Page 66 of Lawson

She shifts in her chair, then shrugs. “The thought has crossed my mind. Especially when I can't sleep at night because I'm so damn tired of hearing the phone buzz over and over again. I've started to just shut it off when I go to bed, but it's like he's been doing it to me for so many months now that I anticipate it even when I can't hear it. I’ve thought about blocking his number, but I’m afraid he’ll start showing up to my place more if I do. It's getting old?—”

“Have you thought any more about going to the police?” I ask.

“I have,” she says. “I've played out the conversation in my head a dozen times. ‘Hello officer, I would like to file a harassment suit against my ex-boyfriend. No, he hasn't physically harmed me, but he keeps calling me a lot and texting. Sometimes he leaves flowers outside my door.’”

“When you say it like that…” I say, cringing just a bit.

“It sounds like I'm being ridiculous, doesn't it? In my mind, the only thing going to the police would do would…at the veryleastpiss him off. Let's say the cops take me seriously and go talk to him. Tell him to stop doing what he's doing. He won't take that lightly. I know him well enough for that.” She blows out a breath. “But, if I gave him what he wanted... maybe he’d ride off into the sunset and forget I ever existed.”

“You can't really believe that,” I say. “I know you're smarter than that. You played that game for years with him, giving him exactly what he wanted in the hopes that you would get something back in return. Did you ever?”

She takes another long drink of her coffee and shakes her head.

“If you gave in to his irrational and demanding requests to skate with him for that stupid show, he wouldwin. He would win and you would lose. Because he’d know he has the ability to break your resolve, which means he'll do it again and again, every time he needs you for something.”

She smiles at me, and I swear the damn look takes my breath away. “You know, it's almost infuriating how damn perceptive you are.”

I laugh, happy to see the light return to her eyes. “Admit it, you love it,” I say, returning to our normal playful tone.

“Never said I didn't,” she says. “But it's funny that you don't always show everybody else that side of you,” she continues. “Your reputation certainly doesn't paint you as the super perceptive and compassionate guy. Instead, it's all wild parties and orgies and the like.”

I laugh and shake my head. “There were no orgies,” I say.

“Sure,” she says, dragging out the word.

“There wasn't,” I assure her. “The wild parties definitely happened, and I'm not saying I haven't ever had more than one partner at once, but definitely not three or more. I may have the stamina of a Greek god, but that doesn't mean I want to overexert myself.”

Blakely laughs so unexpectedly that she almost spits her coffee back into her cup. “You’re impossible,” she says but she's looking at me like I’m anything but.

That look has my heart expanding in my chest a few sizes, filling up every empty inch of me and spreading warmth beneath my skin. Fucking hell, I never knew how wonderful it could be to stick with one person who totally understands me as opposed to bed hopping. I had no idea the emptiness it created in me, under the guise of nothing but pure ecstatic fun. I definitely don’t miss it, even if I have no clue how to properly navigate whatever it is Blakely and I are doing.

“Shifting topics,” Blakely says, reeling in her laughter. “You played amazing against the Coyotes last night.”

I nod, a little pride swelling inside me. “We're really starting to feel like an actual team now,” I admit. “I'm starting to see our chances at turning this team around and I'm not mad about it.”

“I'm not either,” she says. “I've never seen the Badgers look as tight-knit and promising as I have recently. It may be my first year of coaching, but I've been an avid follower since…” She abruptly cuts herself off, and I tilt my head. “Since we moved here years ago,” she hurries to finish.

I narrow my gaze at her, trying to work out the puzzle around these brief instances where Blakely catches herself or bites her tongue. I brought it up a couple weeks ago when we had our first fight over me taking Waller out for being a prick, but whatever she’s hiding she clearly isn’t ready to tell me yet, and I'd be an asshole if I tried to force it out of her. So, I don't comment on it, and instead smile at her.

“I'm glad that we can impress you, Coach,” I say teasingly. “You know what would make me play even better?”

A beautiful little flush dusts her cheeks, and I'm always so blown away by that, especially since we knew each other on an incredibly intimate level, but I love the fact that I can still set her off in public like this.

“What's that?”

“If you wore my jersey to the next game.”

Blakely gapes at me, then takes another drink of her coffee before setting it down. “I can't show favoritism,” she says.

“But that doesn't mean you don't want to,” I fire back.

“I didn't say that either,” she says. “I'm perfectly content wearing my own coach jersey.”

“As you should be,” I say. “But you’d look hot in a player jersey.Myplayer jersey.”

“Are you saying I wouldn't look hot in any other player’s jersey?” She leans forward, smirking at me across the table. “Would that upset you? If I wore somebody else's number on my back?”

The thought of her with somebody else's name on her back sends a spike of jealousy spearing straight through me. Which is ridiculous because wearing someone else's jersey, especially when you’re a coach and part of the team, doesn’t mean anything.

---