“Um…where should I go? I mean, tonight.”
“Right. Of course.”
As I tromped up the stairs, part of me wanted to insist she stay with me, but I’d flubbed the proposal too badly for that.
I continued to ponder the situation even as I pushed open the door to the guest room and waved her in, feeling off-kilter. Ida Jane was the first female overnight guest I’d hosted. Sure, the guys liked to come over and do their self-care stuff. We’d all discovered a love for warm waxes and massage.
“This is where you can stay. I’m downstairs.”
There were four bedrooms, but the guest rooms revolved around the large, central loft. My bedroom was its own wing of the house, opposite the kitchen and living spaces. Normally, I liked the privacy, but this time, I worried about the distance between Ida Jane and me.
I’d spent hours on Pinterest, a secret pleasure I thought I’d never admit to my teammates, picking out the perfect furniture, paint, and accessories. The walls were painted a soft rose pink, Nadia’s favorite color. High-thread cotton sheets, a duvet, and a silk coverlet and a wool throw in a deep cranberry completed the full-sized bed. Cruz had helped me pick some of the stuff out, not making it weird when he found out about my Pinterest obsession the day he’d borrowed my laptop.
Cruz was a great friend—one I’d desperately needed when I came to Houston. He’d taken me under his wing and shown me how to be part of the Wildcatters organization. I should do more with his military K-9 project. Walking a few dogs, sometimes housing them here when Cruz collected too many, wasn’t enough. I’d get more involved, I decided. Money, time—whatever he needed.
Pillows piled high against the white leather headboard. Photos of a trip to Yosemite created a triptych above the headboard, and original artwork from some local Southwestern artisans sat on the wall and the dresser, made in bleached white wood. I disliked carpet, so there was none in my house; the hardwood floors were a rich espresso covered in a rug in swirls of whites, pinks, and red.
I set a T-shirt on the bed and backed out of the room.
“Thanks, Maxim.”
I wanted to say more, but I left. Once I was in my bedroom downstairs, I called Cormac.
“What?” he asked, sounding sleepy.
“Sorry to wake you but I need your help.”
“Course, dude. Whatcha need?”
That was why everyone loved Mac. He was a great captain—selfless, dedicated, and thorough.
“Ida Jane’s ex is sending her threatening text messages. We started the process to get her a restraining order, and I can call the company the Wildcatters uses for security to get someone to guard her when we leave again, but I’m not sure that’s a long-term strategy with her.”
“Because she’s stubborn and full of pride?”
“Don’t talk badly about my woman,” I snapped.
Mac laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Maximum. Nah, what I’m saying is you need something a bit more…Ida Jane.”
I let the nickname slide because I needed Mac’s ideas. But I shuddered. I’d earned that name for a very stupid stunt early in my career—one I wasn’t proud of. One I didn’t want Ida Jane to discover.
I knew she wouldn’t understand. Now that I played for Houston, I didn’t either. It had been a rite of initiation, I’d thought. What all players did.
Not true. I should have stuck with my gut and left the party the night I got that nickname.
“And what would that be?”
“How about a big-ass guard dog and an arrest?”
“I already thought of that and plan to get her the biggest, meanest beast I can find. You got any recs onthat?”
“Nah, man. I was joking.”
I hummed. “Those are good next steps. So is my plan to marry her.”
“Whoa…what?”
“She hasn’t agreed, but I’ll talk her into it.”
