Tacker (Arizona Vengeance #5)(68)

I’d just flown in from our Texas road trip—Dallas, then Houston—and we were slated to have the entire day off today. After that is our last home game of the regular season. Next week, the playoffs start.

So today was the perfect opportunity to spend time with Nora—who I had been missing greatly these last several days I was gone. Our plan was to attempt that horseback ride that got waylaid when Raul got sick. Once we finished that, if I had any say in it, part of the day would be spent in bed. Perhaps we’d go out to dinner, or maybe we’d order in and eat in bed.

Regardless, I wanted the full day and evening with Nora. But with every second that ticks by, said time is being wasted.

“You want to go hit some golf balls today?” Aaron asks, nudging me in the arm. He’s playing some game on his phone while we wait, slouched in his chair with his long legs spread out in front of him. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is sticking up all over the place.

It tells me he had a late—probably drunken—time out last night. He’d probably been woken up by the call to come into the arena for a meeting.

“Can’t,” I reply, checking my watch one more time. A total of twenty seconds has passed since the last check. “Going to hang with Nora today.”

“Of course you are,” he mutters.

Guilt nags as I study his face. “I’m sorry, man. I know I owe you some time.”

Aaron grins ruefully. “As much as I wish you’d revert back to the party animal I once loved and adored when we played together in Dallas long before you met MJ, honestly, dude… I’m glad you’ve found Nora. I’d rather you do what makes you happiest, even if it’s not hanging out with my lame ass.”

“Your ass is not lame,” I assure him, which causes the players sitting in the row in front of us to glance back at us with raised eyebrows.

Ignoring them, I add, “But seriously… let’s plan something right now. How about Sunday? After practice? We’ll go shoot eighteen and relax.”

Truth is, I have to plan in advance now. That’s because, in my mind, all my free time belongs to Nora.

Not because she’s demanded it, because I want it that way. Doesn’t mean I don’t want friendships and to hang with my buds, but if it isn’t planned in advance, they can rest assured I’ve already got something going with Nora.

“Yeah… sure,” he replies as his attention returns to his game. “We can do that.”

My mind already starts calculating whether I can squeeze in time with Nora that day. If we play a round of golf starting around eleven AM after practice, I could head to the ranch and pick Nora up for dinner. That would probably work.

Before I can even chastise myself for being so pathetic and trying to slot as much time with this woman as I can possibly cram in, the door to the room opens and all the chatter dies down.

Coach Perron enters, followed by the rest of the coaching staff. Next is Christian Rutherford. I can’t say I’m surprised to see Dominik Carlson following them in.

Since he lives in Los Angeles, no one expected Dominik to spend much time with our team. He owns a professional basketball team there that’s always done very well. It’s probably his most lucrative venture. But he’s proved us wrong over and over again this season, popping into several home and away games to cheer us on, and even showing up at non-game events. He crashed the rookie party this year, which, to my knowledge, has never been done by any team owner ever. And when he came to Nora’s ranch to volunteer, he made it clear he’s more than just the man who owns us.

Dominik walks straight to the podium, making it obvious he’s the one who called this meeting. His voice is booming enough that he doesn’t need the microphone attached there.

“I appreciate you all coming in on such short notice,” he says as he addresses the crowd of players. “I was actually headed to New York, but I decided to make a stop here first, so truly… thank you for your indulgence of me.”

Of course he did. He has all kinds of private planes at his disposal. He even lent one to Bishop so he could chase Brooke across the country once.

Leaning a forearm on the podium, he flashes us a grin. “You may have noticed already, but I’m a bit different than the other team owners. A bit nosier, so to speak.”

There’s a smattering of laughter across the room, but I notice that Dax’s jaw locks. Dominik has definitely been nosy where Dax’s sister, Willow, is concerned.

The grin falls away as Dominik’s eyes turn sober. “I’m never going to be the type of owner who just sits back and counts the money you make me. I want you all to succeed. To do that, you have to be happy, well-adjusted, and fulfilled. For those reasons, I sometimes nose around in your business to make sure I can help that happen. I hope you’re used to that by now.”

There’s more laughter, and Erik has a genuinely fond expression on his face right now, as does Bishop. Dominik had once helped Blue with legal troubles over her parents’ estate.

“I’m not going to sit up here and give you a motivational speech about how we can win the Cup this year. I don’t need to reiterate how well we’re doing or that we’ve created history by having the best record of any expansion team entering the league.”

“Fucking right on,” someone calls from the back. There are a few hoots and a lot more laughter.