“Nah, it was beer.”
I relax as we fall into a conversation we’ve had a hundred times—maybe it trends too much toward dark humor, but sometimes dark humor is the only thing we have to get through the seriously shit times. “Be a better story if he went out to fight aliens or something,” I quip. “At least we could say we have a hero for a dad instead of a deadbeat.”
The half of Damon’s mouth I can see curves up.
Then he exhales and turns toward me, tugging at a lock of my hair that’s fallen free of my ponytail.
Not surprising considering it never seems to stay where I want it.
“Tough day in the classroom, huh?” he murmurs.
I lift a shoulder, drop it and know I’ve battled his stubbornness as much as he’ll let me…at least for today. “Eh. You know teenagers. They seem to do their best work by keeping me on my toes.”
“That’s true enough.” He nods toward the door. “Popcorn?”
“Why’d you ask earlier if you already knew where I was going?”
“Because it makes you crazy.”
“Who’s the annoying one now?” Grinning, I kiss him on the cheek and then, because the tension’s left him, I push to my feet.
He picks up his tablet, opens the notes app in preparation for his work during the game. “Hey, kid?”
I still, lift my brows in question.
“Why’d you ask about babies if you already knew I was worried about them?”
“Because sometimes I get to fix things too.” I pause. “And because I saw the look on your face when Riggs and Ella announced they were pregnant last week.” Bending, I put my lips to his ear. “You want it. And you’ll be fucking great at it.”
He stills, hands clenching on the tablet. “Kylie.”
“And also maybe…because it makes you crazy too.” I grin as he scowls again. “I love you, big bro.”
Leaving it there, I slip from the suite, make my way through the concourse teaming with people, taking my time as I watch the families and couples, the friend groups and the occasional gathering of work colleagues. It’s a cacophony of people and noise and sensation, one that begins to quiet down as I snag my haul of delicious buttery-ness and make my way back, the first bars of the national anthem ringing through the arena.
I wait until the lights come up to drop back down into my seat, the announcer calling out the Sierra’s starting lineup.
They’re all familiar names—Bear and Riggs at defense, Knox at right wing, Lake at center?—
“And at left wing…Colt Madden!”
Colt.
Gorgeous. Nice. A little quiet, though not as taciturn as Riggs.
And the only man I’ve met in years who makes my pulse speed, my stomach fill with butterflies.
Because…he looks at me.
Like a woman.
Not as a little sister, not as Damon’s little sister.
But as Kylie Connors.
As something he wants.
Which is…terrifying.
