Not gonna tell her that though.
When the elementary school told Pops they thought I was dyslexic, he did everything he could to help me figure out what worked for me and my brain. I basically had to train myself to read a whole different way than what the teacher was saying, and it was fucking hard. But Pops never gave up, and every night, we’d read something together. He’d read one page, and I’d read the next. Some nights, it took me so long to get through that single page, that was all I managed. But by the time I hit middle school, we were readingHarry Potterand eventually,The Hunger Games.
Some days life feels like those fucking books.
Fighting for survival.
To protect my family. My peace. Our future.
The idea of finding a wife makes me feel like I’m going to break out in shingles the way Dooley did last season when he couldn’t shake his shitty streak.Nasty. Who wants a wife? I’ve already got one person who relies on me. One person I can’t let down. No way I want another.
Olivia turns back to me and sips her martini, her observant eyes narrowing. “I’m right, you know.”
“About what?” Who needs blackjack? I could go back and forth with this prickly woman all night and get the same damn high.
“You needing a wife. That’s your answer. You already have a stable income. What you don’t have is a stable job or home life.” She swirls that damn olive pic around her glass as I grind my teeth.
I rub the same damn chip I’ve been flipping for the last five minutes. “I have a stable job and a stable home life.”
“You have a job. A good one. But it requires you to travel 50 percent of what is typically a nine-month season. Your team travels somewhere around fifty-thousand miles a year, Adler. And you don’t have a baby momma at home to take care of your baby. That doesn’t look good in court. Not to mention our region has a maternal custody average of 70 percent. A court won’t consider your schedule stable and controlled. Who watches your baby?”
I want to be angry, but the despair growing in my stomach is taking up too much of my energy for me to focus any of it on her attitude. “She has a name. It’s Magnolia. My sister watches her for me most of the time. My family pitches in when they need to. And I have a nanny who comes to the house.”
“Logan...” The pity in her eyes is what does it. My despair flips to anger, and Olivia straightens her spine, refusing to back down. “Don’t shoot the messenger. You asked my opinion, and I’m giving it to you. Trust me, I’m not saying you should go out and fall in love. I’m saying you do what you need to do to keep your daughter. It sucks that it’s like this, but it is. People think married with kids equals settled. They think it means you’ll be more present and more fucking capable.” Olivia’s jaw clenches, and she throws back the rest of her martini. “Those people are assholes, but they have all the control.”
Uhh . . .“We still talking about me, Olive?”
Pretty sure we’re not.
Olivia waves the cocktail waitress down and asks for another.
“You sure, Liv?” Serena asks her with a slick smile, like she’s excited about the idea of her cousin getting drunk.
“You had a hell of a head start on me. I’m just catching up.” She swivels on her seat and stacks a few chips as the dealer waits for our bets, and when she catches me staring, she just shrugs.“Who knows, maybe you’ll get a judge who doesn’t care about any of that stuff. There’s a first time for everything.”
“Sounds like you know about this from firsthand knowledge.” But what the hell could she know?
She blows a lock of glossy hair the color of burnt sugar away from her face, frustration rolling off her in waves. “Yeah well, I thought the glass ceiling no longer existed. Apparently, I was wrong.”
“Pretty sure you could shatter that shit with one of those pointy heels of yours.” My eyes make the mistake of trailing down her legs. Her dress is short enough to make her shapely legs look long and soft and like they should be wrapped around my waist, or my face. Fuck, she’s a goddamned gorgeous nightmare. “I showed you mine, Olive. Sounds like it’s your turn to show me yours.”
“You didn’t show me anything, Adler. You told. There’s a difference.”
“Says the lawyer,” I mock as the dealer lays out the cards. “You’re arguing semantics.”
“Yes, says the lawyer.” She shakes her head, like she can’t believe she’s talking to me. Or maybe she’s shocked she’s enjoying it. Who the hell knows? Maybe she’s wondering why she’s wasting her time on a peasant like me. I gave up trying to figure this woman out a decade ago.
She groans and passes on this hand. “I was up for partner.”
“Oh yeah? You getting promoted for how well you’ve done fucking over other athletes in the quest to get your clients a good deal?” I do hear what a whiney bitch I sound like, but I just don’t care.
The sigh that slips past her lips should piss me off, not turn me on, but my body doesn’t get that fucking memo. “It’s not my fault I’m better than your agent. Let me know when you want the best, and I’ll let you know if I have room.”
Fuck, who knew cocky was hot and infuriating?
“I’m with your firm now, remember?”
“You just signed with a man retiring in six months. Did he mention that? You’re going to get passed off to another agent in January. And it should be me because I should have been made partner today. But I don’t have a dick or a husband, so apparently, I have to work twice as hard as I already am, which is already twice as hard as those limp-dicked little pricks.”