After the game Friday night, Wes came down to the beach house with me. Carrie had an unexpected surgery in the morning so he decided why not hitch a ride with Erik.

Luckily he really was happy for us now that we were together and he mostly left me alone to drive in peace while he stuffed his ugly face with food. I only had to shoot him a death stare when he asked how the sex was and he ignored me for the rest of the drive.

I pretended I didn’t see how happy the girls were when Wes arrived and kept my focus on the only one who really mattered. Then in the morning we gave them all a show worthy of inspiring some new heroes.

“Can you give the potatoes a shake?” I asked. My hands were full with veggie omelets.

“Shaken,” Wes said, turning back to his pancakes.

Our audience watched. All seven of them lined up in chairs and barstools with mimosas in their hands.

Oh, and Wes and I were shirtless.

Possibly dangerous considering the stove, but the greasy stuff was in the oven so I was pretty sure we were safe. The girls thought it was fun and Zoe hadn’t stopped smiling since we put on our red ruffled aprons, so I didn’t really care if we were ridiculous or brilliant.

“I like my bacon un-burnt,” Alexandra said while clearing her throat.

Wes peeked into the oven. “Two more minutes and it will be perfect. I promise.” Then he winked and she grinned into her champagne flute.

“More champagne anyone?” Julia asked holding up the bottle.

Alexandra held out her now empty glass.

“Who wanted the veggie omelet, minus the tomatoes?” I glanced down the line.

Alexis raised her hand. I plated her omelet and slid it down the bar. “Order up!” Julia and Laura both held up phones. “Uh, what are you two doing?”

“They’re Instagramming, buddy,” Wes said as he passed me with a plate of pancakes. “Right now you’re live on my feed.” Then he winked and waved toward Julia.

Son of bitch. I supposed it was inevitable. “Couldn’t you have at least warned me?”

Wes patted my cheek. “Don’t worry, Princess. Your hair and makeup look beautiful.”

“And what are you doing?” I asked Laura.

“Documenting for posterity!” she grinned. “Taking pictures and videos and saving them to our group folder to be used as we each wish.”

“Again,” I looked to Zoe for help, “don’t I get a say in this? Shouldn’t I have to sign something granting you rights to my shirtlessness?”

But my lady just laughed at me and I really liked the sound. “Erik. Do you consent to giving us video and photo rights to your sexy body and rough voice? This is on Wes’s Instagram for the record.”

“Sexy body and rough voice? Well, how can I say no?” I looked at the girls holding the phones and said, “I give my full consent.”

We got a lot of giggling as we finished serving up our breakfast and Wes’s theatrics reached eye-rolling heights, but I had to admit it was fun. While the writers rushed off to get dressed for the signing, Wes and I cleaned the kitchen.

“Don’t you need to get pretty?” I teased him.

He glanced at his reflection in the window and messed his hair. “Nope. All I need are jeans and a tight t-shirt.”

“Does Carrie get jealous?” They were two loud, passionate people. I wouldn’t be surprised if Carrie didn’t like lines of women drooling over her husband.

Seven writers? Sure. Why not? They were Zoe’s friends and it was fun. But spending four hours on display was different.

“A little,” he shrugged. “She doesn’t mind most of the time. She’s got nothing to worry about and really?” He shoved a finger in my chest. “That’s the key to a good relationship.”

“Trust?”

“And respect,” he said. “My woman knows that she owns me and I couldn’t be happier about it. If she had doubts I’d erase them, not so I could have my freedom but because we don’t work if we aren’t on the same page. The lives we lead? Me on the road half the year? Her being all sexy and successful . . . we got to know that we’re a team. An unbreakable team. She needs me? I’m fucking there. She comes first.”

“But who would catch for us?” I joked before quickly realizing that to Wes this was not a joking matter.

“Not funny, man. At some point there’s going to be something. And you two will need to know how you’re going to handle the pressures.”

How did we plan for what we didn’t know? “Okay.”

“If I got hurt this week you know Carrie would be on the first plane. She wouldn’t have to think. I don’t have a road mistress. I don’t fuck around on her. She doesn’t need to go through my agent to know where I am. We have no secrets. She’d drop everything without a second thought because I make sure she has nothing to doubt. Plus I don’t ever see her letting another doctor touch me ever again.”

“Truth,” I chuckled. “You’d really abandon us on the road?” I knew the answer but I’d never really thought through it before. If Zoe called and said she was hurt, of course I’d go. No question. That was my first thought. But as Wes started walking through the steps—when he said he’d leave us high and dry on the road—it hit me how I’d be torn in the same situation.

This was the team I built. They were my family, too.

“I love you, brother, but I love my wife more. We have Stanton for a reason. Everyone of us has someone who can fill our shoes for a game or two.”

That’s the moment it hit me. Where that hesitation I was feeling was coming from.

I had my job because someone left the Mantas. I was the fill-in. If I left, would someone fill my shoes and put me out of a job? I hated myself for thinking it. “Thanks for bringing this up.” If he hadn’t, I might have ruined my life with Zoe, because I had no doubt now that when she called I’d have hesitated. It wouldn’t have lasted long and I would have screwed my head on straight, but you don’t hesitate with the people you love. “I think you just saved me from a world of pain.”

He patted my shoulder. “I think this means I’m officially better than you.”

“Nope. Not even close.”

I made my way back to the bedroom and found Zoe dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed with her phone, grinning like a fool. “Why do I have a feeling you’re posting pictures of me in an apron?”

“Because I am.” She glanced up.

“Damn . . . ” I whistled low. “You look hot.” And almost like a different person. The hair was bigger, the makeup heavier. It was Zoe, but amplified.

She touched her hair. “Does it look okay? They suggested this makeup that was supposed to be good for pictures and I thought it looked fine in the bathroom mirror, but it feels like I’m wearing a mask.”

“You look beautiful. Just more glamorous than normal.” Yeah, more glamorous. I gave myself a high-five for that one.

She shook her head and laughed, then went back to her phone. “You’re already causing quite the sensation on Wes’s account.”

I wasn’t so sure I liked that. “You’re bad news, you know that, right?”

“Me?”

“Yep. I have never, not once, been roped into a Wes Allen stunt until now.” Oh, sure I helped clean them up and watched from the sidelines, but I never participated.

Until now.

“I wouldn’t say it was a stunt . . . ”

“It was totally a stunt.”

She laughed, tossing her phone onto the bed. “Okay fine. I’m sorry I’m such a bad influence on you.”

Man how I wanted to ruin her makeup.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered. A flush crept up her neck.

“How if you weren’t all ready to go I’d be a bad influence on you and ruin your hair and makeup.”

The flush reached her cheeks. “Get over here.”

I didn’t lean her back. Instead I stood in front of her, cupped her face, careful not to ruin a thing. “You can be a bad influence on me all you want. I promise I don’t mind.”

She reached behind my neck, her hand warm against my still-bare skin, and pulled me down on top of her. “And you always have permission to ruin my makeup.”

“Not your hair?” I asked between kisses that had to be doing a number on her lipstick.

“Never ruin the hair.” She wrapped her legs around my waist. “It’s actually pretty hard to muss.”

“Is that a challenge?”

She bit her lower lip and batted her lashes. “Maybe next time.”

I growled, grinding against her. “You sure about that?”

Knock, knock, knock. “Stop with the sex! Time to roll out!” Wes yelled.

Zoe sighed. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Even though I didn’t like it, I rolled to the side and allowed her to escape to the bathroom to fix her makeup. Her phone rolled down the mattress and hit my thigh. It vibrated and the screen lit up with notifications for Zoe Hyde’s Instagram.

“Hey Zo?”

“Yeah?” she called. I could see her running her fingers through her hair.

“You don’t post pictures of yourself very often.”

She stared at her reflection for a few beats, then sighed, coming to stand in the doorway. “Your point?”

“Are you worried he’ll find you one day?” I still hadn’t pushed for the details I craved but I needed to know if she was in danger.

She stared at me for a long time. Then, “No. But I don’t tempt fate. I don’t like completely hiding my face from my fans. I go to events and take pictures. I have headshots on all my social media. But that’s all with my pen name. He could find me if he wanted to and so far he hasn’t. I’m not in hiding but I won’t broadcast my image out there more than I need to, either.”

“Is he dangerous?”

Her hands tightened into fists at her sides. “Only to me. Behind closed doors.”

I went to her on instinct, wrapping her up in a giant hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset right now.”

To my relief she squeezed me back. “I know.”

I tilted her head up so I could see her eyes. “I just care about you and I want to understand.” I felt so close to her but in these moments the secrets she kept to herself seemed so huge it was like I didn’t know her at all.

“Now isn’t the time.”

“I know,” I said quickly because I could feel her heart rate increasing, see how fast she was spiraling. “I’m not asking you to explain anything right now. I’m sorry.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay.” Then she leaned her forehead into my chest. “You need a shirt.”

Hopefully it was a good sign—proof she believed me—that she made a joke about my partial nudity. “I’m going to miss you this week.” Six straight days on the road followed by another six-game block at home. And then we were done with the regular season. It was the absolute worst time to try and nurture a new relationship.