“Derringer will keep things cool,” I say, and I hope that’s true.
Baden claps me on the shoulder and nods at Gage. “I’d like to stay and discuss all the ways this can get worse, but I have a beautiful woman waiting for me in my room.”
My eyebrows raise, completely shocked at this radical change in subject, and also, because Baden doesn’t seem the type to just hook up.
When he leaves, Gage must see my confusion and laughs. “It’s Sophie. She came to see him because he was sick.”
Dawning hits me, and I nod. “Got it.”
I don’t know much about the relationship between Baden and Sophie. Gossip has made its way around, especially after Baden stayed behind in Phoenix to give his victim impact statement when one of his attackers took a plea deal. The team traveled on to Houston, and it was then I learned who Sophie was—the girl he saved—and heard rumblings they might have something more going.
I wasn’t sure until now.
The way Baden mentioned her waiting in his room—not in a lewd way, but in a manner that said he’s the luckiest son of a bitch to have someone.
It’s a concept I have no experience with nor have I ever strove for such a thing. Relationships have never been a priority.
I wonder if they were with Brooks. Did he ever find someone to love?
And what about Harlow? Is she the type of woman who dreams of big white weddings, or is she more of a one-night stand type?
And why the fuck am I even wondering about her in that light? I’m not interested in her in that way.
I mean… unless she’s a one-night stand type, then maybe.
Well, not maybe.
That would be a hell yes.
“I’m sure there’ll be a team meeting soon,” Gage says, and my head snaps his way.
“About what?” I ask, my brain a bit fuzzy from thinking about Harlow and berating myself for the same.
Gage shakes his head, amused. “About this thing with Coen. I’ll bet you ten dollars he won’t play tonight. I bet they move Rivers up to our line.”
“That’s not a bet I’ll take,” I reply before sipping my coffee. “He’ll be out of tonight’s game at a minimum. And yeah… Rivers is the right call.”
Our conversation delves deep into options regarding not only our line, but if Boone Rivers is moved up from the second line, who will take his place? The depth of the third line is weak at best.
The entire time Gage and I volley scenarios, I can’t help but continue to wonder about Harlow and what type of woman she is.
CHAPTER 13
Harlow
“No, you can’t go.” Odin looks at me with chocolate eyes drooping with sadness. His gaze shifts pointedly to his leash hanging by the door. “I’m sorry, but no. Dogs aren’t welcome, unfortunately.”
I scrub behind his ear, vigorously enough his back leg shakes with delight. “We’ll cuddle when I get home, and there might be a treat involved.”
He can’t understand the words, but he seems to accept my departure as he swivels his head and licks my palm.
I smile as I grab my coat from the rack and shrug it on. “You’re the bestest boy. The keeper of my heart. My reason for living.”
I swear the dog rolls his eyes and trots off toward the kitchen where I hear him slurping water from his bowl as I exit my condo.
Locking the door, I head toward the staircase, surprised to see Stone coming down the hall with an empty recycle bin in hand. He must have been emptying it downstairs in the main receptacle as pickup is tomorrow. I haven’t seen him since St. Patrick’s Day, but he’s been in New York for two games.
“There’s the hope and savior of the Titans,” I say with a cheeky smile as we approach each other.
Stone snorts and shakes his head. “Couple of lucky breaks.”
He’s being humble. He played fantastically in New York and is currently the leading scorer on the team since they took to the ice two weeks ago, with Gage Heyward only one point behind him.
I could gush about his play, but I can tell Stone’s not the type to eat it up. His brother was, though. God, Brooks used to glory in the accolades and would strut around like the king of the world after a great game. I loved him for it, just as I admire Stone’s ability to exist without those affirmations. I have a feeling he’s built up that strength over the last few years as the Dumelin family fractured.
A change of subject is in order. “I’m going to send you an email tomorrow with some documents, but I have all the bank and investment accounts transferred into your name. It will be encrypted as I have log-on information and passwords attached. You can change them when you sign in for the first time.”
“Awesome,” he murmurs. “Now I can get my dad paid so he’ll stop calling me wondering where his money is.”
I don’t comment nor ask for added explanation. I would bet my britches, though, that those calls never come with genuine curiosity about how Stone is doing personally.
Instead, I tell him the other good news. “I should have the deeds of trust finished to put the properties in your name later in the week. And I’ve requested a title transfer for the Ferrari.”
“I really appreciate you getting all this done,” he says, but his eyes shift to his door, as if he’s eager to get inside and perhaps out of my presence.
“It’s my job,” I reply with a quick smile, then start to move past him. “Have a great night.”
“Yeah, you too,” he murmurs, but when I’m just a few paces down the hall, he asks, “So, where are you headed tonight?”
I pivot to face him. Stone has one hand in his jeans pocket, his shoulders hunched slightly forward. He seems uncomfortable initiating conversation, yet he looks hopeful at the same time. Almost as if he’s trying to figure out how to be social. I find it endearing.
My answer might set him back and send him scurrying, but honesty is always the best policy. “I’m going to an AA meeting.”
He’s shocked. I figured he would be. Eyebrows shoot up, head pushes forward slightly as his mouth gapes. “AA?”
“Alcoholics Anonymous,” I explain.
Stone’s lips purse as if irritated. “Yes, I know what it means. I just… didn’t know you were a member.”
“Well, it’s not like a social club I wanted to join,” I quip, trying to ease the awkwardness. “But I’ve been in AA for a little over two years now.”
“Um…” Stone’s gaze shifts away, as if he’s horrified he brought this to light.
“It’s okay.” I take a few steps toward him, and his eyes come to mine. “I’m not embarrassed by it. It’s not a secret. I’ve been sober two years, one month, and seventeen days today.”
Stone lets out a long breath. “I’ve never known anyone in AA before. It just took me by surprise.”
“It’s a lot to throw at someone as we’re passing in the hallway.”
“It’s why you said you didn’t drink anymore… at your St. Patrick’s Day get-together,” he says. When I nod, he asks, “But it doesn’t bother you to be around others who drink?”
“Sometimes,” I admit softly. “But those times are few and far between. I had some urges when Brooks died.”