“Well, is he?” Pepper presses. Apparently, it’s a question they all want me to answer.
Before I can do so, Regan gives me a pointed look. “Look… he’s a good man. A great guy. He possesses all the qualities any woman would want, and you are crazy about him. You might not admit it, but—”
I throw my hands up once again, this time in surrender. “Fine. I’m crazy about him. But I’m still scared shitless I’ll get hurt. The fact I’m crazy about him makes it almost assured I’ll end up hurt when this doesn’t work out.”
Nora scoffs, ever the therapist trained to challenge belief systems. “Why do you think you’ll be hurt?”
“He’s a player,” I mumble.
Blue shakes her head. “Was a player. He’s with you now, so it takes him off the market. And trust me, I know players can reform. Personal experience and all.”
Erik was notorious in the league before Blue tamed him.
Brooke picks up her margarita glass. “All of our guys were players to some extent.”
“Not my guy,” Nora says with a bark of a laugh.
“That is true.” Pepper gives Nora an apologetic smile. “Tacker was an asshole. No offense.”
Nora nods. “None taken. That’s a fair assessment.”
Brooke taps on the granite countertop with her fork, and we all look her way. “The point is powerful men can be players, but they can just as easily settle down. And it seems he’s really into you. I mean, the man pursued you relentlessly from what I’ve heard.”
My tone is grumbly in nature as I admit, “And he’s told me as much. That he’d like to give this relationship a serious go.”
Regan puts a hand on my shoulder. “Then you need to give him the benefit of the doubt and go for it. You’ll regret it if you let him get away.”
Everyone nods and murmurs their agreement to Regan’s advice.
She’s not telling me anything I had not already reasoned out in my mind. I just have to figure out if I’m brave enough to go all-in or if I’ll continue to withhold a part of myself in reserve so I can stay protected in case it all goes to hell.CHAPTER 19DominikOrdinarily, I wouldn’t have accepted an invitation to a night out with the first line of my team, since I wouldn’t want it to appear to anyone there was any favoritism, although I am generally not the type of man who cares what others think. But we’re in the playoffs now, so I do have to be a little more careful in weighing all my decisions.
Ultimately, I accepted the invitation to join Dax, Bishop, Erik, Legend, Tacker, and Wylde for a barbeque at Erik’s house because of Willow. She’d been extended the same invitation except with the female counterpart to this group of men, and I encouraged her to go.
You see, I’ve figured out a lot of things about Willow during the past several weeks, and one is she doesn’t have nearly enough friends, particularly of the girl persuasion. She travels so much, with no home base to settle into, that she relies solely on her family for her social community. And while I can say her family is quite lovely from what I can tell, a person should have more.
Or rather, Willow should have everything.
So I accepted the invite because I knew she would do the same.
It’s worked out nicely. Willow is getting much needed downtime with a group of wonderful women, and I’m eating grilled ribeyes and drinking premium scotch with dudes I happen to like, too. But I keep myself in reserve for the most part, always aware there is a line between us.
I’m their employer, they’re my employees, and it makes no difference if I’ve crossed that line a couple of times over the past year by extending personal help to a few of them. I certainly don’t count my unmitigated harassment to get personal information from Dax about his sister, though. That was in jest most of the time, because I knew I’d be able to get through to Willow one day.
The point is I am the boss, so, in essence, I can sort of make the rules up to fit me as I go.
At least that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it tonight.
Most of the talk centers around the playoffs. As a bunch of professional athletes with a championship within reach, what else would they talk about?
We’re currently out on Erik’s back patio, the evening temperature at a delightful sixty-seven degrees. Dinner has been finished, and we’re sipping our drinks while lounging in cushioned chairs around an unlit fire pit.
“Enjoying that scotch?” Wylde asks from my right.
I roll the glass, letting the amber liquid swirl as I contemplate it. “It’s not bad.”
Actually, I was impressed by Erik’s selection of liquor. The scotch is one of the brands I stock in my own home.