“This the one you knocked up?” Rick asked, his smile wide, teasing.
Nixon cleared his throat, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he placed a hand on the small of my back. “Rick,” he said. “This is Liberty.”
My ears flushed red at the way Rick clearly sized me up, then shrugged. “So, you’re the one who convinced my girl to wear blue?” He took his glass from the bartender, not bothering to hand Teagan hers.
I tilted my head, surveying him as he had me. “It hardly took much convincing,” I said, gesturing to Teagan. “Look at her. She looks amazing. A mirror did most of the work.”
Rick turned to lean his back against the bar, able to look from Teagan to me and back again. “You know I hate blue,” he said. “And you know black hides the curves better.”
Teagan’s eyes found the floor, but she nodded quickly. “I wanted to try something—” She cut herself off quickly, and plastered on a smile. “Next time, I’ll wear the black.”
“Smart girl,” Rick said, sliding his hand over her cheek.
I gaped at the exchange, but a pressure at the small of my back made me bite back the words I wanted to say. Nixon’s hand, warm and strong, a silent warning to let it lie. And in reality, he was right. I didn’t know much about Rick and Teagan’s relationship, and just because my psychoanalytic brain saw some mild toxic behaviors from Rick didn’t mean he actually was toxic. Teagan—from what I’d seen from her earlier today—was a smart, capable woman. She wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t make her happy.
“Nix,” Rick said, draining his second glass. “Jordan from the Titans is over there.” He motioned to the other side of the room. “Let’s go give him shit for his turnover stats from last season.”
Nixon rolled his eyes but nodded. “How about we compliment him on his touchdown passes instead,” he suggested, releasing me with a silent question of if I’d be okay here alone for a minute. I nodded, and then he followed Rick across the room.
I sank onto the stool next to Teagan, silently sipping my ginger ale and wondering if I should ask her what the hell the dress debacle had been about.
“What’s your impression?” she asked after a sip of champagne. I breathed a sigh of relief, a question about Rick on the tip of my tongue, but she continued with a wave of her hand. “About your first party?”
“Oh,” I stumbled over the word, scanning the room she’d indicated. “It’s…interesting,” I admitted. “Nice, even.” Everyone looked amazing in their best suits and gowns and under the glittering chandelier lights. Most of them were recognizable in some way or another—athletes or celebs—and the fact that they were here to support Harper’s charity as well made it all seem more important than a mere get-together before the season officially started.
Teagan laughed, and the tension in my shoulders uncoiled. “Some of them can be,” she said. “Though they get kind of boring after attending so many.”
“How long have you been coming to these sort of things?”
Her eyes found Roman chatting up a pretty, fit redhead across the room. “Years,” she said. “First, I’d tag along with Roman because he never wanted to come alone. Even as friends, I can sometimes keep the more zealous attention seekers at bay.” She smiled, her lips soft and not forced. She sucked in a deep breath. “Then, after Rick and I got together two years ago, I always go with him. Though, today, he flew in late, so he asked Roman to make sure I was here on time and waiting for him when he rolled in.”
And now he was all the way across the room with Nixon, not paying any attention to her.
Three gorgeous women had joined Rick and Nixon and the other guy—one blonde, in particular, laughing and touching Nixon’s forearm like they were the oldest of friends.
Something hot twisted in my stomach and I shifted on my seat, hoping like hell another wave of nausea wasn’t about to make an appearance.
“Ugh,” Teagan said. “Don’t even worry about that one.” She leaned in a bit closer, lowering her voice. “She’s ambitious, but she’s with a tight end on the Titans,” she explained. “It’s no secret she tried to land a quarterback first, though,” she said. “But Nixon has turned her down so many times it’s almost sad. Plus, he belongs to you now—”
“He doesn’t belong to me,” I cut her off, hating the uncertainty in my tone.
Teagan raised her brows at me.
I sat up a little straighter, trying like hell to quell the jealousy as my eyes kept betraying me and drifting back to Nixon and the blonde who couldn’t stop finding ways to touch him. “He belongs to the baby,” I said and smoothed my hand over my still-flat stomach. It wouldn’t be long now, and dresses like this would be impossible to get into. Not that I ever worried or cared about my body—as long as I loved it that was all that mattered—but it was hard not to think about it when surrounded by so many pretty people.