Page 36 of Punked By the Playmaker
“God, that was nerve-racking,” I breathed.
He wiped imaginary sweat off his forehead. “You’re telling me.”
Hitching a thumb over my shoulder, I began to step backward. “I’ve gotta get to work, but I’ll swing by the hospital after to handle Maisie’s discharge, then meet you at your house.” Technically, it would beourhouse for the following year; Levi had insisted that Austin and I move in immediately when he learned my temporary guardianship of his daughter required her to reside with me.
“Uh, aren’t you forgetting something?”
I took a moment, searching my brain for what he could possibly be referring to, but I came up empty.
Shaking my head, I replied, “Not that I can recall.”
“We’re getting married next week. That means we need a marriage license. Figured since we’re already at the courthouse, we could kill two birds with one stone.”
It hit me with the force of a freight train that there was no backing out now, not after our audience with the judge.
Glancing around, I waited for a guy to jump out, surrounded by cameras, to tell me that I was being punked, that this whole thing was a joke and none of it was real.
“What are you looking for?” Levi asked.
Guess I wasn’t that lucky.
Marriage to the playboy it is.
Chapter 11
Levi
Mylegbounceduncontrollably,my eyes flicking to my phone screen, constantly checking the time. Two hours had gone by since Arizona texted that she was at the hospital to pick up Maisie and asked if I could swing by her house to pick up Austin.
What the hell was taking them so long?
Silently berating myself for not insisting that I oversee Maisie’s discharge personally, I unlocked my cell, ready to message her to demand an update. My fingers halted their frantic motion across the screen when the teenager sprawled out on the couch beside me spoke.
“You used to play for Connecticut, right?”
I blinked, the panic blurring my vision dissipating slightly. Until Austin brought it up, I had almost forgotten I’d turned on the early slate of games. The time difference in California meant the East Coast action started around 4 PM. It had become habit since the move to throw them on in the background when I gothome after practice. With only one month left in the regular season, the playoff push was in full effect, and the action around the league was intense. Everyone wanted to earn a chance to play for that fabled silver trophy—the one I’d had the great pleasure of hoisting over my head after winning a league championship.
Greatest damn day of my life.
Tugging on the back of my neck, I watched my former team compete against the Minneapolis Freeze. “Yeah.”
“Why’d you leave? They might not be contenders anymore, but they’re a million times better than the Surf.” He snorted. “Every team in the league is better than the Surf.”
Austin might be brutally honest, but he wasn’t wrong.
Reclining against the cushions, I tossed an arm behind my head. “Wasn’t exactly my choice, kid. But I can’t say it wasn’t my fault. I stirred up a lot of shit in the locker room, wasn’t what anyone would call a good teammate, so they shipped me off the first chance they got.”
He turned to me. “Do you regret it?”
I blew out a heavy breath. “Every time I suit up for the Surf. I fucking hate losing, man.”
A knock came at the door, and I was up in an instant, rushing toward the wooden barrier and hauling it open, relieved to find Arizona and Maisie on the other side.
“Took your sweet-ass time,” I huffed. “Would it have killed you to check in?”
“Sorry, Dad,” Arizona sassed, shoving her way inside.
I snagged her wrist, noting how her pulse raced, though I wasn’t sure whether it was from the body contact or because she was pissed at me. Determined to find out, I leaned in, rasping in her ear, “That’s Daddy to you.”
