Chapter 31
Last night’s exhibition was boring. When I agreed to perform with Riley, I expected to enjoy it at least a little.
I used to get such a high putting on a show, and the two of us have had our fair share of performances.
We’ve always had great chemistry, and demonstration requests flooded in from every club we attended.
As forgettable as it was for me, Riley finished twice, and he and his Master adored the way the crest turned out.
I don’t think the crowd caught wind of my lack of enthusiasm, either.
We still put on quite the show, with an invitation to perform whenever we would like at either of Rendezvous’ locations.
I politely accepted the invitation, but I have no intention of taking them up on their offer.
My time is limited, and I only follow through with plans that benefit me.
Plans like the one I originally had with Thatcher.
I would have much rather been up on that stage with him. I would’ve rather been on any of their floors with him, for that matter. We had the rest of the night to play, but after my exhibition with Riley, Thatcher was…different.
He said he was fine, and we played a bit with a new Shibari rope at an exhibit, but something was off. He deflated after my performance. I wanted to force the truth out of him, but he was such a good boy for me all evening that I never had the chance.
I would’ve brought it up this morning, but he was back to himself.
He had to leave for a team workout, but woke up early and made me breakfast before he left.
This time, one suitable for a human and rich in protein.
Our conversation, his mannerisms, his humor—it was all normal.
I’ve spent my entire life learning how to read people, and it really was like a light switch.
I’m sure it was just the shock of watching me with another person.
We aren’t in a relationship, but we are still involved to a certain degree.
Sometimes one may think they are okay seeing their partner with someone else, but watching it is an entirely different ball game.
Which is fine. One of the most important aspects of an arrangement like ours is honesty and comfort.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this? The guys can be a lot sometimes.” Thatcher reaches across the back seat to take my hand.
“Yes. I think I’m capable of dealing with a handful of men. You do remember what I do for a living, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s men and their women, and some of them have children.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Jesus, I kill people. I can make it through lunch. Although I’m not sure what’s worse between children and the murderers I deal with. Still, I’m excited to meet some of Thatcher’s friends, and I guess these are technically some of Teddy’s too.
We stop in front of a trendy-looking café, and Thatcher races to open my door before the driver.
I laugh as he cheers his victory, allowing him to help me out and lead me to the entrance.
The minute he opens the door, my resolve disappears as a choir of hoots and hollers erupts from the back corner of the small room.
I do manage hundreds of dangerous men, but this is different.
For starters, none of my guys speaks unless spoken to.
I glance around at the table and take everyone in, noting as much as possible from their mannerisms to their attire to…
the absolutely stunning fucking blonde-ass women by their sides.
They are all coupled up, and a quick finger check all but confirms they’re either married to or engaged to the women beside them.
Luckily, only one couple brought their children with them.
Thatcher leads us to the only two empty seats, pulling mine back for me and gaining us another round of oohs and aahs. We’re sandwiched between two men, both about the same size as Thatcher.
“Bubba,” the one beside me says, reaching out his hand to greet me. “You’ll have to forgive me, but Thatcher never gave us your name.”
I firmly accept his handshake. “Mila.”
“Hi, Mila!” greets several voices from around the table.
“I’m Thatcher’s co-captain, but I primarily deal with the defense. This is my wife, Natalie—”
“I’m Milton,” the man beside Thatcher says, interrupting Bubba. “And this is my wife, Jennifer, and my kids are…” He looks to see the seats where his children once sat to be empty. “Well, I’m not sure where they went but Ethan, Laney, and Martha.”
“Hi!” Jennifer leans back and waves from the other side of her husband. “It’s so nice to finally see Thatcher bring around someone special.”
“Very nice to meet you as well. I don’t know how special I would consider myself to Thatcher, but thank you anyway.”
“Oh, nonsense. He’s head over heels for you, doll. You should see the way his goofy little face lights up in the locker room when he talks about you,” Bubba adds, as some of the other men chuckle.
“Yeah, he’s never acted like that before. Gus, by the way.” A large, burly man across from me reaches out his hand to shake.
“It’s nice to meet you all. Thatcher speaks so fondly about all of you.” I haven’t heard him mention half of these people. But I’m hoping this will appease them, and we won’t have to go around the table individually playing two truths and a lie.
Luckily, the server appears to drop off some appetizers for the table and take our orders.
When he leaves, the conversation has progressed past Thatcher and me to the upcoming season.
At least, that’s what the men are talking about.
The women’s discussions are primarily superficial about things like shopping, skincare, vacation spots, etc.
I listen in on both conversations, picking up as much as I can about the people Thatcher spends his life with.
His friends all seem like good people, however simple-minded they might be.
Oh, to live a life where your biggest concerns were the latest beauty trends and NHL transfers.
Meanwhile, I hold people’s lives in my hands.
One wrong move on my part and a child grows up without a father.
“Oh hell. Here they come, Sunshine.” A chorus of groans sounds from the other side of the table.
Sunshine?
“Oh lord, there’s a fucking gaggle of them today.”
“Gaggle? A group of bunnies is called a fluffle, idiot.”
“Well, Thatcher’s been gone for a while, so the bunnies are probably going through withdrawals.”
Huh? A group of blonde Barbie-like women titters at the reception podium.
There are at least seven or eight, and I know it’s almost impossible for them to be identical octuplets, but fuck, they look exactly the same.
They aren’t too dissimilar to the women around the table, but at least these ladies have an elegance that the Barbie octuplets don’t.
“Oh shit, Thatch. The chair beside you is already filled. You don’t have an empty seat for them to fight over toda—” one of the men across from us says, stopping when his wife slaps the back of his head. “Ow!”
“Sorry about my husband. Thatcher hasn’t ever brought a woman to our Sunday brunches.”
I smile, but I’m not a fool. I know exactly what the guy was about to say.
And Thatcher may have never arrived with a girl, but I’ll bet my ass he always left with one.
Jealousy floods my mind at the thought of one of those fake-ass women on his arm.
If that’s what he likes…well, why the fuck is he with me?
Maybe I have it all wrong, and what I have to offer is just a new exciting flavor for him to try out for a season.
I could take them all out right now. I went light today, but I still have two handguns and twelve blades strapped to my body.
I didn’t realize I was digging my fingers into the seat of my chair until Thatcher lightly pats my hand. “They’re being silly. Don’t listen to them.”
With a forced smile, I nod, but I’m sure he can see the contempt in my eyes, just as I can see the apology in his.
God, I shouldn’t even care about any woman he might decide to fuck right now, much less women in his past. All at once, my feelings hit me like a train.
Feelings for Thatcher…ones I should’ve never allowed.