Something Real (Atlanta Outlaws)

by Aja Cole

  Then, poof, the girls disappeared on us. Now I'm babysitting a disgruntled husband and wondering how the night is going to end. Ben's phone rings and he picks it up like the thing is on fire, so that can only mean that it's Whit.

  "Alright, we're on the way." He says after a few minutes, taking some cash out and leaving it on the bar. "Well, my wife is trashed so that was Shayla. Her phone is dead, and they're a few blocks away."

  By the time we make it to the girls, Whitney is nearly half asleep and Shayla is keeping an eye on her, while some guy tries to chat her up. Ben scoops up Whit, who hiccups and throws her arms around him, and I walk up behind the guy, meeting Shayla's eyes over his head.

  "Wow, where'd that shadow come fr--," he cuts off, turning around. I raise an eyebrow, making it clear that he's standing in the wrong place. Without another word, he steps aside and Shayla stands, a small smile on her face.

  "Thanks for scaring away my date."

  "You have a date already.” I inform her, and she doesn’t answer, just grabs her things.

  Ben and Whit go ahead of us and we start to walk back to the hotel. It's not that far, and I don't mind the time with her, but we don't talk.

  We're going to meet Ben and Whitney in the morning for breakfast, so I walk Shayla to her room. I made sure to get her a separate one because I didn't want her to feel pressured to stay with me since I'm not sure where we stand right now.

  "I hope you enjoyed your first night in the city," I stop in front of the door, while she turns her keycard over in her hands. "I'll see you in the morning." I turn to walk away, but she says my name softly and I stop immediately.

  "Yeah?"

  "Thanks. It was pretty fun." She leans against the doorjamb. "And I finally read your messages."

  I exhale, walking closer to her. "I didn't mean to be an ass, Shay. I wasn't thinking and I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

  "That's the second time you've called me Shay." She points out, narrowing her eyes but there's a playful glint in them. "Someone's getting real comfortable."

  "I'm always comfortable around you," I admit. "Well, when I'm not terrified you'll never talk to me again."

  "I might've been a little sensitive. I was actually embarrassed about how I reacted and I didn't want to face you just yet."

  "It was insensitive of me to say, regardless. It won't happen again."

  "Alright, let's hug it out." She holds out her arms and I take her into mine right away.

  I didn't even think I liked hugs, but this is the second one I've gotten from her, and I just want more.

  It's weird because it wasn't sexual in nature, but I've thought about another hug from her about as much as I've thought about her body.

  I don't know who she's turning me into, and I haven't quite decided if I like it or not. She pulls away too soon, and because of our heights, she slides against me more than she would if we didn't have any difference.

  "I've had enough alcohol to want to kiss you, but I'm sober enough to know that it's a bad idea." She tells me quietly, putting a warm hand on my cheek.

  "Maybe it wouldn't be?" Even I can hear the hope in my voice, and I smack myself internally. I don't beg women for anything or hope for more, so what am I doing? She slips her hand away from me and pushes her door open, shaking her head.

  "I can't, Dylan. I'm sorry."

  With that, she closes the door and I'm left standing there alone, frowning.

  I wish I could say that understood what's going on here, but I have no idea.

  If it'd been any other girl, they would've taken the trip as a good enough apology and forgotten all about what happened last time in favor of a repeat.

  Only, Shayla keeps showing me that she's nothing that I've had before…and that means the opportunities for me to fuck this up are endless.

  12

  Dylan

  Press days always make me jittery, and this one is no different. We have another game this week, and I could answer those kinds of questions in my sleep.

  What I don't want to talk about, is what's happening with me outside of that. No matter what limitations they put on the questions, they'll find some way to ask about what I'm doing off the ice. I hate being put on the spot about that kind of shit. Even though Shayla is the only thing that's been happening with me, I'm still nervous and this goddamn shirt collar is irritating me more than usual.

  This is the first time we'll be with my agents and the team owners, too, and I need them to see that I'm tame now so they can get off my back.

  "Stop fidgeting," Shayla takes my hand away from my tie for the fiftieth time as we stand outside. She's in high heeled sandals, black jeans with a single rip across each knee and a silky white tee shirt.

  "Easy for you to say, you're not wearing a choking device," I grumble, irritated. I start to move forward so we can go inside the room, but Shayla stops me, pulling me back and tipping my chin down so I can meet her eyes.

  We've had an easy truce going. No more sex, but we have breakfast together in the morning now before I head to the practice facility and she heads to work.

  "What's up with you today? You haven't cracked a smile yet." I take in the light makeup she's wearing. For all I know, it could be one of those "no makeup" looks that takes an hour - but it looks like she's just wearing mascara, eyeliner, and lip gloss. I smelled the faint vanilla scent when she reached up earlier to pin my lapel pin on.

  "What if they still think I'm a fuck up? What if they don't think my image is getting better? I like it here, I'm not ready to leave or go to another team yet." I dig my hands into my pockets, looking away from her.

  "Dylan, look at me."

  "I don't want to," I feel my lips tipping even though I'm still worried. "You're too damn pretty."

  Her quick laugh rings out and she puts both hands on my chest, smoothing down the blazer that I'm wearing.

  "I'm going to make you look so settled down in there, they'll wonder if they were even talking about you in the first place." She promises, her gaze steady. She looks so confident in her words that I feel a little bit of my anxiety about today fade away.

  "Thank you, Shayla. You don't know how much this means to me." Pressing a kiss to her forehead, we linger like that for a long second before I take her hand again. "Alright, let's get this over with."

  It's been about an hour, and things are going pretty good. I talked to a few sports reporters about how the season's been going so far, what we want the new team to look like and the chances that we make it to the Cup this year as the new kids on the block. It's been a long time since Atlanta has had their own hockey team, and everyone has had their eye on us to see if we'll choke.

  But it's been amazing. We might have been cherry-picked individually, but we're killer on the ice together. The energy is amazing, the city has been excited and we're anxious to be as successful as their new soccer team has been.

  "So Dylan, you're turning into a boring old man. What's the deal with that?" Nathan, from Sports Grid, asks, his recorder poised for my answer.

  "Sometimes you just need a break from all the madness." I give a cookie cutter answer, my eyes wandering over his head to snag on Shayla, who's talking about something with one of the owner's wives. Her hands are moving expressively and I can't help but wonder what she's describing. "Nothing wrong with having fun here and there, but I'm starting to focus on some different things."

  "Things like? Is it true you're--,"

  "Give me a second, Nathan." I know it's not the most polite I've ever been, but nothing good comes out of the press starting their questions with Is it true and I don't even want to deal with it right now.

  There's something else more pressing on my mind.

  Shayla looks up at me when I come up beside her, her face lit with excitement. I can't help but relax, looking at her. "You having fun?" I put a gentle hand on her waist, taking advantage of being able to touch her freely.

  "Cicely and I have been talking about design, she's telling me ab
out some of her new projects."

  "Your girl knows her stuff," Cicely Grant inclines her head, "I've been monopolizing her from everyone else."

  "She's very talented." I saw some of her work one night while we were exchanging stories about college. I hadn't known that she did anything else until then, so it was a pretty cool surprise to see that she's capable in different ways.

  "Dylan!" The booming voice comes with a clap on my back that would push a smaller man over. Harris Grant is a beast of my man with the personality to match. He's Southern, a family man from Atlanta by way of Texas and one of the majority owners of the team. I heard that it was him who started the rumblings of wondering if my image still fit with the one they want to create.

  "You've never brought a woman to one of these, but you sure did do a great job of picking this one to start. She's a stunner, and smart to boot!" Harris hugs his wife to his side, their different demeanors almost comical. Cicely doesn't quite match her husband in his constant enthusiasm, but it's always been clear how fond they are of each other.

  "Well, Dylan's not so bad either." She turns to me, lips tilted and wraps her arm around my waist, too.

  "Thanks, baby." I murmur, automatically leaning down to her. She turns up her face to press a sweet kiss to my mouth.

  "I need to steal him for a minute, ladies, but we'll be back." Harris nods his head to the side and apprehension settles low in my stomach. Shay squeezes my waist in what I think is a gesture of support before she lets go. "Walk with me for a little, Dylan."

  Wonderful.

  Harris just wanted to talk shop, and tell me that he was pleased with my game so far. I realized he’d made it a point to pull all the guys aside, and it’s nice that he wants to be so involved and show his face.

  When I get back into the room, I find Shayla with Whitney and a few of the other women. Whit wasn't here earlier, and I was a little nervous about if Shayla would be okay mingling alone with all of the girls. All of them aren't nearly as friendly as Whit, but Shayla doesn't seem to be acting any differently, so I hope that means things have been fine.

  Actually, all day, she seems to have been getting along with everyone. It's like she belongs here just as much as everyone else...hell, maybe even more than I do sometimes.

  I like that.

  But ice runs down my spine when I hear a voice behind me. "Dylan." It's almost a purr and there are red-tipped talons on my shoulder to prove that it's exactly who I think it is.

  I shrug away subtly without trying to cause a scene. "What are you doing here, Tammy?"

  "Oh, you haven't heard? We're in talks for Jackson to come here."

  I swallow hard, feeling nauseous.

  I wish Tammy were some random groupie that I'd slept with, like the ones the media caught onto or wrongfully linked me to.

  Instead, she's the reason that I had that period of spiraling in the first place.

  There's not a helluva lot of people you can talk to or ways you can cope when the married woman you fell for tells you that she's not leaving her husband after all, but you two can continue to see each other as long as you can be discreet.

  Yeah.

  It was like that.

  I thought I'd left all of that behind when I came to Atlanta, and even though I was still going through what felt like a break-up period - it was nice knowing that she was in an entirely different city than me and I didn't have to see her husband all the damn time.

  I still don't think he knows, and I was too much of a damn coward to tell him anything. I don't have a problem with Jackson. He'd been vocal about his marriage having problems, and when Tammy came to me saying they'd separated and she couldn't stop thinking about me - my ego fell for it hook, line and sinker.

  I was just the idiot that got wrapped up in a fantasy, though.

  She didn't love me, but she did love her life and ultimately - that's what she chose.

  It was only after that I found out they hadn't been separated at all. Actually, they'd started going to marriage counseling and Jackson was touting the greatness of therapy because things were back like they used to be with them.

  I took the opportunity to get the hell out of there and didn't look back.

  "I miss you, Dylan." She says softly, her red lips moving into a small pout. "We should catch up sometime."

  "No, thank you." I grit out, taking a step away from her. I search the room for Shayla and meet her eyes because she was watching me, too. Her brow is wrinkled but she smooths it when she sees that I'm looking at her. She mouthes you okay? and I just feel relief that she's not mad at me or thinking that something else is going on because Tammy was standing so close to me.

  Before, I might've even felt a smug sense of satisfaction that Tammy was here, obviously still interested in me; but it just feels gross, now.

  Thinking about the whole situation just feels shitty, and I don't want any parts of it ever again.

  "Dyl--,"

  I don't even let Tammy say anything else to me. I go to Shayla's side and wrap an arm around her shoulders, listening to her recount what she and Whit got into in New Orleans with the other girls.

  I don't need that shit in my life anymore, and I just hope Tammy being back doesn't fuck up everything I'm starting to build here.

  13

  Dylan

  "Good god, you hockey folk can talk for hours." Shayla moans, setting her purse down on the table by the front door and bracing a hand on the wall. She takes one heel off and then the other, letting them drop to the floor and stretching up on the balls of her now bare feet. "Mmm, freedom."

  "Come on, we'll have some champagne to celebrate the meet and greet going pretty damn well, and I'll give you a foot rub."

  Before I can even finish what I'm saying, she hightails it to the kitchen and I can't help but chuckle. Shrugging off my blazer, I hang it on the rack and undo my cuffs, rolling up my sleeves. Damn, it feels so good to unbutton this damn shirt a bit and breathe again.

  I take the glasses that Shay hands me, and she gets a bottle of champagne and the bottle opener. Settling on the couch with a leg under her, she unwraps the gold foil and carefully pops open the bottle. Pouring us both a glass, she takes a sip and sighs contentedly.

  "I've never drunk the way I do being around you." She teases.

  "Maybe you've just always been a secret alcoholic." I drink half my glass, beckoning for her to give me her legs.

  She scoffs, switching positions and leaning against the arm of the couch as she slides her feet into my lap.

  Instant hard on.

  But I tamp down the lust that's rising, because this isn't about sex. I just want to show her a little appreciation for being by my side today, and not push for more. We've been on such good terms that I don't want to fuck that up by making her uncomfortable. When she's ready to take things further, I hope she'll tell me.

  Until then, I can appreciate the regular time we have together.

  "So, why are you still working at the agency? You're obviously way more than a receptionist." I run my thumbs up the sole of her right foot firmly.

  "That's so nice," she exhales the words, "And honestly, I like the day-to-day. When I'm coding or doing design, I'm mostly working from home and not interacting with anyone. So it's nice to make myself get out and not go stir-crazy. I don't mind being alone, but I need human interaction occasionally."

  "Really? Because I was right here in this house and you painstakingly avoided me." I raise an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes.

  "Well, I meant humans that I actually like, obviously."

  "You're nicer to me when you're drunk." I gesture towards the champagne bottle, "Keep swigging."

  "You don't have to tell me twice." She pours another glass, shaking her head. "I actually have only been drunk with you once. That first night, I would not have approached you without a shitton of liquid courage."

  "And you said your friend dared you?" Strangely, we've never talked about how we met that night. There's been so much else
going on, so I'm curious as to just what else was going through her mind.

  "Ah yes, I was with Rachel. We hadn't seen each other in a while, but she was in town and staying at the hotel so she invited me for a drink. Luckily for me, she still thought I was boring and stuck in my comfort zone. She dared me to talk to you, so I did, just to see the shell-shocked look on her face. You know, if I hadn't, I bet she would've talked to you instead and rubbed it in my face."

  "And you're friends with someone like that?"

  She waffles, shrugging. "Friends is a loose term. But I surely expected that maybe she'd grown to be a little less condescending of my choices. I was wrong."

  "I don't think you're boring."

  "That's because you didn't know me in college. When everyone else was being reckless and enjoying themselves, I was squirreled away with my books or hanging out at home." She admits, playing with her empty glass and looking at her lap. "I always told myself it didn't bother me, but it does."

  "You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Shayla. At the end of the day, you're the one that has to be okay with your life and your choices. If you're happy not being wild, then that's all that matters."

  "But am I happy?" She shoots back, grimacing. "Maybe there's nothing wrong with being wild sometimes. Maybe I need to not be so...cautious all the time. I have one life and am I going to look back and wonder why I played it so safe? Wish that I'd tried those drugs? Gone to more parties? Had more flings?"

  "Are those your thoughts or what other people have told you to convince you that you need to join them?" I press, not liking the look on her face.