looked like a used game store, but there were all sorts of paraphernalia inside, too—from the sidewalk, it looked like they had costumes, books, trinkets, and collector memorabilia.
“Geek’s paradise,” she muttered.
Conor must not have heard her because he said, “Oh, my God. Vince is in there.”
“Vince?”
“Yeah, the owner.”
“It is after ten, boss. He’s got a business to run.”
“Yeah, I guess so. And since school’s out, it might pay to open early.” Conor shook his head. “I wonder how old Vince is doing. He wasn’t much older than my friends and I when he opened the place. I think I was a sophomore then. We’d bring our old games down and trade ‘em in for ones we hadn’t played. Or if a controller broke, he always had used ones in stock for cheap—not that they were worth the money. But Vince was a great guy just to talk to.”
Conor’s hand wrapped around the door handle before Morgan could even try to stop him.
Great.
Well, at least this visit would give Morgan plenty of fodder for ribbing Conor in the future. She never would have pegged him as a gaming guy. She wasn’t positive, but she didn’t think he played a lot of games nowadays—and he’d had no problem telling her he’d been a nerd as a kid, but she’d had no idea just how much of a nerd he’d been.
When they walked in, Vince, a balding guy in decent shape, had a game controller on the counter and a screwdriver in hand. He looked up and gave them a quick greeting before returning to the task at hand. “Vince?” Conor asked, approaching the counter. The man looked up again. “Do you remember me?”
The man gave a half-hearted grin. “The reunion starts tonight, yeah? You know how many guys have been in here already askin’ me that?”
“Fair enough. But I was one of your first customers—me and my buddies. I think you called us the Nintendo Brats.”
It was then that Vince scrutinized the man in front of him. “Yeah, I remember that.”
“It was me and Steve Powell and Leo Lane—and a couple of other kids who hung with us off and on.”
“So you must be…Conor Hammond?”
“I knew it. You do remember me!” Conor and Vince shook hands. “How’s business been?”
“Not bad, but nothing like the glory days.”
Morgan leaned in past Conor and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Conor’s fiancée, Morgan Tredway.” Giving Conor an evil glare out of the corner of her eye, she said, “I know I can’t compare to the likes of Zelda, Princess Peach, and Lara Croft, but I thought I’d introduce myself anyway.”
Vince had a weird look on his face, as if he’d just sucked on a lemon. “Nice to meet you. Was that dig at me, Conor, or both of us?”
Morgan smiled, realizing she’d once again come off as a bitch. Normally, she wouldn’t care, but she had a feeling from the way this guy had said it that he got more than his fair share of shit. “Sorry. Just my future husband. Seriously, Vince, what’s a girl supposed to think when her boyfriend ignores her all the time?”
His eyes twinkled. “I’d think, with a gorgeous gal like yourself, that he’s fixing to get an ass-whoopin’.” Well…maybe that was a little extreme. “You do play, right?”
“Games?”
Now was Conor’s turn to laugh. “You don’t have to say it like you’ll get a disease. No, she doesn’t.”
“You don’t anymore, either, Conor.” To Vince, she added, “He’s a bit of a workaholic.”
“It’s hard not to be come tax time.”
“What do you do nowadays?”
“Accounting. It’s not what I set out to do…but it kind of found me, you know? I started school majoring in applied math and minoring in computer science but, by my second year, I decided I was drawn to money. After I graduated, I found a job with a great accounting firm but I saw so many things that they did that I thought, ‘If I had my own company, I’d do it this way.’ After saying that over and over, I asked myself why the hell I wasn’t doing it my own way. So, before I was thirty, I was opening my own business.”
“It’s hard to beat not having to report to a boss, don’t you think?”
Morgan said, “You’ve never had this guy as a boss.”
Vince tilted his head before picking up the screwdriver again. “You work for your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve heard that’s a bad idea.”
“You got that right,” Conor said, and Morgan stuck her tongue out at him.
“Morgan, right?” She nodded at Vince. “I have a story for you—and you’ll maybe understand that Conor here has always had the entrepreneurial spirit. So I opened this little game shop back then, because opening a business was a dream of mine, and even though I didn’t have tons of items, I did have enough to make a go of it. Not only had I bought lots of used games and systems online, but I also hit garage sales and things like that. I’d been repairing my own consoles for years, so after running a short-lived onlin
e shop, mostly to gain more products, I rented a store front and voilà.
“But the store you see is not how it began.
“I only sold games and game systems—but when Conor here and a couple of his buddies swung in, they told me they’d love gaming mags and memorabilia and stuff along those lines, so I figured out how to get that stuff in there.
“But what changed everything was the day Conor asked if I’d host a tournament. At first, I thought, ‘Why the hell would I want a bunch of kids in here, rowdy and making noise and getting into everything?’ And then, after a day or so, I wondered what the hell my brain damage was. Kids were my target demographic. Sure, I had a couple of older people walk in the doors—and I still do today—but back then, it was mostly kids, especially ones in high school. So I organized an annual tournament and it’s played right over there.” He pointed to one of the front windows. “I clear out those t-shirt racks and move a big table over. A couple of months before, I survey the kids to see what hot new game is out there that could work for a tournament. Fighting games are best, but you never know. Sometimes we do large teams and two separate versions of the same game. But it draws a crowd and reminds people I’m here—free advertisement. Plus, during the tournament, I sell drinks and snacks, and between the event and the exposure afterward, I finish the year with a profit.”
“That’s thanks to me?” Conor asked.
“Yeah, man. Totally. If you hadn’t asked, I don’t know that I would have thought of it. So thanks again.”
Conor shook his head. “Sure—but you’re the guy who ran with it. You actually inspired me. I don’t think I would have considered becoming a business owner if not for you.”
“Ah…it’s a regular love fest,” Morgan said. She couldn’t help her usual snarky nature, but the truth was this little story had put Conor in a completely new light. Maybe he really was a good guy through and through.
Conor ignored her. “It helped me put together a solid group of friends. We’d been half-hearted before, but once we started the tournament, we embraced our nerdiness.”
“And yet, as I recall, you stopped coming to my shop before you graduated and left town—but your buddies kept coming.”
A wry frown threatened to cover Conor’s face. “That was stupid, but I’d thought maybe if I disavowed my nerdy nature, I’d have a better chance of getting a gorgeous date for prom.”
“Can’t blame you for that. Did it work?”
“Nope.” Conor glanced at Morgan and winked before he said, “But money does.”
* * *
As Conor pulled the rental car in front of the red-brick two story home of Edgar and Dale Hammond, his parents, he was questioning if this had been a good idea. His mom was fussy and neurotic nowadays, his dad half deaf and sometimes grouchy, and this whole thing could end with him feeling frustrated as hell. He might leave with his tux draped over his arm but with stress levels elevated, too—and he knew he had to be confident, suave, and cool as a cucumber tonight.
If shit gets tense, we just leave. Easy.
But there the four of them were, drinking iced tea and eating mom’s homemade peanut butter cookies, having a good time laughing and joking.
At his expense…but still.
“It’s true,” his mom said. “Conor was practically naked all the time until he had to start kindergarten—and even then, once he got home, there went all the clothes.” She mimicked tossing clothing off her arms like a dancer might flourish her limbs.
Morgan was laughing her ass off. Conor tried not to sound butt hurt, but he was tired of the stories. “Okay, so it’s funny…but it’s not that funny.”
“Yes, it’s a riot!” she practically squealed, her giggles ending in a snort.
Definitely not that funny.
Why had he thought it would be a great idea to bring Morgan to meet his parents?
“If it makes you feel better,” Morgan said to his mom, “he keeps his clothes on at work all day long.” Morgan turned her face to him and winked, patting him on the forearm.
Interesting. That felt almost…affectionate.
“Seriously, though, in case you hadn’t already figured it out, I wanted to mention that your son is a genius and really good with people.”
“Hard to ignore the genius part,” his dad said. It was nice to know his parents were proud of him.
“Why did you want your old tuxedo, son?”
“I don’t own another tux, mom, and it would be stupid to buy one just for the reunion.”
“With you living in the big city, I’m surprised you haven’t needed one by now.” He wasn’t going to tell his mother, but he’d rented one or two in the past—and he didn’t want to make it a habit. He wasn’t high profile enough that he had to wear them very often. And even if he did, there was no way he wanted to tote it around on a flight. “But what if it doesn’t fit?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
His mom set her glass of iced tea down, a grin on her face. “When’s the last time you wore it?” Conor racked his brain and felt a little discouraged when he figured it out. “Your senior year. Honey, you’ve filled out a lot since then.”
Morgan glanced at him, looking like she was stifling another laugh. “Maybe you should try it on now. If it doesn’t fit, we could probably rent a tux somewhere.”
She was right, but what a pain in the ass—and he didn’t want to dress in one anyway. He was more of the dot-com variety of office casual. But when he had to dress like business, he had a few expensive suits to wear, ones he’d purchased and had tailored to impress. A tux seemed overly formal and he didn’t plan to attend any red carpet events where he’d have to go overboard. In fact, this damned reunion was the first time in years he’d needed anything like that.
But both women were spot on. It had been a long time since he’d worn the old one. It wasn’t out of style, but he wasn’t a scrawny, nerdy teenager anymore.
Morgan followed him upstairs to his old bedroom. Well, honestly, it was no longer a bedroom. The closet was full of his stuff, but his mom had converted the rest of the room into a crafts den. She created all kinds of homey decorations all winter long (plus candles and soap) and then sold her creations at different fairs, bazaars, and flea markets all summer long. As Conor opened the door to the room full of fabrics, sequins, hot glue, and ribbons, assaulted by the scents of cinnamon and pomegranate, he realized that, perhaps, he’d gotten his entrepreneurial spirit from his mother.
“This is your old bedroom, Conor?” Morgan asked as they walked in. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“You’re quite the comedienne, but don’t give up your day job.” He opened up the door to the closet. It was crammed full of boxes and a few clothes, including his graduation gowns, hung from the rod. The tuxedo was pushed to the far left, and he pulled it out.
Morgan winced but said nothing. He eyeballed it, afraid they were right. He wasn’t worried about the pants. He’d brought a pair of black dress slacks that would work if needed. “Just try the jacket on,” Morgan said. “If it fits, then the shirt might, too.” Was she reading his mind?
“Okay.” He slipped the jacket off the hanger. “Here. Hold this.” Then he started sliding his arm into one sleeve, and it was tight before he could get it all the way up to his shoulder.
Just then, his mother walked in. “Do you want me to alter it, honey? I’ve got my sewing machine right here.”
If she were shrinking it down, that might be manageable, but there was no way he could see her making it bigger. “I don’t think that’s doable, mom. I think Morgan had the right idea. It’s Friday afternoon—so I should be able to rent one. Is Wash and Go still in business? And do they still rent tuxedos?”
“They’re still in business but I don’t know.”
Morgan already had her phone in hand. “Hold on,” she said, swiping at the screen. “Looks like it, but just a sec.” Then she put the phone to her ear.
She began talking into her cell while Cono
r’s mother asked him, “Do you want me to donate it to a thrift store or would you rather I alter it for you to wear another time?”
“No, ma. If you want, you can get rid of it.”
“You’re six-four, right?”
Morgan’s question threw him off guard momentarily. “Uh, yeah.” How did she know that?
She started speaking in the phone again and his mother said, “You might want to go through the rest of those clothes.”
Grinning, he said, “Maybe.” There wasn’t much and he knew it was stupid—but the rest of the clothes hanging in there had memories attached to them. The tux? That was easy to let go.
Then again, he’d moved past all that. He hadn’t looked in there in a decade, so he obviously didn’t need any of it.
“You can get rid of it if you want, mom. Then you’ll have the closet all to yourself.”
Morgan hung up. “They can hook you up, Conor, but we need to get you there now. They said they’re almost out of your size.”
Raising his eyebrows, he nodded. “Sorry, mom. Gotta go.”
“I know. I’m glad you came again and brought your girlfriend this time.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
As they walked out of the room, Morgan teased, her voice low enough that his mom couldn’t hear, “Jesus H. You don’t have to be so emphatic about it.”
Did she feel insulted?
Halfway down the stairs, his mother said, “Those sequins are a pain in the butt to vacuum up when they fall into the carpet. I’m thinking about pulling the carpet out and putting in a wood floor, so I can sweep it up.”
Shenanigans (Pretense and Promises Book 2) Page 5
