I heave out a deep breath, not sure if I look edgy and confident, like Jason Momoa (Lola got a damn kick out of that comparison). Or like a poser, trying too hard to fit in. Like, well, like how I feel.
“Stop fidgeting,” Lola scolds me.
“Jason Momoa never fidgets,” Jasmine adds her two cents.
I huff and grip at the collar of my shirt. It feels like I can’t breathe. I yank it down several inches and pull in a large exhale.
“Stop!” Lola smacks my hand away.
“Mock turtlenecks are in, D,” Jasmine reminds me.
A short-sleeved mock turtleneck. That’s what I’m wearing. I’ve been informed by the two pipsqueaks next to me that it’s midnight gray and a knit blend. It’s paired with dark wash jeans and Chelsea boots. “I don’t look like me.”
“Trust, D.” Jas places a hand on my shoulder. “This is the new you. It’s a good look.”
“Solid,” my kid agrees.
I exhale and rub my hands together. I don’t want to admit it, but the material of the shirt does feel nice. It’s soft and fitted but doesn’t feel too snug. I could—what the hell am I thinking? It’s still a damn turtleneck.
“You should get going.” Lola passes me my wallet and phone.
“Belt or no belt?” Jasmine asks her, studying my appearance.
“No belt,” I snap, swiping my stuff from Lola and stuffing it in my back pocket.
Lola wrinkles her nose. Jas shrugs. “Baby steps,” I hear my daughter’s bestie whisper.
Oh, brother. “Thanks for the help, girls.” I need to shut this intervention down before they have me highlighting my hair and getting my eyebrows shaped. “What are you getting into tonight?”
Jasmine shoots Lola a look that I don’t like. It’s pointed and contains a flare of unease. Shit, are they getting into something stupid? I glance at Lola. She’s giving me an easy, nonchalant smirk. I don’t trust it for a second.
Lola’s a good kid. She’s a hard worker, gets straight As, and has a friendly disposition. But she’s also a twenty-one-year-old woman in a computer science program, constantly surrounded by smart boys who didn’t get laid in high school and could speak riddles around me. Algorithms. Whatever.
The point is, she’s eventually going to jam herself up in some kind of situation. And I really don’t want it to be tonight. I lift my eyebrows, still waiting for a damn response.
“Nothing,” Lola says finally. “A dorm party. Maybe drinks at Corks.”
I wince. “Corks?”
“You can’t own the town bar, Dad.”
“I know. But aren’t there college bars?” When I was in college, we couldn’t afford the drinks at nice sports bars.
Lola shrugs. “We may swing by for a drink or two.”
I narrow my gaze. “Why?”
“Because…” Her eyes cut to Jasmine.
“We’re two hardworking girls with new IDs who occasionally fancy a margarita. Or a mojito,” Jas cuts in smoothly.
“You’re up to something.” I wag my finger between them.
“You’re going to be late,” Lola says again, nudging me toward the door. “We’ll be fine and I’ll text you when I get home tonight.”
“Promise?” I pause, wondering if this is one of those moments where I should trust her judgement and give her room to make decisions without my input. Or if I should stay and find out the details of tonight’s plan like I want to. Because they’re going to Corks with a purpose. A purpose that could only mean meeting up with guys. And I want to know which fucking guys.
“Promise.” Lola’s tone is impatient.
Glancing at my watch, I groan. I am going to be late. “Be careful.”
She smiles. “Love you, Dad. Have fun.”
I make my way to my truck, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Lola closed the door. I have no idea what she and Jasmine are conspiring, but I need to get moving if I’m going to pick Maisy up on time.
I don’t want to be late. I want Maisy to know that tonight is important to me. That this date is for real. That I don’t wear turtlenecks and make dinner reservations and give a shit about being punctual. But for her, I want to.
My phone rings as I back out of the driveway and I answer via Bluetooth.
“Hey! Where the hell are you calling from?”
A chuckle sounds out. “Chile,” Asher replies.
“Of course.” I shake my head. “Diving?”
“Ice-hiking. But that’s nothing compared to you dating.”
I snort. “Lola told you?”
“Gushed is more like it.” The tab of a beer can pops in the background. “Tell me about the woman in your life, brother.”
“Ah, I’m actually driving to her house now. We’re going out to dinner.”
“Damn.” My brother whistles and I can hear his smile through the line. “That’s big, Axe. I’m happy for you, man. Tell me about her.”
I slide my palm over the top of the steering wheel, relaxed now that I’m talking to my brother. Whenever I connect with Asher, I take a page out of his book and let my worries float away. He has that effect on people, injecting everyone around him with the cool calmness he exudes.
“Her name is Maisy. She’s…well, she’s the sweetest, most genuine, caring woman I’ve ever met in my life.” The words ring true and that settles me too. Tonight, I have a date with a goddess.
My mouth drops when she pulls open the door.
“You look beautiful.” The words pop out of my mouth, direct with an edge of desperation because, holy shit. I try to remember everything Lola told me about being chill. Jasmine reminded me not to smother her or be overbearing. Asher advised that I play it cool, let the evening unfold naturally. They gave me rules to follow and lists to remember, but when I gaze into Maisy’s clear blue eyes, I forget everything. “You are beautiful.”
Her expression softens, that sweetness I love sweeping her face. “Thank you.” She runs a hand over my shoulder and quirks an eyebrow. “A mock turtleneck?”
I clear my throat, my face burning. Asher choked on his beer when he learned what I was wearing tonight. “Lola.”
“Ah,” she laughs. “You look very nice. Sophisticated.”
My ears are on fire.
Maisy takes pity on me. “I’ve always wanted to go to Le Papillon.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m glad I could take you.”
Her smile widens. “Me too.”
Maisy locks up and we make our way to my truck. I help her in, my gaze zeroing in on the peach of her ass, full and juicy in a cerulean blue skirt that’s gorgeous, but has nothing on the shade of her eyes. She’s wearing a crisp white blouse and sexy pale peach heels. My throat dries as I envision—with perfect clarity—what those strappy sandals would look like hooked over my shoulders. Her scent, a soft floral perfume, wraps around me. I shuffle back half a step and clear my throat, trying to get my bearings.
I don’t lose my head around women. I don’t lose myself in women. For years, I’ve only given the physical aspect, sex, but never my emotions. With Maisy, I’m swimming in them and that feels exhilarating. And dangerous.
Once I close the door to my truck, I walk around the back slowly, trying to get my emotions under control. Tonight feels different but it shouldn’t feel insurmountable.
“We’re just getting to know each other,” I remind myself. There’s no rush; we have all the time in the world.
When I slip behind the steering wheel and point the truck toward Le Papillon, Maisy gives me the most breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen.
It calms my mind, soothes my nerves, and kicks my heart into overdrive.
“Have you watched Aquaman yet?” she asks.
I laugh, loving the surprise that flashes across her expression.
“Not yet,” I admit, grinning at her.
“I like that I can make you laugh, Axel,” she says, an easy smile on her face, but her eyes are serious. Intent.
“Me too, Maisy.”
The drive passes quickly as Maisy and I fall into conversation. We talk about the Thunderbolts, about Mila and Devon, about the University of Tennessee.
By the time I pull up to Le Papillon and pass my keys to the valet, I’m at ease, more excited than nervous about my date.
I take Maisy’s hand with confidence as we step into the restaurant and enjoy every emotion that flits across her face. Excitement, happiness, wonder, and awe.
God, she’s incredible. And tonight, she’s here with me.
“You haven’t taken a vacation in how long?” Her eyebrows nearly meet her hairline as she stares at me.
I shrug, scooping up the last bite of my mashed potatoes. “It’s been a while.”
“Three years is an eternity for your mental health, Axe,” she blurts out, shortening my name the way my closest friends do. Not realizing she did it, she continues, “You need to recharge. Have time to relax and rest.”
“You sound like Lola.” No wonder they hit it off. Lola and Maisy both lean into these concepts of wholeness that didn’t hold the same weight growing up in my family. From my mom, yes, but she was the most eccentric mom of my friend group. But from my dad? Nope. He was all about paying your dues, putting in work, and hustling to obtain more. The thought of rest would have made him laugh until he cried.
“She’s a smart woman,” Maisy says.
“You’re right,” I agree, a proud papa bear.
“Okay. If you could go on vacation anywhere, where would you go?”
I take a sip of my wine and think about her question. The bold red swirls over my tongue and I try to savor the taste. I’m not much of a wine drinker but I want tonight, this date, to be perfect. Classy. I want to be a sophisticated, adult male who can order the right bottle of wine.
Maisy sighs. “Do you like the beach? Or the mountains? Being in a new city?”
I shrug. “All of them, I guess.”
“You guess?” She laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. The candle in the center of our table flickers, causing the light to move over her face like a slow rolling wave. I stare, mesmerized.
“I like to fish.”
Maisy rolls her lips together, as if trying to contain her laughter, as she studies me. “Of course you do.”
Huh? I turn the tables. “Where would you go? Right now?”
“On a trip?”
“Yeah.”
“Costa Rica.”
“Seriously?” I lean closer. “How’d you answer so fast?”
Maisy blushes. “There’s this surfing camp I’ve always wanted to go to.”
“Surfing camp?” My God, sometimes it scares me how much Maisy and Lola have in common. They’re both strong, smart, ambitious women with an adventure-seeking side. Maisy would hit it off with Asher too. The thought makes me grin. “You surf?”
“Not yet.”
I snort. “And you’re just going to go to Costa Rica and learn?”
“Exactly.”
I shake my head, trying to piece this together. “This sounds like a scheme Lol and Jas would try to get me to sign off on for spring break.”
Maisy laughs again.
“Walk me through this.” I stare at Maisy, wanting to understand her better. All of her.
“I saw this camp, it’s like a retreat—yoga, surfing, living on a beach—on television years ago. I was a UT student at the time, must have been my sophomore year. I wrote it down in my goal journal.”
“Your what?” I cough on my wine.
“Goal journal,” she repeats, expression serious. And then, “You don’t have a goal journal?”
“What do you think?”
“That’s what I’m getting you for Christmas.”
The joke, so freely given, makes my heart beat faster. Does she see us together by Christmas? Can she envision us exchanging presents, decorating a tree, celebrating together?
The thought pulls me up short. Since my parents passed, both of them within a year of each other, I always spend Christmas with Lola, Anna and Ben, and their boys in Seattle. If Asher isn’t off on an adventure, he joins us, but it’s always a last-minute thing. I can’t start messing with traditions, with holidays, can I?
“Axe?” Maisy frowns and I realize she asked me a question.
“Huh?” I shake my head to clear it.
A moment of wariness flickers in her eyes before she smiles past it. “I asked what you’re doing this weekend.”
“Oh,” I say, mentally running through my weekend plans. Tomorrow, I’m volunteering at the Children’s Hospital. I do it one Saturday of the month, goofing off, playing games, with some of the kids. It’s something I started when I was a freshman in college and I’ve carried it with me through every move and team transition. Sunday, I have my standing brunch with Lola. “Not much.”
“No plans at all?” Maisy tilts her head to the side. “If you’re free tomorrow afternoon—”
“No,” I cut her off. I have to be at the hospital at noon. “I’m not free until later on in the day.”
“Oh,” she says, and again, I note the hesitancy in her gaze.
Frowning, I ask. “Why?”
She spears a mushroom with her fork. “No reason. Forget it. What else is going on?”
“Not much. Just hockey.”
“Do you have any big games coming up?”
“We’re playing Miami next week. Then, Chicago. We play Boston next month. The Hawks are tough as hell to go up against. I wonder if it will be strange for Scotch, considering he used to play for them.” I reference our Coach and part-owner of the Thunderbolts.
“I hadn’t thought of that. It will be an intense game?”
I roll my lips together, amused by how little she knows about hockey. Not that I’ve dated much, but the women I did mess around with were always fans of the game. “It will be a good experience for the Bolts to go up against tough competition. The Hawks are a solid team.”
“Right,” she says, nodding.
I wrack my head for something smart, something inquisitive to ask her but come up empty. Why is this so difficult? I’ve wanted to take Maisy on a date since the moment I laid eyes on her, months ago, but she was in a relationship and off-limits. Now, we’re seated in a romantic French restaurant, and the only thing I can think to talk about is…work?
Inwardly, I groan and pick up my wine glass, draining it.