Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“It was your idea,” she says, staring sternly at me. I came up with several options from wild cats to foxes and listed them on the card I sent her. “Thank you again for your list.”
“I was happy to weigh in on the cutest but meanest animals.”
My attention briefly snags on a pair of handsome men coming my way, but I try not to get distracted while talking to the big boss.
“Cute but mean?” Stefan asks with sparkling eyes when he reaches us. Hayes is with him, but his expression is more stoic—maybe even concerned. “Oh, you mean the team name?”
Jessie turns to the captain. “Yes. Ivy gave me the idea.”
“Yes, she likes foxes.” His lips twitch like he can barely hold in a grin.
“I do,” I admit, trying not to let on how much.
“So much,” he adds, clearly bursting with some kind of masculine pride.
Stefan’s mood is light and festive, but Hayes still seems worried. He’s unusually quiet even for the quieter one.
When Jessie turns to leave, she says, “I need to head home. But it was good to see all of you.”
Like it pains him, Hayes says roughly, “Ms. Rose. I was hoping we could finish.”
Finish what? I jerk my gaze to my husband with questions in my eyes.
Jessie’s expression is neutral, and I have no clue what’s going on. “Yes. Let’s finish. I just have one question.”
About what?
Hayes nods like a good soldier. “Yes?”
“This marriage dare?”
Oh. My. God. He told her it was a dare? Oliver’s eyes widen. Parvati’s lips twist in a nervous smile.
“Yes?” Hayes says, remaining steadfast.
“It seems real to me. Was it not?”
Hayes turns to me, his brown eyes full of genuine affection. “Very real.”
“And you were very real married.” She glances at his ring and then at mine. “And you still are?”
I’m not going to let them have this conversation without me. “We are,” I pipe in.
Before I can add something about Stefan, he chimes in with, “And she’s with me too.”
Jessie doesn’t even bat an eye. “I figured as much when you two delivered that shirt.” Then she shakes her head, amused. “You men don’t surprise me. I’ve had a feeling for quite some time. Just let me know what I can do in terms of support.” She gestures to Oliver and Parvati. “Make sure the PR team knows the proper terms to use. That is, if you want anything posted on social?”
“You’re not bothered that it was…” Hayes begins but stops. He doesn’t say fake. Perhaps because it was never anything but real.
Jessie shakes her head. “I’m concerned with running an ethical business and with winning. I’m not concerned with who players love. Keep winning and I’ll stay happy.”
When she leaves, Hayes looks like he’s about to sink down to the ground in relief.
I reach for his hand and tug him close. “You told her?” I ask, but I’m more amazed than anything.
“I did. I didn’t want to lie.”
I cup his cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
“And I’m proud of you for picking a team name,” he says.
Stefan clears his throat, comes closer, and slings an arm around me. “I’m kind of proud of me. After all, you gave her a team name I inspired.”
With a laugh, I say, “I did. You remind me of a fox.”
I kiss his cheek, and when I catch Parvati and Oliver awkwardly slinking away, I call out, “You can post that pic of us from golf if you want. Up to you. Whatever works.”
“Whatever works,” Parvati repeats, like it’s the new mantra.
And maybe it is.
When they’re gone, Stefan looks at me again, his blue eyes twinkling. “You might have married him, but you named a team after me. I’ll take that.”
“And tonight, you two can take me.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Stefan says.
They execute that plan, all right. And in the morning, I find a note in my planner for a date with my guys to do something I only mentioned once that I wanted to do.
What can I say? My men know how to pay attention.
48
IS THAT A ZAMBONI ON YOUR BUCKET LIST OR IS IT JUST ME?
Hayes
I know it’s coming, and there’s no way to stop it. Dragging a hand across my trim beard, I groan when Bryan, the older of my granddads, launches into his favorite story while we’re seated at the diner in Petaluma on Friday evening.
“And this little guy,” Bryan says, ruffling my hair—that’s his thing, and always has been, “jumps over the boards with his stick, and his uniform, and his new skates, and he actually challenges the older guys to a skate-off. His words.”
I drop my face onto the Formica table.
“A skate-off?” Stefan asks, chuckling. “Is that a thing? Like a dance-off on ice?”
“Maybe we should all do that,” Ryan suggests from across the booth. “I’ve got a killer pair of purple skates.”