I still think she’s leaving things out, purposely or not, so I try to pull them out of her however I can. “What exactly are you worried about?”

“I don’t know. Everything? You? What you’re not telling me.”

I sigh. I’m going to have to give to get here. “My stats are too high, and I’m getting too much attention. I don’t like it, and I don’t want it. But I don’t have a choice, and I won’t tank our team because I dislike the press I’m getting.”

She blinks a few times, maybe stunned that I’m being so forthcoming for once. It’s about fucking time, I suppose. Buying her new clothes and nice things only goes so far. I have to let her into my head if I want her to let me into hers.

“Now can you tell me why you’re so upset, other than the fact that I’m an asshole for having kept you on the edge all day?”

Her fingers go to her pearls. “Now I feel stupid.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re worried about your team, and I’m worried about myself.”

I want to erase the sadness that pulls her mouth down. I want to take the ache away. “Trust me when I tell you it’s not just my team I’m worried about, Charlene. I’m not that selfless.”

“What else are you worried about?”

I shake my head, aware this is yet another diversion tactic. “Not understanding why you’re so upset.”

She runs her fingers through my hair, eyes fixed there, maybe so she doesn’t have to look directly at me. “It feels like I’m losing things that are important to me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Violet’s always been my best friend. And maybe it’s petty and stupid, but she’s going to get closer to Sunny because they’re both pregnant, and Sunny and Lily have always been close, and now Violet and Lily are actual sisters, and I feel like I’m on the outside with no way in. And then there’s this whole expansion draft, and what if you’re traded and I . . .” She sucks in a deep breath, trying to keep herself in check. “I don’t want to lose all the people who mean the most to me.”

I skim the hollow of her eyes, brushing away more tears. As much as I don’t like to see her upset, I’m almost relieved we’re on the same page, at least about not wanting to lose the people we care for. I can’t control what’s happening with Violet or Alex, but I can try to keep hold of what we have.

“Whatever happens with everyone else, I’m in this with you. We can be on the outside together.”

She drags her fingers along the edge of my jaw, eyes sad. “Everything’s changing, and I want it to stay the same. I need this to stay the same.”

My stomach bottoms out. “This?”

“Us. How we are.”

Is it a warning? Was tonight too much for her? The closeness is something I want more of. And it has to be gradual, something that happens so slowly she won’t even recognize the change is happening at all. So I don’t ask for clarification, because I don’t want an answer I won’t like. Instead I tell her what she needs to hear.

“It’s always going to be me and you, Charlene. Whatever you need, I’ll be that for you.”

CHARLENE

Things seem to stabilize after we return to Chicago. My panic over losing my best friend because she now has a real half-sister wanes as I realize things haven’t changed all that much. I mean sure, Violet and Lily might be a little closer because they literally share DNA, and she and Sunny can gripe about sore boobs, but it hasn’t changed how much time Violet and I spend together. In fact, once we’re home, Violet and I are together more, rather than less. Darren and I spend a lot of time in coupley situations with Vi and Alex, so I don’t feel like my best friend position has been usurped.

Things between Darren and me are good—great even. He hasn’t shifted from a quiet, introverted, sometimes guarded man to the kind of guy who shares all of his feelings and loves being around lots of people. But there are shifts, and not all of them are subtle.

I now have a rack in his walk-in closet filled with brand new business wear, the kind I can’t afford unless I switch careers and become a high paid escort who works every night of the week. The price tags are always missing, but I’ve done my research. I know what a Fendi suit costs—especially if it’s this season and has been custom tailored to fit me.

One side of the bathroom vanity now houses duplicates of the stuff I keep at home.

Darren also purchased a second dresser to match his, which is where all of my lingerie, new leggings, sleep sets, and panties now reside. When he has home games, he requests that I stay with him almost every night. He’s grown particularly fond of returning from a game or practice to find me snuggled up in my reading chair with either a book or account files I’ve brought home with me. Although admittedly, that chair ends up being used for sex almost as much as it is for reading.

Series three of the playoffs is intense, once again going to game seven, and putting Chicago into the finals. Darren’s stats continue to rise, and with them his anxiety, and his requests for me to stay at his place. I can’t and don’t want to say no, but I worry, more than I let on, about what’s going to happen at the end of the season when the expansion draft finally happens.

I’d like to believe he’s not going to end up on the chopping block, but the truth is, his game keeps improving. Which tells me something incredibly important about Darren. He adapts to his environment and the people in it.

He played only as well as he needed to in order to keep Alex in the limelight. And now he’s playing better to keep his team afloat. As I settle into this new us, I’ve begun to realize this is who he is and how he operates, whether consciously or not. He adjusts himself and his expectations based on someone else’s need.

When his grandparents took away his privacy as a teenager, he found ways to adapt—physically, mentally, emotionally. In his career, he always puts his team’s needs in front of his own, and I believe, in a lot of ways, he does the same with me.

I’m the reason our relationship never progressed. I’m the reason we’ve stayed the same all this time. Whatever I wanted, Darren gave me. He never tried to open the doors I kept locked. Until recently.

He’s always very careful and calculated in the way he manages me. Us. Except now we’re transforming, and I don’t know how to stop it—or if I can, or if I even want to.

Chicago wins the first two home games of the finals, but loses the first away game in Tampa. I worry this will be another seven-game series, making their off season that much shorter, when they could use the extra time to recuperate. I’m relieved when they win the second away game by one goal, and even more relieved when it’s Alex who scores it, and Randy who handles the assist.

I’m already at Darren’s place when he arrives home. For the first time in a long while, he picks out lingerie. I’m unsurprised when he chooses to dress me in lavender satin and lace. But when he opens the I thought it would be fun but I changed my mind toy box, my nervousness immediately skyrockets.

“What are you doing?”

It takes a few seconds before he finally shifts his attention away from the contents of the box. “Looking for something.”

His expression is flat. I don’t know how to read him tonight, and that nervous feeling drops low in my tummy and settles between my thighs.

He stops what he’s doing and crosses to where I’m standing in the middle of the doorway. He caresses my cheek and bends to press his lips to my forehead. “Wait for me on the bed, please.”

I search his face, but all I get is the tiniest hint of a smile before he turns me around, pats me on the butt, and sends me out of the closet.

I sit on the edge of the bed, nervously toying with my pearl necklace. Several minutes pass, or at least that’s how long it feels, before he finally appears, carrying an armload of toys.

I swallow hard as I take in the items he’s chosen, and the heaviness between my thighs expands with each toy he carefully places along the end of the bed on either side of me. I recognize several of them as items I’d foolishly surrounded myself with when his teammates walked in on me.

Darren comes to stand in front of me. I look up—taking in his dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons undone—until I reach his face.

He stares, unblinking as he taps my knee. “Open, please.”

He tips his head to the side, eyes roaming over my body, pausing between my legs where everything is already tight and pulsing. He reaches out and skims my jaw, making every single muscle in my body clench and quiver.

“Are you nervous, firefly?”

“Yes.”

He exhales slowly and runs his fingers up the inside of my thigh. I suck in a shallow breath when he slips one under the edge of my panties. If I wasn’t wearing lingerie, I’m sure I’d be leaking all over his comforter.

I bite back a moan and eye the items on the bed.

“Tell me why,” he whispers, voice low with gravel.

“You know why.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I do.”

I look at the ball gag on the right and then that creepy facemask with only a mouth hole on the left.