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I spot Cash, Jasper, Davis, and Mason squished together in a corner booth. You can definitely tell the men who aren’t looking for a hookup, a.k.a. my brothers, from the rest of the guys around here. We used to always be front and center at the bar, but now we sit in the back, practically hiding away from all the groupies and jersey chasers.
It feels good, this growing up thing.
Giving fist-bumps and shoulder-claps all around, I grab my seat on the end next to Jasper.
“What’s up, guys?” I say, snatching the menu from Mason’s hands.
When no one says anything for a moment, I glance up and find them all looking at me with varying degrees of amusement.
“What? My fly down?” I check my crotch.
They ignore my questions while they talk among themselves.
“He looks happy, doesn’t he?”
“Pretty sure he’s glowing.”
“Now that he’s getting his dick wet on the regular, he’s a brand new man.”
I shake my head. “You guys gossip more than the girls do. You order already?”
“I told you,” Davis answers. “We were waiting to make sure you’d show, so you could pay.”
They keep giving me shit—the lifelong result of being the youngest boy of the family—and then we order drinks. I’m turning to tell the waitress to make mine a double when someone across the room catches my eye.
A familiar head of gorgeous dark curls makes my chest tighten.
Seated on the other side of the room, I see Nadia and my heart quickens. She’s here with Liam and two other men I don’t recognize, engaged in a heavy discussion. I knew she had a work meeting this evening, but I didn’t realize it would be here at the same pub where I’m hanging out with the guys.
In fact, she said she’d be telling Liam about our relationship today. Shit—she’s probably in the middle of doing that right this minute.
When I look more closely, I realize that Liam is the one doing most of the talking. Nadia keeps opening her mouth like she’s about to speak. But she ultimately clamps her lips shut each and every time.
She’s struggling. I can see that.
Technically, she’s on the clock and I shouldn’t intervene in a work conversation. But the primal part of me can’t just stand back and look the other way. She’s my woman. And she looks like she’s drowning. I know I should mind my business but my instinct is to swoop in to her aid.
“I’ll be back,” I mumble to my brothers, not bothering to check if they hear me speak above their uproarious conversation.
I stomp across the restaurant like Captain freaking America, ready to rescue my girl. But what I overhear as I draw closer stops me dead in my tracks.
“As I’ve said to you from the beginning, trading Westbrook for Jones is an excellent deal.” Liam nods with finality. “The package L.A. is offering won’t come around again. Did you bring his contract?”
What the fuck?
Traded?
My gaze darts down to the papers spread out on the table. I catch my name printed on the outside of a file folder. My heart starts sprinting inside my chest.
I’m being traded?
I watch Nadia’s lips pinch as she drops her head, her fingers curled around a pristine white envelope.
“Nadia—Westbrook’s contract,” Liam repeats.
Then her eyes fall closed. “I…I reviewed it but…I can’t…I…” she mutters.
Fuck—I’m being traded. And my wife knew all along…
