Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Jif, like the peanut butter?” The taller woman, Suri, cocked her head to the side, eyebrows knit in confusion.
Jif barely resisted rolling her eyes. No, of course she hadn’t heard that one before.
“It’s a nickname,” Miles growled defensively, doing things to Jif’s heart. “Kind of like you call your dog Gwyn instead of Gwynedd.”
“Only because most people don’t realize the double d in Welsh is pronounced as a th,” she scoffed, scooping the corgi at her side into her arms and cradling her like a baby.
“Be nice.” The younger woman, Willow, bumped her shoulder into Suri’s arm, then turned to Jif. “I like your name.”
“You have a golden retriever named Bailey,” Suri snapped back. “That’s almost as banal as a Dalmatian working in a fire station named for a firebird.”
“Suri,” Miles began warningly, but Jif laid a hand on his arm.
“Says the woman who named her Welsh corgi with a Welsh name for a Welsh county.” Jif narrowed her eyes at Suri.
“How did you...”
This time, Jif let the eye roll happen. “Jif Pritchard. Nice to meet you. And if you actually speak Welsh, you’ll recognize it as a derivative—sometimes called a nickname—for ap Richard, meaning ‘son of’.”
Willow snorted, covering it behind her hand with a cough while Suri stared, mouth hanging open.
So there, Jif thought. She could barb her words as well as anyone.
“I’m Willow.” The shorter woman, a beautiful golden retriever leashed at heel beside her, held out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Finally?” Jif turned to Miles with a flirtatious giggle. “Have you been talking about me?”
He frowned. “No.”
“Oh, uh, not Miles. Some of the... Well...” Willow’s gaze flicked around the yard, settling momentarily on a cadre of defense players gathered around the grill.
Suddenly, Suri’s attitude made sense.
“I see.” Jif sighed. “Which one are you with?”
Beside her, Miles stiffened.
“I’m... not?” The younger woman twisted her dog’s leash in her hands.
But Jif recognized a committed wingman—or, in this case, woman. She studied the group. “Trevor, huh?”
The rookie safety had some big plays this past season, but she didn’t really go for younger guys. That hadn’t stopped him from hitting on her several times over the last year.
Actually, he and Corey would probably get along great. If she could warn Willow away, she would, but she also recognized lovesick, and there would be no convincing the girl.
“He and I have never...” She said it as much to Willow as to Miles. Wouldn’t it figure her reputation preceded her even when she hadn’t dated someone?
“I know,” Willow interrupted. “But he’s talked about you a bit.”
Jif grimaced. “I’m sure. And they say women are gossips.”
“Men are way worse,” she agreed.
Jif turned her attention back to Suri as she interlaced her fingers with Miles. “I’m officially off the market, anyway, so if Willow wants him, she can have him.”
Suri narrowed her eyes at Jif. “Whatever.”
“C’mon, Sur. It isn’t Jif’s fault, Trev is...”
“Trevor?” Suri filled in when Willow trailed off.
“Yeah.”
Jif glanced from one woman to the other, the dots finally lining up. “You’re old friends.” Older than his time in the NFL. “Before” friends, the kind that weren’t thrown by the fame and fortune but also didn’t see either one as a commodity—a means to their own ends.
Willow swallowed, her throat bobbing. “We grew up together.”
She didn’t volunteer anything more, and Jif got the distinct impression she didn’t want to discuss her childhood.
Jif could empathize.
She didn’t much like talking about parts of her own childhood, either.
She studied the younger woman. She hadn’t seen her at previous events or games. If Willow and Trevor had so much history, why wasn’t she treated similarly to Jif? Close friends and family were always welcomed in the Raptors organization.
Maybe she had overstated her relationship with Trevor, despite Suri’s protective guard dog act. But if so, why?
Jif squeezed Miles’s hand. “I think I need another drink. Does anyone else want anything?”
She waited while the two other women exchanged loaded glances.
Defeated, Suri said, “White wine?”
“I’ll take an IPA,” Willow added.
Jif forced herself not to wrinkle her nose.
Just because she didn’t like beer didn’t mean anyone else couldn’t, either, and she’d finally cracked the ice with Miles’s friends.
Or, at least his co-workers, since apparently, he wasn’t close enough with them to have talked about her, leaving them to get all their information from Trevor.
Geez.
“Lemonade for you?”
Miles brushed a kiss along her hairline. “I can get it.”
“I know.” She didn’t want him to have to. He’d been on his feet for a while, and though most people wouldn’t notice his limp anymore, his leg still pained him. Still ached by the end of a long day. If she could spare him, she would.
“Why don’t you guys go find some seats, and I’ll grab some food, too.” Jif waved them off toward a small cluster of folding chairs near a flowering bush. “You all have your hands full with dogs.”
They trailed away while Jif headed toward the bar, plucking a couple cans from a cooler, then pouring drinks into cups. Juggling them, she returned to the group, dropping them off before returning to load a couple plates with snacks.
“Can I help?”
Jif shook her head, then stopped herself. “Sure, Trevor. Why don’t you take this over to Willow?”
“You’ve met Willow?” he rumbled, crowding into her space.
Jif stepped back. What was it with these guys and not respecting personal boundaries? Had it always been this way, and she’d never noticed?
No, Donte had always respected her. So had Jordan. And Jonah. And Garrett...
Geez, no wonder Willow had heard stories about her. Still, she had ample proof that good and decent men existed.
“Just met her today. And Bailey. She works with my boyfriend, Miles.”
His eyes flashed for a moment, a scowl there and then gone almost too quickly for Jif to catch.
“Actually, I think Pierce is calling me. I’ll catch you later, yeah?”
He jogged off before she could respond, but she still whispered, “Not a chance,” under her breath.
Gathering the plates she’d prepared, she trailed back to her small group.
When she arrived, Willow’s laugh surprised her. “—so then I realized I’d accidentally trained Bailey to only poop when I sang her poop song.”
Jif sank into a seat beside Miles. “Okay, this I have to hear.”
Without wasting a moment, Willow launched into a humming rendition before retelling the story for Jif’s benefit.
“No,” Jif exclaimed when she finished. “She seriously wouldn’t go unless you sang?”
Miles chuckled beside her. “They pattern so fast sometimes. I once accidentally trained Nix to bring me rocks. When I first got him, I’d offer a treat to trade anytime he picked one up.
Then, I asked one of the guys at the station to trade shifts, and here’s Nix, pleased as punch, trying to give me one of the stones from the outdoor landscaping.
He’d heard trade and thought I needed one. ”
Jif’s eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding!”
She turned to Nix, settled in the grass at Miles’s feet.
“Nix...”
“Oh, no. Nope.” Miles stopped her before she could say anything. “It took me months to extinguish the behavior. We do not need to risk bringing it back.”
He grabbed her hand and tucked it under his arm, fingers twined with hers, and shook his head, a frown marring his features, until Jif giggled.
“Always so grumpy,” she teased, ignoring his long-suffering sigh and resting her head on his shoulder, content to let him keep her hand as he, Suri, and Willow continued trading stories about the wild shenanigans their dogs had gotten into over the years.