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“Holy shit, is that Gareth Maxfield?” I asked quietly, my eyes flaring wide for a second.
The owner of the Charleston NFL franchise, the Cougars, was fucking…huge, which was saying something considering I was well above the six-foot mark. He muttered a curse and ripped the bowtie off of what looked to be an Armani tux, shoving the fabric into his pocket as Crossland laughed.
“Yep,” Asher replied, his eyes forward as he sipped at a glass of amber liquid.
Sterling’s head swung, his eyes widening. “That’s the guy with the mob t—”
I smacked my brother in the back of the head. “You don’t just say shit like that out loud.”
“We’ve never asked how he bought the Cougars.” Asher cracked a smile and shook his head. “There are some topics that we don’t discuss with Maxfield, that’s for sure.”
“Hey, Zolotov,” Crossland said, leaning forward across the table. “You sick of these hot southern nights, yet? Because I have a team—”
“Stop trying to poach my fucking players.” Silas rolled his eyes.
Crossland laughed. “I mean, if I can make him a better deal…” His lifted his eyebrows at Asher. “Or maybe you’d like a different kind of wager at tonight's game?”
“My team never gets put on the table and you know that.” He shot Crossland an annoyed look.
“I’m just saying—” Crossland started, and the look on Asher’s face had me clearing my throat.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m happy as a Reaper,” I said to Crossland. It was always a balance between telling every other team that you’re happy where you are without burning bridges. Trades were common enough that the last thing I wanted was to end up in Calgary with a franchise owner who was pissed at me.
“See? He’s happy,” Asher muttered, slamming back the rest of his drink. “Sterling is, too, just for the record.”
“Happy as a lark,” Sterling answered.
“Well, considering your boys are in prime position to clinch the cup this year, I’d be happy, too,” Ethan remarked, his eye on a blonde as she walked by.
“We’ll see how it goes,” Asher said, smooth as silk, like we weren’t standing next to him, shouldering the weight of every expectation.
“What are you guys chatting about?” Langley asked as she walked over on Axel’s arm. Right behind them, Evie, Fiona, London, and Brogan were headed our way.
Fucking Hot. Those were the only two words I could put together as she came toward me. It was official—I was a cave man whose instincts were only to get my woman home as soon as humanly possible so I could strip that dress away.
“Winning,” Ethan answered.
“Oh, what a convenient segue,” Langley replied with a grin. “Sports Illustrated called and wants to do an article about the Reapers and how we’re handling the pressure of our first real run for the Cup, as they described it.” She turned toward me. “And they’d like to focus it on you and a few of the other guys.”
“Me?” My eyebrows shot up as Evie slid under my arm. I loved how she fit against me, how it was like my body had been carved to the shape of hers.
“You.” She nodded.
My first impulse was to say no. Shining a spotlight on my life, when Evie craved privacy, wasn’t exactly being the kind of supportive boyfriend I wanted to be. You just thought the word boyfriend.
“You should do it!” Evie encouraged, her smile bright.
“I know you don’t—”
“They said it would be on you, not me,” she teased, bumping my hip with hers. “It would be such good publicity for you.”
I blinked. Publicity. “Tell them I’ll do it,” I said to Langley.
“You will?” She grinned with absolute delight.
“I will.” I leaned down and brushed a kiss over Evie’s lips. “Just tell them that they have to use Evie’s pictures of me.”
Evie gasped.
“Got it,” Langley quickly agreed, pulling her phone out of her purse.
“You don’t mean that,” Evie whispered.
“Think of all the money you’ll get when they purchase the pictures. More for the gallery.” I turned her against my chest and kissed her forehead.
“That would be amazing,” she whispered.
“Done deal,” Langley said, already typing something out on her phone.
“While we’re asking for things,” Fiona started, sliding over slightly so she was next to Asher. “I need a favor.”
“I already told you that Skye is welcome on the plane,” Asher said, looking out over the crowded dance floor with a slight smile. “We could use some baby laughs.”
“Thanks, but…” She bit her lower lip.
“Just ask him,” Brogan said with a sigh, tugging at his collar like it was too tight.
Asher turned his full attention to Fiona.
She sucked in a deep breath and slammed her eyes shut as she cringed. “Look, you can say no, and you probably should say no, but I promised her I’d ask you, so I’m going to just come out and ask you because she’s my best friend—”
