Jett (Arizona Vengeance 10)

She laughs again, and while her words are often crisp and efficient, her humor comes out easy and relaxed. “You know… you’re not at all what I thought you’d be.”

Now I’m the one who cocks an eyebrow, leaning to the side to put my glass of wine on the fire table. I’m more of a beer drinker. When I straighten, I ask, “What did you think I’d be?”

“Well, word on the street is you’re a player,” she replies smartly.

I snort. “That can be said about any single professional athlete out there.”

“Fair point,” she replies with a nod, as she takes a small sip of her wine.

I don’t want to focus on my reputation as a player, because she’s not wrong. It’s not that I try to burn through as many women as I can, but it is well known among my teammates that I am not looking for anything serious at all. The opposite of a serious relationship usually means a succession of one-night stands, schedule permitting of course.

For some reason, I don’t want Emory to know that, so I change the subject. “What’s the source of Felicity’s sudden urge to pay homage to Thanksgiving? Was she born here?”

“She was,” Emory replies without hesitation, but I can sense a bit of tension in her voice. “Her father is American and he wasn’t big on any type of holiday really, so just like in my own childhood, we didn’t celebrate it. I think Felicity was really just aiming for cheeseburgers, to be honest.”

I laugh, taking stock of my newfound respect for the little girl. Her manipulation is adorable. But it’s a serious question I ask next, because she opened the door and now I’m curious as hell. “Why didn’t her dad celebrate holidays?”

Emory’s gaze drops to her glass a moment, but rather than take a fortifying sip which it seems like she needs right now, she lifts her head to meet my eyes. “He comes from a lot of money. The type of money that meant boarding schools and family holidays weren’t a big deal to them.”

No helping my next question. “And he’s not in the picture now?”

She doesn’t look away as she shakes her head. “He’s um… well, he has his own demons, and he’s been out of the picture awhile.”

My thoughts aren’t of Emory at all, but rather Felicity. “I’m sorry. That has to be tough.”

As if she understands I’m talking about her daughter, and not her, she nods an affirmation. “Felicity doesn’t quite understand why he’s not around, but she’s coping very well.”

I don’t poke at the subject. There are a million questions I could ask, starting with finding out if Emory and Felicity’s dad are married or not. Perhaps divorced? Did he leave her? Abandon Felicity? Meet another woman?

Whatever the reason, I know Emory relocated here from Los Angeles to take this job, and it’s only her, Jenna, and Felicity.

While I let such a personal subject go, indeed happy she shared just that much, I’m not afraid to be bold. “I’d like to see you again. Take you on a date.”

Emory’s not surprised by my request. Her eyes don’t flare wide and she doesn’t jerk her chin in as if my idea is preposterous. Instead, she smiles sadly. “My life is complicated right now.”

“Mine isn’t,” I say cheerily. “I’ve got room for complicated.”

For a moment, I’m surprised by my complete lack of inhibition in committing myself to the notion of a relationship. None of this is planned and is strictly off the cuff, but it feels right.

Rather than becoming morose, Emory’s lips actually curl and her expression turns sly. “You don’t like kids, Jett. I saw it on your face when you came to pick me up last weekend for dinner.”

I shake my head and wag a finger at her. “That’s absolutely incorrect. I love kids. I just never really wanted to be involved with someone with a kid, so yes, I was disappointed. But surely you see I’m good with them. Felicity and I are now best friends.”

I know she saw it. I spent most of dinner talking to Felicity, who spent a lot of time questioning me about hockey, Sweden, and a pet iguana I told her I had as a kid that, unbeknownst to me, she has been wanting for herself.

“You did manage to charm my daughter,” she admits reluctantly.

“Think of it this way,” I say, hoping I’m not shooting myself in the foot. “Your life is complicated, so you’re not looking for something serious. I’m not looking to settle down, so I’m not looking for something serious. We’ve had some great conversations. I like you and I think you like me. Why not just go out on a date and see what happens?”

Emory’s eyebrows draw inward as she considers my proposition. “Something casual?”

“No-strings,” I add on for clarity.