Jake

I’M STANDING BY the bar, away from the axe throwing enclosures, where all the young kids are. And by young kids, I mean King and Queenie’s friends who have come to celebrate her birthday. For a guy who drives a Volvo and is usually fiscally responsible, he sure does like to go all out for my daughter. I was relieved to find out they don’t allow alcohol in the axe throwing enclosures and they close that part of the restaurant off after ten. The lighting is low and there’s a cozy, homey feel. I can see why King chose this place. The name is even cool—The Knight Cap.

I don’t know what’s going on, but pinning Hanna down is harder than trying to catch a fly with a pair of tweezers tonight. Lainey and Violet are practically glued to her, like they’re her personal bodyguards. I knew things were going to be a little awkward between us, but it feels a lot like she’s purposely avoiding me. Which isn’t what I want. Not when our kids are married and we’ve got a lot of years of shared family functions in our future.

I resorted to texting her about half an hour ago, but I don’t know if she’s carrying her phone at all since all I’ve seen in her hands is a glass of what could be water, or gin and tonic since she’s a fan of those.

“You all right? You’ve been checking your phone all night.” Alex Waters, my head coach and one of my good friends, leans against the bar, sipping a glass of scotch.

“I’m fine, just, uh . . . waiting on a message.”

“Work-related or personal?”

“Personal. If it was work related, you’d already know about it.”

He gives me a casual shrug. “You never know. Could be one of those NDA type deals you can’t tell me anything about.”

“I’d still tell you if something was up. Especially this close to training camp.”

“Okay.” He sips his scotch again. “This personal thing, is it something you need to talk about?”

I give him a look. “What are you now, a therapist in training?”

“Might as well be, with these kids and all their hormones and not knowing their ass from their armpit.” He motions to the group of players milling around the bar.

“They look so damn young, don’t they?” Some of the rookie players still have remnants of teen acne.

“That’s because they are.”

“Not for long, though.” I rub my chin. “It feels like yesterday when I was dealing with midnight feedings and changing diapers, and now Queenie’s in her mid-twenties. I can’t imagine it’s going to be long before she and King start a family either.”

“King definitely gives off a strong family man vibe,” Alex agrees.

“He’ll make a good dad. Shit. I can’t believe this is the kind of conversation I’m having at my daughter’s birthday party.” I run a hand through my hair.

Alex claps me on the shoulder. “As long as you don’t start talking about erectile dysfunction at poker night, I think you’re fine.”

“Screw you.” I shrug off his hand. “I’m in my forties, not cashing my pension checks.”

Alex chuckles. “I’m kidding. And forty is creeping up on me like a bad wedgie.”

“At least you’ll be forty and married. Dating at my age in the twenty-first century is not my favorite.”

“I can’t even imagine trying to meet women now. I’m pretty sure Violet would have taken a restraining order out on my ass if I was trying to get her to fall in love with me now.” He gives me a sympathetic half-smile. “Which begs the question, this personal message you’re waiting for, would it happen to be from a woman? And if so, when the hell did you start dating her and why haven’t you said anything until now?”

Alex is one of the very few people who knows about my dating life. I keep it pretty low profile, mostly because of Queenie. It’s not that I don’t think she can handle me dating someone. In fact, it’s the opposite. My worry is more that she’ll get attached to whomever I’m seeing, and then if it ends, there will be double the disappointment to contend with.

I don’t want to bring women into Queenie’s life who aren’t sticking around, since her mother has been a perpetual abandoner at the worst of times and a shit disturber at the best.

“I’ve hardly had time for dating.”

“Queenie’s wedding was three months ago. That’s a lot of weeks to get back out there. And it’s the off-season.”

“I’m busy with the upcoming season.”

He coughs the word “bullshit” into his fist.

“Why are you on me about this?” In the months since Hanna put an end to what was going on between us, I haven’t so much as tried to go on a date. I realized, after the fact, that it had started to feel like an actual relationship. Which I guess made sense, since we were spending a lot of time together, and not just between the sheets. I miss having someone constant in my life, and for a while Hanna was that.

“’Cause you’ve been distracted all night. If you’re not dating someone, does that mean you’re setting up a booty call during your daughter’s birthday party?” Alex raises a brow.

I shoot him a glare. “Seriously?”

“Why are you being so secretive? Are you hooking up with someone the same age as Queenie or something?”

I nearly choke on my drink. “I’d have to be a special kind of stupid to date someone my daughter’s age. Like I need that level of drama in my life. And I’m not hooking up with anyone. Not anymore, anyway.” I glance around the room, searching for Hanna. Not that sleeping with her had any less potential for drama. But we’re mature adults. We knew what the limitations were. Although I’m having trouble coming to terms with those, apparently, based on the way I’m incessantly checking my phone.

He perks up. “Not anymore? So you were seeing someone?”

“It was casual.”

“How come this is the first I’m hearing of it?”

“Because we didn’t want it to be a thing.”

“Is she here tonight?”

“Why does it matter?” I need him to drop it.

“Because that would narrow it down by a lot.” He scans the room. “Wait a second, have you got a thing for Ryan’s Momster?”

This time I don’t manage to stop the scotch from entering my windpipe. I start coughing and tears spring to my eyes. “What the hell, Alex?”

He slaps me on the back a few times. “Shit. Sorry. It was a joke.”

I put my hands on my knees and try to clear my throat, which burns. Inhaling scotch is not advised. “Not funny, man. Not funny.”

I roll my shoulders back and pull on my tie. It feels really tight right now. Tight and uncomfortable. And my palms start to sweat.

“Jake, man.”

I give him the side-eye. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

He pokes at his bottom lip with his tongue. He does it when we play poker and gives away his shitty hands every single time.

“She’s a good-looking woman.”

“Stop.”

“I’m just saying I can see the allure.”

“There’s no allure.” There’s plenty of allure, which is exactly the problem.