I’m Richard Nixon. Green beans and green cards are my personal Watergate.
“Ready?” Roman says, in the driver’s seat, engine off. He may be a grouch to his teammates, but never to me. To me, he has been nothing but kind.
So I nod, swallow down the failure and guilt that are making me overly moody, and offer my husband a smile. “Sure.”
To my surprise, Roman holds out a hand to me. Unclawing my fingers from around this casserole dish full of lies, I set my hand in his. “We can do this,” he says, and I’m not sure if it’s for my benefit or his own.
Roman Graves of nine years ago loved a social gathering, but the Roman of today does not. This might be harder for him than it is for me. I squeeze his fingers, bringing to life fluttering in my stomach once more. He gives me one encouraging nod.
I force my gaze from his and peer in front of us. A large iron gate attached to a tall wall surrounds a house just beyond. Roman rolls down his window and types in a code on a keypad attached to the gate, which promptly and steadily swings open for us.
I dip my head and peer out the windshield. “Holy crap, Roman!” I bark, letting go of him and gripping the pan in my lap once more. “This mansion is where we’re eating dinner?”
“It’s not a mansion,” he says, his tone droll.
“It is too. I thought you were a minor league team.”
Roman sighs out a tired breath as if he gets this a lot—he doesn’t. He can’t. He’s not taking girls to random mansionsevery other week and discussing them. “Our owner is Will Baxter. Have you heard of him?”
My brows cinch together as I think. “Have I?”
“He’s quite wealthy.”
“Is he Canadian?” I ask, as if it would help.
Roman laughs at that. “No.”
I shrug. I can’t place the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”
“It’s not like you spend a lot of time researching billionaires. Anyway, he’s one of?—”
“Whoa.” I release both sides of my lying green bean casserole and hold out two stop signs. “Did you say billion? With a B?”
“I did.”
My mouth goes dry, and I peer over at Roman. “This is going to be an interesting night, isn’t it?”
Roman stares back at me. “Oh, for sure.”
Nineteen
My heart pattersas I walk next to Stella, carrying my green bean casserole. The one that took me a whole four minutes to throw together. The one that Stella assured me she loved. At least she’ll have something she likes while she’s feeling out of place and uncomfortable.
I may be used to that feeling, but that doesn’t mean I want to share it with her.
Stella’s arm brushes mine as we walk toward the door, and it’s strangely comforting. I can’t even feel her skin due to her long green sweater, but the brush of her arm and knowing it’s her is comforting nonetheless. For once, I’m at a team event, and I’m not alone.
I pull in a breath. “We’ve got this.”
“You keep saying that.” She gawks at me as if unconvinced. “Why aren’t you friends with these guys again?”
I clear my throat, and for some reason, maybe because it’s Stella, I am blatantly honest. “After we lost Brice, I decided I didn’t need friends. It’s too painful.”
Her green eyes go watery as she studies me back. “You need friends, Roman.”
“You sound like my coach.”
“He sounds brilliant,” she says with a smirk.
