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Grace shrugs and scrunches her nose, then mouths,Sorry, before joining us at the table.
“I’m with Tommy.” Dad’s eye twitches the tiniest bit. “Whose daughter, girls?”
When we don’t answer, he looks at the boys. “Do you know anything about this?”
“Don’t look at me. I live four hours away,” Nix offers as he manages to place a steak on his plate without making eye contact with anyone.
Smart man.
“Oh, good lord. Stop grilling your daughter,” Mom groans. “Cross Wilder’s daughter. He’s a dad at the studio.”
“You can question her. Why can’t I?” Dad grumbles.
“Cross Wilder, the hockey player?” Hendrix asks around a mouth full of food.
“Chew,” Mom chides him while I choke on my water.
“Did you sayhockey player?” I sputter, gasping for air until Leo smacks my back a little harder than necessary. He pulls out his phone and after a minute, hands it to me.
There he is. All six feet, five inches of tall, dark, and handsome muscle, standing on the ice. His helmet is in one hand, and he’s talking to another man, who looks suspiciously like him and also hasWilderacross the back of his matching hockey jersey.
HisPhiladelphia Revolutionhockey jersey.
“Oh, what the fuck?” I mutter.
“Everly,” Mom and Dad both snap.
“Sorry. I just—” I cut myself off. Damn it. “I avoid athletes.”
At least I try—when I’m not being given the best orgasm of my life by one in a bar.
Damn it.
This is why I don’t do strangers.
“What do you mean, you avoid athletes?” Mom counters.
“Let her avoid athletes if she wants to, Belles,” Dad snaps at Mom.
“Declan Sinclair,” Mom gives it right back to him with a sharp tone. “Your daughters are grown women. They’re intelligent. They’re beautiful. And thanks to you, they’ve been raised around overbearing, arrogant, alpha males their whole lives. They’re going to date at some point. I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up with overbearing, arrogant, alpha males, also thanks to you. And they’re going to demand to be treated well because that’s all they’ve ever seen. Again, thanks to you. You’ve done your job. Now shut up and let them live their lives the same way you let the boys live theirs.”
Dad huffs, refusing to admit Mom is right. “No one will ever be good enough for the girls.” Then he looks around the table at the boys. “It’s their brothers’ jobs to scare the assholes off.”
“Again, four hours away,” Nixon adds.
“They’re not all assholes, Daddy,” Gracie tries to placate Dad.
“If they’re an athlete, they’re an asshole,” Nixon agrees, then looks away again. “We’re kinda made that way.”
Leo and Hendrix mumble their agreement, and Mom’s eyes threaten to pop the fuck out of her head like a cat being strangled in a cartoon. I half expect her to hiss at them. “You are not all assholes,” she fights back. Yup. There’s the hissing. “I raised you better than that.”
“Kinda are, Mom.” Hendrix shoves a piece of potato in his mouth, then swipes Leo’s beer before Grace kicks him under the table, and he begrudgingly gives it back.
“Like I’ve never had a beer before,” he grumbles.
“This is ridiculous. Come on...” I argue. “You all know as well as I do, most athletes are oversized alpha males with egos bigger than their muscles and definitely bigger than their brains. They have zero impulse control and shitty tempers. Dad’s generation was the last decent one. Now, they’re all more interested in their social-media presence and sponsorship deals than they are about being a good guy or treating a woman right. I saw it in college, and I’ve seen it from the players on the Kings team. The few times I’ve broken my own rule, I regretted it pretty quickly. And don’t even get me started on what happens when you bruise their inflated egos...” I bite down on a piece of bread and my tongue before I get myself in the kinda trouble I don’t want to bring to my family.
After a few too many silent beats, Mom sighs. “You’re too young to be this jaded, Everly.”
