Wesley clears his throat. “Speaking of,” he says, then reaches into the top cubby of his stall.
I groan. Why did I bring up dating? Why? Fucking why?
But I keep on my poker face—right as Miles pushes up from the bench and, still in full gear, strides over to me.
“If I give off dad energy, then you are my difficult child,” he says.
“And we all know the difficult ones get all the attention,” Ford puts in.
“I bet you were a perfect kid,” I say.
“Obviously,” Ford says dryly.
“And since you’re, well, not, we’re helping you again. You’re welcome,” he adds.
I brace myself for a gag gift. For the gag gift to end all gag gifts.
I swivel around to face my teammates, making abring it ongesture with my fingers. “Give me the whoopie cushion, the Hawaiian Christmas shirt with all your faces on it, an apron with a reindeer jacking off on the bib.”
Miles scoffs. “O ye of little faith.”
Ford shakes his head my way. “We’re your wingmen for a reason, Bishop.”
“Because we’ve got your back.” Wesley hands over a card.
I open it with more trepidation than I feel facing a tough team.
But inside is…a gift card.
For a sleigh ride tomorrow night. I turn it over, study it. It’s thoughtful. And for once, it’s not a joke. It’s a real gift for me to enjoy with someone I can’t stop thinking about. “Is this it?”
“You want more?” Miles asks.
“No, but where’s the punchline?”
“We told you—we’re helping you. It’s real,” Wesley says, his voice supportive.
“Take her on a sleigh ride. It’s a great gift. She’ll love it.”
Ford taps his stick to the floor for emphasis. “I took Skylar the other week. She had a blast feeding the horses.”
“Josie and I went the other night. It’s a great date night,” Wesley adds. “We even posted pics for socials.”
Huh. They really meant it when they said they wanted to help. Their tips at the sledding hill were genuine too.
There’s a knock on the locker room door. “Incoming publicist in three, two, one.”
No one says “wait a sec,” so Everly strides in.
“Did someone say socials?” she asks, pulling out her phone as if it’s a weapon trained on me. “Because if you take Isla on a sleigh ride and don’t give me one good photo, you’re dead to me.”
I drag a hand down my face, but it’s half in exasperation, and half to hide my stupid smile. I’d want that photo too.
When I look up, I’ve schooled my expression though. I’ve spent years cultivating an image as a hard-ass. I can’t be Mister Sunshine. “Will do,” I say, since I made a promise to try harder for Jason, for the team, and for my daughter.
But also for Isla, even though it hardly feels like trying.Spending time with my agent’s sister might be the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
“Thanks, guys,” I say, then I turn around and strip off the rest of my uniform as I picture how much Isla will enjoy this gift.
