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“Have you made friends with all these people?”
“A bit with Barb Shanahan,” she says. When she sees my quirked brows that definitely tell on me that I have no idea who that is, she clarifies. “The general manager’s wife.”
“Ah. And the others?”
“We’re quite a bit older than the others. The head coach isn’t even in his forties yet, though he and his wife are a lovely couple. And the defensive coordinator is great, too. Your father has gotten close with everyone here already, but you know how he is.”
I do. He’s social, which is where I get that trait, while my mom leans toward the quieter side—likely as a means of protection since as soon as people know who she is, they want every detail about how much money she has in the bank. But my dad makes friends wherever he goes, and I think it’s one of the things my mom fell for when she went against her parents’ wishes and married the bad boy football player.
Though I’ll be honest, my nose scrunches up in disgust every time she calls him that.
I settle into the bedroom my parents chose for me, and then we head toward the CityCenter complex for shopping and pampering.
We return home relaxed after a massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure, and my dad is there waiting for us.
So is the personal chef my mom hired when they moved in here.
I hug my dad and greet the chef, and my dad and I plop onto the couch as we wait for dinner.
“How’s it going with the Aces?” I ask.
“It’s been great so far. I’m working as a team with the coach and the GM, and the three of us are drafting up the kind of playbook I’ve always dreamed of.”
I laugh.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, it’s just…we have very different dreams, I guess.” Mine tend to be about my book boyfriends swooping in with the ultimate fantasy, not that I’d admit that to my dad.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Let’s not go there. I got to test out some of the plays this week with our mandatory minicamp, and it’s been everything I was hoping for. The players are receptive, the coaching staff is welcoming…it’s been incredible.”
“I’m happy for you. But I miss you two and our Tuesday night dinners.”
He reaches over and squeezes my knee playfully, and I bat his hand away as he laughs. It’s our thing.
“We miss you, too, Desi-doo.”
I went through a Scooby Doo phase when I was a kid, and the nickname stuck.
“Are you okay all by yourself back home?” he asks.
I nod. “Of course I’m okay. I’ve got work plus Addy, Chloe, and Lauren. I’m keeping busy and allowing some time for fun.”
He smirks at me. “Nottoomuch fun, though, right?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not.” He doesn’t need to know what I do in my spare time. My entire life, he’s issued cautionary tales about behaving myself, but sometimes I don’twantto behave.
My mom has the makeup artists and hairstylists over to the house to help us get ready for tonight, and I slide into my gown, a strapless, gold embroidered leaf pattern over sheer tulle that offers peeks of skin. I pair it with strappy stilettos and check myself in the mirror. My red hair is curled into loose waves, and I feel pretty in this dress, like the golden color is a warm complement to my fair skin, bright hair, and green eyes.
I feelready. Ready to meet my dad’s players. Ready to party. Ready to let go and have a little fun.
And fun always starts with shots—just maybe not when I’m with Mom and Dad.
My parents are gorgeous in their dressy fits when I walk down to meet them in the foyer, and my dad shakes his head as his eyes fall on me while I descend the staircase. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”
I shrug. “I’m here, and I’m ready, so it’s too late to pull the protective dad card now.”
He sighs as I reach the bottom step, and he slings an arm around me. “You’re too good for them, Desi-Doo.” His voice is soft.
