Damon didn’t watch a ton of basketball, but he’d been paying more attention since dating Marlie, who gaped at the guy and stammered, “Y-you’re Manuel Azilla.”
“Nice to meet you.” Mannie smiled and shook Marlie’s hand.
“This is my girl, Marlie. Marlie, meet Mannie.” To Mannie, he said, sadly, “She prefers basketball to hockey. Can you believe that?”
“Nice.” To Marlie, he said, “You’re probably too good for him.”
“Probably? I am.” Marlie looked Mannie over as he laughed. “You guys need to crush the Kings tomorrow.”
“That’s the plan.” They reached his floor, and the doors opened. “Gotta go. Nice to meet you, Marlie. Later, D.”
“Mannie.”
Mannie left, and Marlie turned and socked him in the arm.
“Ow. Quit hitting me.” He secretly loved when she gave him what he liked to call her love taps.
“That was Manuel Azilla!”
They reached his floor, and he nudged her out, carrying her bag that she grabbed back from him.
“You called him Mannie. I called him Mannie.” She was having a moment, so he let her as he guided them into his condo.
She followed him, still raving about meeting a Portland Trailblazer. But once inside his place, she stopped and stared.
“Nice, eh?” He wanted her to love the place.
The unit wasn’t big, but he didn’t want too much space. It had three massive bedrooms, two and a half baths, and a bang-up kitchen and living room, all with views of the West Hills and downtown Portland, Mt. Hood, and the Willamette River.
The real reason he’d purchased the place—the views. When he had downtime, he liked to relax and look over the city, feeling like a part of it all despite being alone.
But now, with Marlie, he didn’t feel alone one bit.
She dropped her bag and walked around, so he followed, showing the place off. All done in neutral shades with punches of color, the house had been designed by one of the best in the state—his mother. Damon had never been a showy guy, and he liked how his mom put things together in their house. Plus, she listened to what he wanted and usually tailored things to him. For all that he griped about her being bossy, he loved that woman to death.
Marlie moved down the hall to the bedrooms.
One of the them, used as a study, had his mementos framed and positioned on bookshelves. There, his first goalie mask in the pros sat with a huge crack in the forehead where he’d been trucked by a puck then a stick. Next to it were several trophies. On the wall, photos of the team over the years in addition to his rookie jersey. And there, the first puck he’d ever saved. Lots of great stuff that gave him all the feels.
As warm as he felt when standing next to Marlie.
“This is amazing.” She studied it all and turned to him.
He didn’t like that he couldn’t read her expression.
“What? This is good, right? You’re turned on even more and totally into me, more than you were at home, I’m sensing.”
She laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Because this weekend could go the wrong way. He didn’t want to freak her out with too much fame or money. He knew pro athletes got paid a ton more than they needed. And he always appreciated his good fortune.
His parents and sister made sure he never forgot where he came from, not that he ever would. Damon did his share giving back. He’d already paid off all his family’s debts, ignoring their protests. And he spent a lot of time looking over charities who needed help—anonymously of course, because he didn’t want accolades for being a decent human being.
He didn’t like how money made it seem like he wasn’t a normal guy anymore, because he was.
In Hope’s Turn, people didn’t treat him that differently. In Portland, they often did.
“Marlie, ah, sometimes fans here get strange. Just remember, I’m still me.”
“Still you? Instead of who? The pope?” She snorted. “Look, Damon, if you could dunk, maybe I’d be more impressed. But it’s just hockey.” She shrugged.
