“Seriously, though,” I say after we both take a couple more sips of our beers. “Thanks for coming over tonight.”
“It’s all good.” He shrugs. “I got your back.”
“You always do.”
It’s about as sentimental as either of us can handle, so it’s no surprise when Tanner changes the subject to this coming Sunday’s game against the Panthers and how we can’t let their defense combo of Stone and Macellan shut us down like they have all the other offenses this season.
It’s not until we’ve hashed out a strategy an hour and a half later—and downed another beer each—that Tanner asks, “So, how’d the house hunting go? You find something?”
“I did, yeah. Beach house out in La Jolla.”
He whistles. “Swank.”
“Says the man with his own personal compound in Del Mar.”
“Hey. Never said I wasn’t swank, too. What’s the point of getting my ass beat on every weekend if I don’t get to appreciate the fruits of my labor?”
“That’s a good point.”
“Like you would know,” he snorts. “It’s my job to get my ass beat so yours stays safe.”
“Oh, is that why I had so many bruises on my ass last week? Because you were keeping me safe?”
“Hey now, those were extenuating circumstances.”
“Yeah, the kind of extenuating circumstances that ended up with me being sacked twice.”
“You probably shouldn’t have pissed the Raiders defense off so bad, then. You know how they get.”
“I already told you, I didn’t know she was dating Ellenberg.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say. And all I’m saying is you might want to avoid that kind of…conflict in the future.”
And with those words of wisdom, he finishes off his beer and pushes to his feet. “Time for me to go.”
I stand up, too, walk him toward the front door. It’s only after he opens it that he snaps his fingers and says, “I almost forgot. How’s the real estate agent with the sharp tongue and killer legs?”
“She’s still got both,” I answer, thinking about how good it felt to have those legs straddling me less than two hours ago.
“Any progress getting made?”
“Yeah, actually. I’m bringing her to the thing tomorrow night.”
“To the charity thing?” His brows shoot up. “Don’t you know if you bring a girl to a Cinderella ball it gives her fancy ideas?”
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t mind her getting some of those fancy ideas.”
“So, that’s how it is.” He whistles, low and long.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Yeah, you do. It’s written all over your face. But I always say, when you know, you know.”
“You never say that.”
“Sure I do. You just never listen.” He punches my arm. “So what are you doing to make sure Little Miss Real Estate knows she’s special?”
I stare at him blankly. “Taking her to the ball?”