Dammit, she could melt me with just a look. I put my hands on her waist when she stood on her tiptoes to give me a soft kiss on the lips. “Text me later. I’ll check my phone when I have time, but I think it’s going to be a long night for ortho,” she said wearily.

I noticed how tired she looked already, and now she had a twelve-hour shift ahead of her. She didn’t need to hear my shit right then. “Have a good night, Bear,” I said, kissing her ear.

“I may need a backrub soon,” she said in a low, suggestive voice, and I felt my dick respond with a hard jerk.

I allowed the tiniest of smiles to cross my lips. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yes, you are,” she said, which mollified me a little. She patted my cheek before turning to pick up Carrie. “Love you, sugar britches. I’ll try to get you some new shoes tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mommy. Have a good night at the hospital.” Blaire kissed our daughter’s face, and then she was gone.

Beau announced to the room, “Guys, Broxton is getting us tickets for the Fort Worth–Houston game on Sunday. Y’all in?” The guys all responded with high fives and hell yeahs, and Carrie jumped up and down in front of me until I picked her up.

“Me too, Daddy?”

“Of course, Care. I’m even getting you your own special jersey to wear.” She declared that “awesomesauce” and wriggled until I put her down.

She sat on one of the guy’s laps—Woody, I think?—on an armchair that matched the couch and said, “My daddy plays football for the Wranglers, and I get my own special jersey!”

The man kissed her cheek and said, “That’s cuz you’re a special girl, little toot. Your daddy is pretty cool, huh?” He turned and grinned up at me, and I returned his smile. Okay, maybe this guy isn’t so bad.

Tank came up behind me and put a meaty arm around my throat. I thought he was attacking me at first, but that was apparently some kind of affectionate gesture for the big guy. “You’re my new best friend, Broxton,” he said, slapping me on the arm with enough force to knock over a skyscraper. Holy hell, this dude is fucking huge. I was six foot five, and Tank had a good three inches and thirty-five pounds on me, and not an ounce of it was fat. “Sit and have a beer with us,” he said.

I glanced around the room as all eyes turned toward me.

“Oh, uh, thanks. Maybe some other time. I have practice tomorrow,” I said. “I guess I need to get going.”

I picked up Carrie, and her eyes filled with tears. “But I don’t want you to go, Daddy. I love you.”