Sucking in a deep breath and hoping my voice sounded much calmer than my heart, I answered, “I got traded to the Wranglers. It was a pretty recent deal.” I took a sip of my beer, glad I was able to do that without dribbling on myself, because let’s be honest, I was utterly surprised I was even still vertical at this point. “Why? You been keeping up with my career?” The thought pleased me. A fucking lot.

Blaire flushed and looked down into her glass as she shrugged one slim shoulder. “No, nothing like that.” She looked back up at me, her eyes flashing with emotion. “You look great, Axel.”

I pushed a curl of her hair behind her ear and said, “And you still take my breath away, Blaire.”

Fuck it. I would just put it all out there, and if she shot me down, so be it. It was better than this limbo I had been living in for the past five years. I had the overwhelming urge to get her out of here, to go somewhere we could talk freely. And then, after we’d caught up verbally, I would take her to my apartment so we could catch up physically. All fucking night.

“Would you like to—”

I was interrupted by a man approaching us with his eyes focused on Blaire. He was obviously older than us, with a peppering of gray at the temples of his brown hair. Brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Not very tall, though he carried himself with an air of importance that made him appear taller than he actually was. I mentally dismissed him as not being a threat until he wrapped an arm around Blaire and squeezed her shoulder.

I wanted to rip off each of his goddamn fingers with my teeth. Then he kissed her temple while handing her a slender glass. “Here you are, sweetheart. I brought you some champagne.” Sweetheart? Blood roared in my ears as I thought about punching him square in the mouth for daring to put his lips on Blaire. Then he turned to me, and his eyes lit up.

“Hey!” he said, pulling his arm from around Blaire, and my blood settled, but only slightly. He held out his hand to me and said, “You’re Axel Broxton, right? You’re Blaire’s favorite player. She said you knew each other from college.”

Yeah, fucker. We “knew each other” in every way possible. I glanced at Blaire, reading the discomfort in her eyes, before shaking the man’s hand tightly. “Wow! That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, Mr. Broxton,” he said, flexing his fingers after I released his hand. “I guess that’s why you rarely drop a pass,” he said with a genuine smile.

I hummed noncommittally. Who the fuck was this guy?