Pivoting, I face him. “But now it feels like I’ve been deliberately deceitful for keeping my illness from them. And then marrying you. They’ll be disappointed in me.”
“They most certainly won’t,” Willow says firmly. That it comes from her instead of Dax makes me feel better. I think Dax would say anything to try to put me at ease.
“I don’t want them feeling sorry for me,” I say desperately.
“Of course they’ll feel sorry for you,” Willow replies with a wicked grin. “You’re married to Dax, after all. But seriously… you know they’ll understand. They’ll believe Dax did the right thing just like I do. Now, whether you want to tell them he’s boning you at the same time—”
“Willow,” Dax barks, turning from the pancakes to glare at her. “Just cut it out. Regan feels uneasy about all this to begin with. Lay off what’s going on between us personally. That’s for us and no one else.”
Something about his words—his tone—reassures me. It comes off as protective and reassuring instead of patronizing.
“Fine,” Willow says, throwing her hands up in surrender. “I’ll let it go.”
Sighing in what sounds like relief, Dax returns to the griddle. But I can tell by the expression on Willow’s face that she has more to say about it.
But not to her brother.After breakfast, Willow and I cleaned the kitchen. She didn’t say a word to me about my illness, being married to her brother, or the fact I was sleeping with him. Dax had gone to take a quick shower before he had to head to the arena. He wouldn’t normally go this early, but he and Erik have to meet with the team’s lawyers because of a lawsuit that’s been filed against the team.
Back in October, a woman apparently filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against Dax, Erik, another guy in the front office, and the team as a whole. Dax told me about it one night while we were eating dinner last week. One of Brooke’s friends—well, ex-friend—is the woman at the heart of this matter, and she might be on the high end of the crazy spectrum. Dax emphatically denied there was any type of sexual harassment, although I didn’t need him to defend himself. I know him well enough there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d never do that to a woman.
He’s frustrated by the process, though. Supposedly, this will be a mediation where all parties’ attorneys meet to discuss a settlement. I have to wonder why there’s even going to be discussion if the players did nothing wrong, but that’s none of my business.
We’re just putting up the dried dishes when Dax reappears in the kitchen. He’s wearing a suit, and he looks damn good dressed up. I remember having an inappropriate thought at Lance’s funeral about Dax, but my head had been all kinds of messed up, so I gave myself a pass.
Regardless, the guys are required to dress up when going to the arena on game days, and it’d been the same when Lance played for the Vipers. Probably an industry-wide sort of unwritten rule. The players are professionals after all.
Dax has his game duffel slung over one shoulder. He glances between Willow and me. “Do you two need anything before I leave?”
“We’re good,” Willow says.
“Got the tickets?” he asks.
“Yes, Dad,” she intones in a faux whiny voice.
Dax ignores her, focusing on me. “You good?”
My brow furrows. “Um… yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Can’t a guy wonder?” is all he says with a quirk to his lips.
“I guess.”
Willow coughs, and I don’t miss the evil flash in her eyes. “Um… listen, dude. If you want a moment alone to kiss her or something, I can get lost if that makes you feel more at ease.”
Those were the wrong words. I know she’s trying to shame him—further proof I was definitely picking up on an air of disapproval from her earlier when he grabbed my hips—but it seems to have the opposite effect on Dax.
Instead, he lifts his chin and his jaw locks, eyes hard with determination. He stares at his sister as he strides across the kitchen. Just keeps his eyes locked right on Willow as he makes a beeline straight for me.
Without slowing or doubting his mission, he doesn’t stop until he’s flush against my body.
Finally sparing me a triumphant glance, he then kisses the hell out of me. I’m talking about one hand shoved into my hair, the other settling on my back, before bends me backward over the sink kind of kiss.
It’s hard, swift, and meant to claim.
To send a message to Willow.
He’s not going to back down.
I’m blushing and at a complete loss for words when he straightens us. I get the flash of an unrepentant grin before he’s heading for the door, calling over his shoulder, “See you both after the game. We’ll go out to The Sneaky Saguaro.”