Again, I nodded. Maybe I should post our pic on social media. Bubblegum girl would expect the image to show up there. Was it too soon? If I posted about Keelie and me, would fans eventually expect a marriage proposal? That sobered me and caused my belly to jitter with anxiety. I’d just met the woman, and I liked her, but pushing for more…
Was I ready for that? Did I want to try commitment again? What if we crashed and burned?
She wants kids. My mind conjured an image of Keelie’s body rounded with our child. Contentment settled over me as the image shifted to a blanket-wrapped infant and a little boy with my brown hair and her blue eyes. He’d be adorable.
I wanted that—at least in this moment—so I texted Keelie to let her know I was thinking about her.
The dots appeared, and my belly jittered.
And now I’m thinking about you! Looking forward to Sunday.
I grinned. Yeah, I definitely wanted to date Keelie.
The guysand I went to lunch and then to my house to watch the game footage in my media room.
“Why does Dukovsky have to have such a beautiful slap shot?” Maxim muttered.
We watched the asshole take another shot—and score. “Probably to annoy you,” I said.
Cruz flopped back in his chair. The room had stadium seating and plush leather seats. I’d splurged on this room because I knew, as captain of the team, I’d have the guys over to watch tapes. We’d made it a weekly thing during the season. This was in addition to Coach’s tape-time, so not all the guys were here—mostly the veteran players.
Maxim shook his head. “It annoys me. A lot. I want to shut that piece of shit down.”
We discussed possibilities for a while before we worked out in my gym. By the time the guys left after dinner, it was too late to text Keelie again.
I shot off a quick hello the next morning before practice but had little chance to chat because I ended up busy with interviews that evening, thanks to a nasty scuffle during the game between Naese and another player.
By the time I finished responding to the media and showering, it was too late to contact Keelie again. “Damn, this place is big and lonely,” I muttered as I walked into my house half an hour later.
Once I’d changed and climbed into bed, smashing my pillows in place to get comfortable, I brought up my photo app. I scrolled back through the images, searching for the best one of Keelie and me. There were a lot. And the way I looked at Keelie…the way she stared up into my eyes… We looked entranced by each other. Definitely infatuated.
I posted my favorite image with a heart emoji.
Then my muscles tightened, and this time not with desire. Screw all those thoughts about a kid. I wasn’t ready forthat—I refused to get left again. Last time, Shannon ripped my heart from my chest, and left me bleeding so badly that I nearly destroyed my career.
And that train of thought reminded me that I still needed to talk to Shannon and tell her I didn’t think we should get together while she was in town. I’d postponed doing so, and I wasn’t sure why. I just…didn’t want to talk to her. Or see her.
I wanted to focus on Keelie—on how she made me feel.
But fuck. Getting serious about another woman? This indecision pissed me off. I usually made goals and completed all the steps to achieve them. That’s what I’d thought I was going to do here.
I tossed my phone onto my nightstand and dropped my chin to my chest. My attraction to Keelie—nota strong-enough word—didn’t mean I wanted to do more than date her. Or that I ever would…except I’d asked her if she wanted kids, and that meant I saw a future with her, didn’t it? Possibly. Or not. Probably not. But Keelie wanted a family, too.
Shit. Everything had gotten way too complicated.
I wokeSaturday and decided not to see Shannon while she was here for the game. I called and left her a message.
Next I called Keelie, but I got her voicemail. Unsure what to say, I didn’t leave a message.
Antsy, I paced my living room, and I grabbed my phone when it rang. Maxim.
“Hey, man, what’s up?
“Dukovsky’s hurt.”
“What—how?”
Dukovsky hurt? My fists clenched. No, I didn’t want that. I wanted to be the one to crush the spineless runt, to embarrass him—to make him pay for mocking me and forcing me to realize my marriage was truly over.
