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Tank tilted his head in Blake’s direction. “Einstein here finally figured it out.”
Victor’s and Preston’s expressions were blank until Tank added, “Erika.”
Preston smiled widely. “It’s about damn time,” he said, echoing Tank’s exact words.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Blake asked.
“It means you’ve had the hots for her since about five minutes after she moved in,” Preston pointed out.
Blake hadn’t exactly hidden his interest in Erika when they’d first met, so it wasn’t like that was news. “I know. And she shot me down because she’s always been looking for a relationship, and I’m not.”
“Jesus,” Tank muttered, shaking his head.
Blake’s temper had been skating just under the surface all night, so the fact they were saying a bunch of shit that didn’t make sense wasn’t helping. “If you have something to say, just say it!”
Victor gave him a look. “That woman has been your fucking girlfriend for three years. You’ve just been too fucking stupid to see it.”
Blake scowled. “No, she hasn’t.”
Tank rolled his eyes. “Man, I love you like a brother, but you can be blind sometimes. You and Erika eat dinner together at least three times a week. You keep food in each other’s refrigerators. You bring her to every single party, every pizza and game night, and even last week’s fundraiser.”
“You go to the grocery store together, spend holidays together,” Preston chimed in. “You have coffee with her almost every morning, go running with her in the off-season.”
Tank swiped at his phone screen, pointing to a picture of Corky. “You adopted a fucking dog together, for God’s sake.”
“She’s your fucking girlfriend,” Victor growled, repeating himself. “A girlfriend without benefits, which is totally fucked up.”
“We all agree that’s pretty fucked,” Tank added.
Blake listened as they rattled off their lists, dumbfounded by how right they were. He leaned forward, resting his forehead in his hand. “She’s my girlfriend,” he muttered.
Tank slapped him on the shoulder again, like he was congratulating him for doing something great, rather than finally opening his eyes to something that should have been obvious. “She’s a great girl. We all love her, and she’s perfect for you, man.”
Preston nodded. “The two of you are good for each other.”
“She’s a hell of a lot better than Mindy,” Victor added. “I don’t know how the fuck you can stand that woman’s fucking grating voice and laugh.” While Blake, Tank, and Preston—pre-Chelsea—had always enjoyed the company of puck bunnies, Victor had never invited a single Rays groupie home with him.
“Erika is great,” Blake said miserably.
“What’s wrong?” Preston said.
“She’s out with another man. Doug,” Blake spat out. “I think it might be getting serious.”
“So fucking make it unserious,” Victor proposed, as if that was a simple solution. “She’s your fucking girlfriend. You gonna let some douchebag take her out?”
Tank gestured toward Victor like every word he’d said was pure genius. Not that Blake was surprised. Victor and Tank were bulldozers, neither man shy when it came to getting what they wanted.
Blake glanced over at Preston, expecting him to be the voice of reason, but he was nodding as well.
“She’s your soul mate,” Preston said. “I could see that right from the beginning.”
Victor rolled his eyes, just like he always did when Preston started talking about true love and soul mates. “I need another fucking beer before Romeo here starts reciting poetry.” He stood, looking around the table. “Who else?”
Tank stood as well. “Let’s get another round for the table. We need to come up with a plan of attack for our guy here.”
Blake appreciated his friends’ support, and if Erika was sitting at home right now with Corky, he would have already blown out of this place, driving straight home to clue her in on the girlfriend thing.
Another teammate called out Preston’s name, calling him over to ask him to repeat some funny story.
