Page 31 of Shootout
“I never reveal my sources.” The truth, it was a blind guess based on what I’d seen her drink before.
“And the flowers?”
“For your mom.”
She nodded her approval. “She’ll be eating out of your hand in no time.”
“Jess, quit monopolizing Banks’s time and bring him in,” called a distinctly male voice from the living room. I’d guess that voice belonged to Mr. Wilder. I’d done my research last night. He’d played in the minors for a few years before hanging up his skates to coach. He’d had sufficient success with lower-level teams. His reluctance to relocate his family had probably limited his chances of moving up the ladder. Everyone had priorities, and a guy had to respect a man who put his family first. My father was such a man, as well.
I reached for Jessie’s hand, ignoring her questioning glance, and let her lead me to a spacious living room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of Lake Union. The place was stunning. I’d heard about Ethan’s condo building, but what I’d heard hadn’t done this place justice.
Several people were seated on a large sectional couch, and I could tell they all belonged together. The family resemblance was striking. My heart squeezed with longing for my own large family. I’d been so fortunate to live next to them my entire life. Being in Seattle was an adjustment in more ways than one. I knew I’d been lonely, but I hadn’t realized how much of a hole had been left in my life until just now. Maybe I’d never needed a close relationship with a woman because I’d had my family nearby to shower me with friendship and love. All I’d needed from the revolving door of women in my life had been sex and arm candy for the occasional formal event. I did love my red carpets.
The group quieted down and stared expectantly at us. Jessie’s palm was sweating, and I squeezed her hand to offer moral support. I understood how unintentionally tough families could be.
“Jessie, introduce us,” prompted a middle-aged woman who was an older version of Jessie.
Jessie swallowed and cleared her throat. She was more nervous about this meeting than I was, but she was basically an honest person, and I was gifted with a silver tongue and the ability to weave believable stories no matter how far-fetched.
“Mom, Dad, this is Banks Slater.”
I let go of Jessie’s hand and stepped forward to shake hands with Mr. Wilder. He firmly grasped it and stared directly at me with a steady appraisal.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Wilder. Jessie has told me so much about her family.” Lie number one was released into the wild. I noted her father didn’t tell me to call him by his first name.
“All good, I hope.” Mr. Wilder gave a terse nod. He wasn’t going to be easy to win over, just like his stubborn son.
“Of course,” I said smoothly.
Mrs. Wilder pushed her husband out of the way and rushed forward to give me a quick hug. “Banks, I’m so thrilled to meet you and call me Carol. We were surprised to hear Jessie was dating. It’s been so long since—”
“Mom,” Jessie admonished.
“I want grandchildren. Who can blame me? God knows Jason and Justin aren’t stepping up to the plate in that department.”
A stunned silence followed.
“These are for you, Mrs. Wilder, uh, Carol.” I held out the flowers.
“Oh, you charming devil. I like you already.”
I grinned. Yeah, I still had the touch, no matter the age.
A younger, blonder version of Jessie and her mom stepped forward. “I’m Brenda, the baby of the family and the spoiled one. But I’m lovable.”
I chuckled at her directness and accepted the quick hug she gave me. I’d done my homework. Brenda was in her senior year of college hockey and was a talented defensive player for the University of Minnesota, Jessie’s alma mater, and where she’d coached until taking this job with the Sockeyes.
“He’s cuter than his pictures,” she said to Jessie.
“Brenda,” Jessie admonished her and turned to me. “I’m sorry. She has no filter.”
I winked at Brenda. “I don’t mind being called cute.”
She beamed at me, and I knew I’d won over another woman in the family. The men, on the other hand, stood off to one side and watched me with unreadable faces, except Wild. His disapproval wouldn’t have been clearer if it’d been broadcast on the huge arena display.
“And last but not least, Uncle Horatio.”
My gaze slid to a bear of an older man, still in good shape, with a shock of wavy black hair. His nose was slightly crooked, a testament to how many times it’d been broken. His eyes were bright blue and sparkled with mischief. I guessed he was a great-uncle, and I’d bet he played some hockey in his day.
