Earlier this year, something shifted in me. After God knows how many hours spent haggling with agents, smoothing things over with publicists, and juggling my own damn family dynamics, it hit me—this is all I’ve ever done. Work is all Marlow’s ever seen me do.
And to her own damn demise, she wants to follow in my footsteps.
My kid wants to run a business. But not one of my real estate companies. Not the world of flipping and selling companies I’ve built from scratch. No—she wants this one. The AtlantaStrikers. The one where no one in our collective circle really knows what the hell we’re doing.
We went round and round about it. Me trying to convince her that this life, this team, it’s no life for a twenty-seven-year-old woman. Her firing right back that this is exactly what I’ve prepared her for.
Somewhere in between her scathing arguments about howI’mthe one less mature than her—and the very real threat of blackmail in the form of canceling my beloved Sunday dinners that she and I have every week—I gave in.
My kid always did know how to play to win. Maybe she won’t be so bad at this at all.
“She’s doing well,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “She’s been sitting in on management meetings, attending practices to get familiar with the team, and meeting with sponsors and vendors to learn the ins and outs of our contracts and merchandising process.”
Will nods, looking genuinely impressed. “All good things.”
“And what aboutyou?” Xavier presses, eyes narrowing.
“Again...what about me?” I ask, though I know what he’s likely referring to.
“Are you staying out of trouble? Being on your best behavior?”
Ah,thatpart of the deal.
That was the other side of the blackmail. The part that came from my so-called best friends. They hadn’t exactly been thrilled about me grooming Marlow to take over my spot. And with the club already drowning in scandals—on and off the field—the last thing they wanted was to addmyantics to the headlines.
Sothey made me give them six months. Six months to train Marlow, get her ready to take the reins. Butalsofor those six months? No scandals. No late-night photos of me and a few women partying in some senator’s pool. No parading a new date that’s half my age to every charity event. And absolutely no sleeping with an opposing coach’s ex-wife and posting pictures of her on social media to troll him the night before a game.
In other words...they wanted me to be someone I haven’t been since my wife was alive.
For six whole months.
And if I didn’t, it wouldn't just be my reputation on the line. It would jeopardize Will’s. Xavier’s. And worst of all—Marlow’s.
So here I am. One month sober and on myhot dad behavior. Though this feels more like a hat trick than anything else because I can’t believe I’m actually pulling this off. One month into playing the part of the responsible, well-behaved father and businessman. One month post-Vegas. One month since meeting—and saying goodbye to—Eslin.
And damn if she hasn’t been haunting me ever since.
I haven’t touched another woman since that night. Haven’t even wanted to.
Which is saying something, considering I’m a card-carrying member of The Supper Club—Cinnamon Grove’s most exclusive spot for incredible food and…well, let’s just saydessertcan take many forms there. I’ve never had a bad night in that place. Not once.
Until two weeks ago.
I walked in ready to do exactly what any red-blooded guy with a broken heart and too many pent-up fantasies would do—get Eslin out of my system. Preferably with a little help from a few of my favorite fellow female members.
Except…yeah. My brain was in it. My body? Not so much. No amount of charm, chemistry, or well-timed dirty talk could fix the problem.
The issue wasn’t them. The issue was me. Or more specifically,him.
Downthere.
Total no-show.
Which is completely insane and so not like me!
I barely touched her.Barely.But somehow, that was enough.
One night. One woman. And now she’s lodged under my skin so deep, I can’t shake her.