Bloom

“Don’t sound so heartbroken, Keats.” I chuckle. “This gives me more time to hang out with you.”

His green eyes zero in on my face. “Is that a good thing?”

Keats and I have been through thick and thin. It started in preschool with a fistfight over a red crayon. Our parents were called down to sort it out. They hit it off. Joint birthday parties, family vacations, and life’s ups and downs have cemented our bond.

Raking a hand through his black hair, he tosses me a look. “I need to get back to work. Thanks again for lunch, Wolf.”

There it is, the nickname that has trailed me around forever.

My brothers, Nicholas and Sebastian, bestowed it on me when I was a baby because of the mane of hair on my head and my non-stop crying or howling as they refer to it.

Twenty-nine years later, they’ll call me Liam on occasion, but my parents and sister still view me as Wolf. Keats does too.

Athena doesn’t.

Damn, that woman left an impression on me.

Shaking her from my thoughts has been impossible since I last saw her. That was over a week ago.

Keats gives me a light slap on my cheek. “You’re daydreaming, big guy.”

I laugh. Keats is a few inches shorter than me, but he spends more time in the gym than I do. He always gives me a run for my money when we spar in the boxing ring.

“Is it about Wren?” he teasingly asks with a laugh. “Do you need your old buddy to talk to her? I can get her back in no time flat.”

If there’s a negotiation to be made, Keats is the man for the job. It’s what he does for a living. He’s an agent for a few of the biggest names in sports. He’s good at it and I’ve told him as much.

“Wren is my past,” I say it with conviction.

“Welcome back to single life.” He throws an arm over my shoulder. “This requires a celebration. Does beer and pool on Friday work for you?”

“I’ll be there.” I point a finger at my office door. “Thanks for stopping by, but you need to get lost. I’ve got an appointment due to arrive any minute.”

“I’m out.” He tugs on the lapels of his gray suit jacket. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t think she was the right woman for you, Wolf.”

Since this is the first I’ve heard of it, I press for more. “I thought you were team Wren. You two hit it off when we all hung out.”

“I was drunk,” he deadpans.

“You were sober,” I counter.

“Drama followed Wren around like a lost puppy.”

He’s not wrong. In Wren’s world, everything from a late client to a misplaced shoe was a catastrophe. I fielded calls and texts all day from her. I was the calming voice she needed. She was the distraction I wanted.

We worked until we didn’t.

Two short rings of my office phone signal that my two o’clock appointment has arrived.

“That’s my cue to fuck off.” Keats heads toward the door. “I’ll see you on Friday. Whoever loses two out of three games picks up the tab for the beers. Agreed?”

It’s our standard set-up. More often than not, the drinks are on me.

Opening my office door, I nod. “Agreed. See you on Friday.”

“If you need a shoulder to cry on before then, call someone else.” He winks.

I laugh. “Go to hell.”