The Wild Card: A Small Town Fake Dating Sports Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Book 3)(7)

“Well, in the meantime, that can be solved with the help of a few battery-operated buddies.” Desiree glances around surreptitiously before reaching into her purse and sliding her mom’s business card across the table toward me. She tosses me a wink.

Sera covers her yogurt-filled mouth with a palm and laughs. “Look at you—next in line to run your mom’s sex toy dynasty.”

Desiree snorts a giggle but before she can respond, a tall, handsome, scowling man appears in the doorway to the break room, arms folded expectantly across his chest. “Coffee, muffins and vibrator talk? Are we filming an x-rated episode of The View in here? Because I thought we were running a multi-billion dollar commercial conglomerate. My multi-billion dollar commercial conglomerate.” Liam scowls some more.

Eliza gets up from her seat and slinks toward our boss. “Oh, shush!” She taps him softly on the chest and lowers her voice to a rumble. “If you’re not nice to my friends, I won’t let you touch my boobies after Junior goes to sleep tonight.”

Liam tries to hold onto his stoic mask but his jaw ticks and his eyes flick down to where his son’s little head is tucked possessively against Eliza’s cleavage.

He swallows. She giggles.

“Phew! I am way too fadoodle-deprived to witness all this sexual tension,” I mutter, rising to my feet to refill my coffee mug.

I return to the table just in time to see Liam put a soft kiss on his son’s head. “Get back to work,” he growls, his eyes flickering over us girls. “All of you.” Then a small smile curls his lips when he looks at his wife. “See you at home.”

Gosh—I never thought the grumpy, aloof Liam Kline had a doting side to him. Until he met Eliza. Now, he’s putty in her hands.

I want someone who brings out the soft, glittery side of me, too.

All the girls coo as we watch the little family interacting. Liam rolls his eyes and tries to be a tough guy. “Back. To. Work.” He slaps his wife’s ass then smirks. “And I’m so touching your boobies tonight.”

“We’ll see about that.” She grins wickedly.

We eventually make it down the busy hall, each headed toward our own offices.

Sera picks up the conversation where we left it. “Maybe you’re looking for love in the wrong places,” she suggests helpfully as we go.

I frown. “Between the dating apps and the coffee shops and the libraries and the bars, I’m running out of places to look.”

“Sometimes you find love in the most unlikely places…like when your smokin’ hot former military man ex-boyfriend moves in right next door to you.” Desiree grins.

“Or when you accidentally marry your brother’s best friend the same night you get jilted at the altar,” Sera offers with a hiked brow.

“Or when you unexpectedly fall for your grumpy boss,” Eliza says dreamily. Then she throws me a warning look. “But in this particular case, you can’t have your grumpy boss. He’s mine.” She giggles and strokes her baby’s head.

I chuff. “So let’s recap—my boss is clearly spoken for. I don’t have a brother with some hot friend. And all of my exes are chauvinistic pigs I’d happily avoid well into the afterlife,” I muse as I reach my office door. “Just my luck.”

Desiree gives me a sympathetic pout. “Promise us—and yourself—that you’ll keep an open mind.”

“I have been keeping an open mind,” I protest.

“Have you really?” Sera tilts her head and eyeballs me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I challenge.

Eliza’s eyebrow lifts. “We all know you have your…standards.”

I shift uncomfortably on my feet, feeling put on the spot. “What’s wrong with standards? It weeds out the creeps and the leeches and the time-wasters and the fuck boys. Standards are a self-preservation thing.”

“Self-preservation is all good and necessary. Just don’t let it get in the way of something that might make you happy.”

We all go our separate ways and the girls’ supportive words linger in my mind. “Keep an open mind, huh…?”

As I’m powering up my computer, my brain does something totally weird. It lets the memory of Harry Westbrook flood right in. Like I said—weird. Because, come on.

But I can’t help the way my thighs clench when I think about our run-in earlier. I swear—he had a hard-on. And I felt it…move. Against my stomach. Sheesh—that was hot. My thighs clench again.

Get it together, Nadia.

That man is wrong for me on so many levels. All the levels. He claims to be interested in me. He goes out of his way with the flattery and the flirting every time we run into each other around town. Always flashing his charming smile and doing his best to impress me.

But I know how it goes with these things. The guy’s a professional football player. Those types juggle groupies like it’s a full-time job.

Although, I did hear a rumor that he’s a virgin. But no freakin’ way that’s true. He’s—what, 26? 27?—which means he’s most definitely in his ‘manwhore era’.

Harry comes across so genuine, respectful, and endearing. But I can’t bring myself to take him seriously. There’s no way he doesn’t have a whole harem of football groupies ready to satisfy his every fantasy. He’s probably slotting girls in like a dentist, too.