Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

The chairs are laid out four on each side of the room. Willow, Pepper, Regan, and Nora sit opposite me with Brooke to my left and Blue—who flew straight here from her honeymoon in Australia—to my right. She’s currently recounting her terror at going snorkeling with Eric, afraid a shark would eat her but committing to the adventure anyway because he’d really wanted to do it. I found out she’s pregnant, which is why she’s the only one sipping guava juice instead of champagne.

The women themselves cause a conundrum in me. They are all warm and inclusive, making me feel welcome. But they’re also a tight-knit group—women who have all clearly bonded over the last year their significant others have played hockey together. I’m grateful to be included, yet I feel like such an outsider at the same time.

“How did you and Erik meet?” I ask Blue.

She shifts slightly in her seat, shooting me a devilish smirk. “Actually… he and I hooked up years ago, then reconnected last year on the team plane. I’m a flight attendant.”

“Second-chance romance,” I reply, noting one of my favorite tropes to read.

“Hardly,” Blue snorts. “He didn’t even remember our time together. It was insulting.”

I stare, my mouth agape, and wonder how she found it within herself to ever move past that. But before I can be so nosy as to ask, Pepper chimes in. “Insulting is trying to get a rise out of your hot neighbor by planting dozens of plastic pink flamingos in his lawn, but not even getting a flinch.”

The girls laugh. I chuckle, envisioning that. I’m going to assume Pepper had the hots for Legend, but maybe he was playing a little hard to get. Aaron had actually told me a little bit about the circumstances surrounding their daughter, Charlie, and how she came to be with them. Sounds like a truly romantic story of overcoming adversity and danger to find love, with a cute baby thrown in.

I wonder if all these women have stories like that. I mean… it’s no easy feat to meet a professional athlete, fall in love with one, and get them to return the sentiment.

I look to my left at the beautiful woman who’s going to be marrying her love this week. “How did you and Bishop meet?”

“In a bar,” she replies with a sly grin. “When we hooked up, I had no clue he was a Vengeance player.”

All the other women laugh again, and I realize I’m missing something. My confusion must show because Brooke explains. “My dad’s the coach. He caught Bishop and me in a compromising position.”

“You’re kidding,” I say, a bark of laughter escaping me.

“Nope,” she replies, her eyes burning with humor. “And I blurted out he was my fiancé, so we did the whole fake-engagement thing for a while.”

“That’s hilarious,” I reply, shaking my head in amazement. I gesture across the room at Regan and Nora, who sit side by side. “What about you two?”

Nora takes the lead, telling me that she was Tacker’s therapist. That seems pretty saucy as I’m sure there are ethics in place about that, but I’m a sucker for love winning.

Regan’s story hits me in the feels, too. “I have a really rare blood disease, for which the cost of treatment is astronomical. Dax married me to give me health insurance, but we’d known each other our entire lives.”

I can’t help the sigh that comes out, and the women all just sort of nod… understanding they’re each a walking romance book. It’s at this point I realize something about myself. Each of their stories affect me—touching that part deep inside I thought had been killed long ago. The notion that love is real, and it can even still resemble something along the lines of fairy tales.

“Willow’s story is the best of all,” Regan announces, giving a tiny hiccup. I think she’s on her way to getting drunk. Apparently, these women had quite a few fruity cocktails before I even arrived.

Willow snorts, settling back in her chair and holding up her champagne glass. “I don’t know about that, but I will agree right here and now that my man is the most annoying of all.”

I have to wonder what it’s like to be married to the owner of the Arizona Vengeance. Aaron completely flummoxed me earlier by telling me how much he made with this team, but I imagine Dominik Carlson’s wealth has got to be in the billions. Aaron told me Dominik also owns a professional basketball team.

“Oh yes,” Regan drawls, making a strenuous roll of her eyes at Willow. “Your man is so annoying. I mean… he leaves during the playoffs to fly halfway across the world to rescue you from terrorists. I don’t know how you ever put up with him.”

The other women snicker, but I stare at Willow with abject fascination. “He rescued you from terrorists?”