Focused: A hate to love sports romance(3)

My family would have varying reactions to this.

My sisters would think it was cool to differing degrees. The twins, Lia and Claire, would freak simply because it was Amazon. Isabel, my middle sister, would want to shadow me day and night because of her obsession with all things related to sports documentaries.

Paige would be excited for me, once she got over the need to punch my new boss in the throat.

And Logan? I groaned. My big brother would hate it. Unequivocally and irrationally. He'd all but command me to say no. Wait for another boss or another chance.

I blew out a harsh breath before I pushed the front door open.

Screams greeted me, as did the smell of garlic and herbs. The screams didn't faze me in the slightest, and the smell had me breathing deeply.

"I'm home," I called over the chaos. "Hide the carbs because I had a day."

Down the hallway in front of me, the one that led to the wide-open kitchen, dining, and living, came the intensified hollering.

"Molly! We're under attack, go! Go! Go!"

Flattening against the wall, I reached an arm out to snag the small body that hurtled past me across the wooden floor. "Slow your roll, soldier," I said into my nephew's hair as I gave him a quick kiss. "Who's attacking us?"

Emmett peered up at me, his blue eyes huge in his face and his cheeks flushed from running. "The zombies," he whispered dramatically. "They already got Dad. He's dead on the couch."

My heart squeezed at his serious delivery, the kind that only an eight-year-old boy could muster for an imaginary zombie attack. "Ahh, okay. Well, I put on my anti-zombie spray before I came in, so am I safe to proceed?"

His skinny arms squeezed me in a tight hug before he took off again. "Yup!" he called over his shoulder, then tore around the corner and out of sight.

My brother, Logan, popped up off the couch when I came into the family room, dropping a kiss on the top of my head, the same way I'd kissed his son, who was really more like my little brother than my nephew. "How'd it go? What's she like?"

I grimaced. "I need wine before this story."

"That good?"

"Just ... unexpected."

He eyed me, more astute than I wanted him to be. But that wasn't a surprise. Logan had been my constant since day one. When I was born, Logan was nineteen years old. That was the kind of sibling age gap you had when our dad married a woman a couple of decades younger than him later in life.

Fast forward fourteen years—our dad had passed away from a heart attack, and my mom realized that being a young widow of four girls just wasn't the funnest life choice she could make. So she decided not to anymore. The Eat Pray Love option suited her better than parenthood, so Logan became our father figure in the legal sense even though he'd had that role for far longer.

"You'd tell me if I need to step in and talk to someone, right?"

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the irritating flush of embarrassment. His comment was exactly why Beatrice was wary of me. "Yes, Coach."

He bumped shoulders with me as we walked into the kitchen.

"How was your day?" I asked him. "I heard chitchat about some roster changes, but I was too busy with Beatrice starting to really pay attention."

My job was typically pretty far removed from dealing with the players anyway, so it didn't affect me too much.

Or it used to be far removed from the players, I thought, reminded again just how very unhappy Logan would be with this.

Paige, his wife of nine years and the coolest person on the planet, was stirring a boiling pot of pasta. She smiled at me as I poured a glass of white. "How'd it go?"

"Shouldn't I just wait until the other three get here so I don't have to repeat this?"

"No," they answered.

I sank into a stool and took a slow sip of my wine. "She's ... different than Ava. Very …" I searched for the right word that wouldn't make them hate her right away. "She's no-nonsense. Reminds me of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada but like, at seventy-five percent. Not all the way intimidating, but close."

Paige hummed. "Yes, yes, I'm following."

"I'm not," Logan said, folding his arms over his chest. "Who's the devil?"

"We've made you watch it at least three times," I told him. "The fashion internship movie."

"Absolutely would've blocked that from my subconscious. It's been wiped away by Captain Underpants and Transformers."

We all laughed about Emmett's current obsessions. Somewhere in the distance, he roared about defeating the undead.

"Do we like her?" Paige asked.

"I think we might," I answered, glancing back and forth between them. "She's actually giving me a promotion. Or the chance at one, if I want it."

Promotion. Test. Whatever.

Logan smiled. "That's great, Mol."

"Seriously great," Paige said. "What is it?"

I swallowed more wine. "She got Amazon to agree to include Washington in one of their All or Nothing documentaries."

Paige whistled. "No shit." Logan pushed the swear jar in her direction, and she pulled a five from her purse and dumped it in. "There, I'm covered for the night."