Page 41 of Playboy

The number of times I considered showing up at her apartment this week is embarrassing. I went so far as to get in my car and head for her apartment. I got halfway there before turning around. I’m not ready to deal with Noah. It was bad enough that the way he looked at me changed instantly. I tried to sit down next to him, but before I could, he shook his head. “Focus on the game, Playboy. Talk to me after we win.” We didn’t. So I didn’t.

But if Noah is as important to Hannah as Millie is to me, then I need to make time for that conversation soon.

“Earth to Daniel.” Camden waves his hand in front of my face.

Clearly this is not the first time he’s said my name. Feigning a calm I don’t feel, I dip my chin. “What?”

“You want a shot? That hot blonde sent them over.” He points in the direction of a group of women. Smack dab in the middle of them, a beautiful blonde is watching us. Her tits are spilling from her top, her lips are glossy, and her eyes dance with promises of an enjoyable night.

I turn away. “That’s all yours.”

“She looks like she could be both of ours.” Cam tosses back the shot. “What the fuck, Hall? You’ve been a fucking nun since you got that piercing. Maybe that’s why you played like such shit this season. Your dick’s off balance.”

I shove him, though I can’t help but laugh. “My game was not the problem.”

Cam holds up his hands. “I know. I know. But seriously, when was the last time you got your dick wet?” He glances at the blonde again, brow lifted in obvious interest.

“Like I said, she’s all yours.”

My body feels heavy, deflated, as I sip my beer and scan the bar. Brooks, War, and Aiden are here too, sitting in a corner, quietly talking. Every thirty seconds or so, one of them glances at the door.

Suddenly feeling a tiny bit lighter, I turn to Camden. “Do you know if the wives are coming?”

He bows his head and sighs. “Tell me you don’t have a thing for one of them and that’s why your dick stopped working this year. You can’t fuck a wife.”

Head dropped back, I groan. “Did you get hit too hard this season? You’re fucked in the head.”

He shrugs. “I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you. You’ve been quiet all fucking week. You haven’t come out. Where the hell have you been?”

I’ve been hanging out at my dad’s house in Bristol, spending time with my one-year-old brother, trying to wrap my head around the idea that I’ll have a baby of my own in a few months.

I haven’t told my dad yet. Figure Hannah probably wants me to keep it quiet. But I’m going out of my fucking mind. I need to talk to someone.

But not Camden Snow. He’s the last person I would talk to about this. He’d whine about how all of our teammates have settled down and now I’ve gone and knocked up the one girl who probably doesn’t even want to be a mom.

He wouldn’t be wrong about that last part. It’s obvious Hannah’s struggling with the idea of being a parent. Maybe I’m an asshole, but I’m thankful as fuck that she’s the one I’m doing this with. There’s not a single other person in the world I’d wantto be the mother of my child. And that’s fucked, because I’m pretty sure I’m the last guy she’d choose to father hers.

Hopeless. It’s all so fucking hopeless.

“Just spent time with my family. Haven’t gotten to see Nash much since the season started, and he was tiny back then. I want the kid to know my name.”

Cam sobers. His family situation is shitty. I know the issues center around his sister, but that’s about all he’s ever shared. If there is one thing that can ground Cam, it’s the mention of siblings. “Nice.” He turns toward the girls and mouths a “thank you, be over soon.” Then he zeroes in on me. “I got a call from Sam.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam’s his agent.

“Yeah, he said Vegas is still sniffing around. They’re looking for a few guys to rebuild the team.”

This isn’t news. Cam is from Vegas. Last year when we played there, he mentioned this. The team’s new owner is willing to spend a substantial amount of money to rebuild a team that has had years of losses. “They want us.” Cam’s blue eyes are extra sharp, as if he’s reading my reaction.

I smile. “Of course they do. We’re awesome.”

He shakes his head. “I’m serious. Think about it: Noah still has years. War too. We’re not going to be the stars of this team until we’re at the tail end of our careers.”

A sense of defeat I typically keep locked away finds its way out and slithers through me. Even so, I play it cool. “We get equal play.”

“But we’re not first line.”

“There’s really no difference.”

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