Page 70 of Teasing

“Just reading scans. They can wait.” Not many NFL players would have gone back to school for an MD after they retired, but what very few people know is that was Dad’s real dream. His medical license hangs on the wall right below his degree. The old man is impressive. He also gives the best advice. I should probably tell him that more than I do.

I drop down into the leather chair, opposite him, and rest my elbows on my knees.

“Spit it out, Mav. You’ve got that face...”

“Pretty sure I’ve had the same face my whole life. The ladies like it.” Deflection. Real mature.

“I hear one lady in particular likes it,” he taunts like the cocky bastards he raised Ryker and me to be. “I also hear your mother likes her. That’s half the battle.”

“Oh yeah?” I relax and cringe all at once, thinking about the conversation I had with Mom after she, Amelia, and Belles grilled Emmie. “What’s the other half?” Curiosity gets the better of me.

“Finding a worthy partner. One who loves you for you. Someone you can talk to. Someone you can lean on when you need to. Because no matter how strong you are, nobody can bear it all alone forever, Maverick. You’ll need to lean. You need someone as strong as you. Someone who will fight for you and with you.”

I stare at him, stunned silent.

Dad’s not much of a talker. That’s more Mom. Dad’s the observer. The quiet observer.

“Great sex helps too. Hell . . . your mother?—”

“Stop. Please. Fuck. Don’t go there,” I beg, laughing.

He wouldn’t, but he likes to act like he would.

Mom actually would and has.

I shake my head, shocked I’m even considering this conversation. “I think I found her.”

My words are quiet, but damn, they’re said with conviction.

Dad tilts his head and waits while I find the words. The right ones. “You know this isn’t why I came today.”

“Why did you come?”

His bulldog, Kelce, trots in, snorting as he goes until he makes his way to the dog bed next to Dad’s desk. He circles it once, then flops down and starts snoring before his head hits the fuzzy pillow. Kelce is Butters’s dad. The little hornball has lots ofbabies running around Kroydon Hills. He makes cute puppies. Farting, snoring little assholes. But they’re cute.

“I came because your wife has my daughter at a stable, meeting a pony she’s trying to convince me she hasn’t already bought...”

Dad’s chest shakes as he laughs. “Is that what she’s saying?”

“I don’t want to know,” I stop him. “Rein in your wife, man. I said no pony,” I joke and watch as Dad shakes his head.

“I’ve been married to your mother for nearly three decades, and I’ve never once been able to rein her crazy in, kid. Not a chance I’m going to start now. Especially when it comes to that little girl.”

The way he still smiles when he talks about Mom never gets old. There’s something to be said about growing up with parents who are disgustingly in love. Even when things got tough, or scary as hell like they did after Ryker’s accident, it was them against the world.

“I really didn’t come to get relationship advice,” I groan.

“Well, why the hell not?” He furrows his brow like he seriously doesn’t understand. “I give great advice.”

“Yeah, you’re humble too.”

The old man straightens his desk and pushes back. “Come on. I just got a new bottle of bourbon I’ve wanted to try.”

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon,” I balk but follow him.

“Your mother and I have been on a bourbon journey. It’s not bad.”

A bourbon journey... okay. “Whatever floats your boat.”

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