Page 18 of Never Dance with the Devils

I keep it pretty simple and straightforward, conveniently leaving out the two guys-and-one me factor even as I picture the three of us in that hotel room, and then, on opposite sides of my big desk, which thankfully covered my body’s heated reaction to their unexpected presence.

I could see Riggs and Maddox again, spend a long night or even an entire weekend in orgasmic bliss, but you don’t track someone down for a repeat fucking. Riggs might’ve said ‘one date’, but they want more from me. I just don’t know what yet. And that’s when I shut down, hiding behind my strong and fortified defensive walls. But I wonder… what if I had said yes to dinner? Or more?

“Uh, have you met me and Chance?” she quips back, her face screwed up in a ‘duh’ expression. “That’s how it started. Then we were casual, nothing serious, just getting our jollies off, but look what happened.” She waves a hand, flashing her wedding ring while indicating not only their shared home, but their joined lives.

I swallow thickly. I don’t know if I want that. I also don’t know if Idon’twant that. Again, I’d never really thought too deeply about it, always focusing on the next contract, the next investment, the next opportunity at Blue Lake. I never thought about… me.

But maybe I should.

Digging deeper, she asks, “Are you thinking ofrevisiting a one-night stand for an encore performance? Or maybe even more?” Her tone is that of an astute therapist. The brightness in her eyes is all friendly excitement.

Instead of answering her, I just say, “I don’t know. Just feeling a bit left behind, I guess, which is not the time to be making life-changing decisions.” If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that rational, strategic plans from a position of power are how you make positive growth, whether it’s in business or in life.

She peers at me curiously, her head tilted in a way that makes me wonder if she can actually read my mind. “I’d argue that’s exactly the time to make life-changing decisions. If you want something different, make the choices that get you closer to whatever that is. You deserve it all—career, love, family, happiness…the life of your dreams. Move toward that.”

I almost laugh. She makes it sound so easy, like picking dinner options from a prix fixe menu. But her earnestness has me swallowing down my flippant response. “Thank you. I’ll think about it,” I say sincerely. “Also, can I retroactively invoke a confidentiality clause and request you don’t mention this conversation to Chance?”

“Of course.” She laughs brightly. More seriously, she vows, “You can always talk to me, Kayla. About anything. I’ll keep it between us.”

As I nod my appreciation, the rest of the women come back from the kitchen, saving me from further interrogation.

“Who’s ready for a game?” Luna asks.

I hold up my hand. “Me. I’m really good at board games, especially the one with cheese and meat, maybe some fruit and crackers.” I point at the charcuteriespread in the middle of the coffee table, then grab a tiny pickle, nibbling on one end. “See? I’m a winner every time.”

Luna laughs, and though Samantha gives me a few extra glances, she doesn’t say anything about our conversation for the rest of the evening.

MADDOX

If I thought the last two months sucked balls, the last two days have sucked sweaty, hairy ones. Since the disastrous meeting, Riggs and I have been in pissy moods, and though I’d like to think I’m handling Kayla’s rejection with some degree of mature acceptance, the truth is I’ve been unable to pull myself out of this funk. And I’ve tried—watching my highlight reel, playing music too loudly, swimming laps, and going on runs around the neighborhood where I counted cute dogs. And yes, all dogs are cute and I was lucky enough to see nine of them.

But none of it has helped. Okay, the fluffy dachshund helped a little since he wanted a belly rub, and I have a soft spot for the breed, but the smile was fleeting at best.

What’s worse, if I’m cranky, Riggs has gone full-blown curmudgeonly, stomping around the house and slamming weights during his twice a day workouts. Thankfully, the floor in the gym is twelve inches of solid concrete and two inches of rubber matting, or else we’d have a divot by now. It’s not a tantrum. It’s pure,unfiltered disappointment, and also, a fair amount of self-punishment because of course, Riggs blames himself for Kayla turning us down.

I thought something magical happened in that hotel room. I’ve played it out in my head over and over since then—the sparkle in Kayla’s eyes, the way she fit between us so perfectly, and how she somehow made always-serious Riggs feel lighter and too-often-unserious me feel heavier, in a good way. It’d seemed right, like the thing I wasn’t even searching for had simply shown up right in front of me with a smile and a smart mouth.

I foolishly thought if we could find her, it would happen again. Easy-peasy, boom-boom-boom, with one boom for each of the three of us. Instead, it’s all gone majorly awry. Kayla said no even though I could see she wanted to say yes, Riggs is hurt deeply where he doesn’t want to talk about, and I’m stuck in the middle, unable to do anything about either side.

But I haven’t given up nor admitted defeat. Not yet.

Things haven’t always come easily to Riggs or me. Growing up with hopes and dreams of playing professionally, you learn quickly that it’s not only a long-shot, but also nearly impossible. In fact, it’s more likely you’ll get struck by lightning in your lifetime than make it to the pros. But if you want it, you try anyway. You go to those six AM practices when you’re tired, injured, and beat down by losses, coaches, and shitty teammates. You drag yourself through school, catching up on sleep in twenty- and thirty-minute naps while trying to stay on top of the books, only to go back to the rink after school where you stay for hours, long after everyone else has gone home for the night. You dedicate yourself tolearning and relearning skills and drills, running them over and over until they’re not only textbook, but they’re also second nature. You hype yourself up, win or lose, not letting your belief in yourself waver for a second. You force your way to the front of the line to be seen by the right people, whether that’s coaches, scouts, or agents.

And if you make one of the big youth teams, or a college team? You start the whole process all over again, once again on the bottom of the pile and needing to work your way up.

In short, you work your ass off for it. And the same way I refused to let go of my goal to be a pro in the big leagues, I’m holding on to this idea that I can recreate the magic we had with Kayla. I just have to figure out how.

Catching Riggs in the kitchen as he heats up a pre-made steak bowl—thank God for food delivery services—I decide to make the most of the three minutes on the microwave.

“Are we seriously just gonna drop it? Like that?” I ask him for the dozenth time. He’s still no more receptive to my insistence that we need to do something. And yeah, I don’t know what, but there’s got to be something… more.

Sighing heavily, he turns to me with a dark, bitter look.Shit, I haven’t seen him this far gone in ages, like the venomous voice in his head is winning.

Even so, his argument is sound as he tells me (again), “You heard her say the same things I did, but did you actually listen? She didn’t just say no. She told us loud and clear that whatever this is… orwas… isn’t something she can do. Not that she didn’t want to, not that she didn’t enjoy the hell out of it, or that she won’t, but that shecan’t. You’ve gotta respect that she has this whole life where she’s this big, powerful, important person, and neither of us is the type of guy she’s gonna walk into some fancy-schmancy gala with. And she’s certainly not gonna do that with both of us.”

Okay, he has a point there. Of the two of us, I’m more likely to do the tuxedo thing for a charity ball, but even so, I’ve never actually worn a tuxedo in my life. Even when I got drafted by the Devils, I wore the black suit I’d previously worn to my grandpa’s funeral and a pink tie because Mom had just had a breast cancer scare. But seeing Kayla’s life online, I think she probably attends formal functions on the regular. But if having her in our lives comes down to my getting comfortable in a suit, I’ll figure out how to tie a bowtie myself and strap one on every day. She’d be worth it.

“Maybe we came on too hard?” I suggest. “She did say that we should’ve called her.” I’m reaching and I know it, but I’m not a giver-upper. It’s not in my nature.