by Erika Kelly
“I want to believe you. So much. But it’s hard to let go of everything I’ve held onto for a decade.”
“What you see in the press…a lot of it’s true. I am partying that much. But…” How did he explain what he didn’t entirely understand? “I guess I feel more like a host.” Whoa—the truth clobbered him. But, yeah, that was exactly how he felt. “It’s too hard to get back into shape once you let yourself go, so I’ve learned to maintain my habits year-round. That means I don’t drink much. And you know I don’t do drugs. I sure as hell don’t stay up all night.”
“Then why do you do throw all these parties? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Because I’m captain, and if my guys don’t spend time together—don’t bond—then we don’t win. We have to be in sync.”
She looked at him like what he’d said didn’t make sense. But, then, she wasn’t the quarterback of a professional football team.
“I don’t remember my dad working so hard on bonding.”
“Well, he had a wife and kids.” Something clicked inside him, klieg lights blazing in a stadium. “You grew up in this perfect family, where everything revolved around you and your sisters. I didn’t grow up like that. My parents…we lived in New Jersey, and they both commuted into New York City for work. They worked on Wall Street, and they were never home. I grew up with nannies, and when they had to get home to their families, I was dropped off at a friend’s house. I don’t think there was a day when I felt like anything other than a problem that needed to be dealt with. Every morning, my mom and dad had the same conversation. ‘I have to work late, can you get Cassian from karate? No, I have to get out this proposal. You do it, no, you do it.’”
“And then you moved into Griffin’s room, and he made your life a living hell.” She watched him for a moment. “You never felt like you belonged anywhere.”
“I belonged with you.” I still do.
She looked away, her features wrenched with a mix of anguish and frustration. “You said those same words ten years ago. And then you kissed Ashton. Can you see how it’s hard for me to trust you?”
“Yes, I can. But I’m a man now, and I’m trying to put us back together again.”
“But you can’t, Cassian. It’s not about one thing you did, one choice you made. That night, yes, you were upset, it was an impossible situation, but your go-to response was to kiss my best friend. Right in front of me. You led her up those stairs. You meant to hurt me.”
“I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. I wasn’t thinking.”
“That’s my point. It was your immediate reaction. All I know is, if I’d been in your shoes, I would never have kissed your friend. I don’t know what I would’ve done, but I would never have carved your heart out and thrown it on the ground. I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again.” She got up, grabbing her phone and keycard. “But the real issue is I don’t know how to believe in myself anymore.”
“Hey, it’s time to get going.” Kevin approached the small group gathered outside the hospital’s community room. “Why don’t you guys head out to the van? We’ll be right behind you.”
“Sure thing.” Cassian took one last look at the actor. Always the last to leave, Macy had turned out to have the softest heart of all of them. While she kept to herself, reading scripts on the plane and in the vans, never joining them for shared meals, she gave her whole self to the kids. She was warm, interested, and incredibly engaging.
The group of them left, giving final handshakes to the staff. Outside, freshly mown grass scented the Kentucky air, and the van’s engine rumbled to life when the driver saw them coming out the doors.
When Gigi slid into the very back, Cassian shot ahead of the others so he could sit next to her. Up on her knees, she had her back to him, as she fit her guitar case into the narrow trunk space. When she turned back around and saw him, she rolled her eyes. “Slick move.”
“Gaining yardage is pretty much what I do for a living.”
She settled in, reaching for the seat belt. “Are you telling me you tackled people just to sit next to me?”
He wanted to touch her very blonde hair, cup her cheek, and run a thumb along that plump bottom lip. “I’m telling you I have three days left, and I’m going to take every chance I have to be with you.”
She dug through her black leather tote. “You should probably save your moves for training camp. After this tour, I go back to LA, and you go to Calamity. So…big waste of energy.”
“Have you seen me on the field? I’m a boss at extending the play. I can take three days and turn them into a lifetime.”
The stark yearning in her eyes gripped him hard.
She wants us to work out.
She wants me.
Grant slid into the seat in front of them, giving them both a chin nod.
“Or at least make them feel like a lifetime.” She muttered it under her breath.
He chuckled. “No one does a better job of cutting me down to size.”
“With your gigantic ego, it’d barely be noticeable.”
“Well, aren’t we saucy this afternoon?” He kind of liked it. Because this time her jabs lacked anger. Mostly, she sounded frustrated.
She quit fidgeting and looked him right in the eye. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“Like?”
“Like my career is up in the air, and I’d really hoped to write some songs on this trip, and I haven’t.”
“That song you and Grant wrote’s a good one.”
“It is.”
“You normally write more than one great song a week?”
She smiled. “No.”
“Okay, then. Good job.” He held up his hand for a high-five, but she just shook her head at him like he was being ridiculous.
Exhaust filtered in through the open side vents, so he closed his, then reached across to shut hers. He glanced down just in time to see her checking out his biceps. He flexed them. “You can touch it. Come on. You know you want to.”
She laughed and pushed him away. “No wonder Elena screamed at you outside the Ivy. The whole world thinks it was about you ghosting her, but the truth is that you probably walked past her table and said, ‘You can touch my hard, squat-sculpted ass. You know you want to.’” Her voice went low, her tone arrogant.
He barked out a laugh that had heads turning in the van. “That’s a good line. Wish I’d thought of it.” But, since she’d brought it up, he wouldn’t mind addressing the situation. “You know better than to believe what you read in the tabloids. I met her at a club in Ibiza. I never thought I’d see her again.”
“You were on a boat with her for an entire week and never thought you’d see her again?”
“Believe me, she never set foot on it. I met her in a club in town, and I wound up spending a total of two hours with her.”
Wearing her signature big, round sunglasses, the actor took the last seat. Slamming the door, Kevin sat beside the driver, and the van took off.
“Well, with the way you flirt with women, it’s no wonder it meant more to her than it did to you. You’re very convincing.”
“I honestly don’t think I’m flirting. I’m just being nice. Friendly.”
“You want everyone to like you.”
The truth hung in the air between them. He couldn’t deny how deeply it resonated with him.
And it shamed him.
He’d never seen himself that way, as a guy who needed to be liked.
Fortunately, the chatter in the van grew loud enough to compensate for their lapse in conversation.
He wanted to talk about something lighter, something that didn’t make him look so…weak. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
He grabbed her tote.
“Hey.”
Reaching in for a paper bag from the coffee shop where they’d grabbed a bite to eat on their way out the door, he pulled out a napkin and balled it up. “I dare you to hit Macy in the head.”
“She’
s one of the most famous actors in the world. I’m not hitting her in the head.”
“That’s a clear breach of the rules.”
“I don’t care about the rules of a stupid game, I’m not throwing something at an Academy Award-winning actor.”
“Is it stupid, though? Truth or Dare is the ultimate test of courage. The unwillingness to face a challenge is the true test of character.”
“Huh. I always thought the true test is what we do under pressure.” She gave him a pointed look.
Ah, hell. She had him there. “Are you referring to something I did as a child? Well, today, right now, the pressure’s on you, a fully formed adult. Let’s see what you’re made of.” He held out the napkin.
She snatched it out of his hand. “She’s going to think I’m crazy.”
“Or she’s going to be impressed with your courage.”
She laughed. “You’re nuts.”
He tipped his chin. Do it.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She hurled the napkin, and it landed between the actor and the retired baseball player next to her. Both of them jerked back, looking to see what had happened. Gigi fought back laughter.
Cassian pulled out another napkin. “Your target is literally ten feet in front of you. You can at least try to impress me.”
She balled up the napkin and let it fly, hitting Macy in the back of the head.
The woman smoothed a hand down her hair and slowly turned. “For a second there, I thought I was on a road trip with my children.”
“We’re playing Truth or Dare,” Gigi said. “And he’s being an idiot.”
The actor’s gaze slid to Cassian. He was glad she wasn’t his mother, because that expression would have him scrambling to rinse his dishes and put them in the dishwasher.
The others had gone rigid and silent, the tension high.
But, then, Macy said, “Truth or Dare?”
He nodded, giving her an easy grin.
“I’m in.”
The others burst out laughing.
“Anything’s better than reading yet another script where I’m the bitchy stepmother.”
Chapter Nine
Apparently, throwing a napkin at Macy’s head had knocked the stick out of her butt, because instead of going straight to her room, she gathered with the group in the lobby after check-in to discuss dinner plans.
Although, it could’ve had more to do with spending time with the patients. While there was nothing so satisfying as watching those faces light up with happiness, it was also emotionally draining. Behind their joyful smiles, Gigi knew the kids and their families were fighting the battle of their lives. Watching a mom blink back tears when her son, who’d spent half his life in the oncology wing, shook his idol’s hand, well…it just put a lot of things into perspective.
And you need to talk about it. Their group had begun gathering in the evenings to share their experiences.
“Okay, the restaurant can’t accommodate all of us at one table,” Kevin said, returning from the hostess station. “So, I’m going to ask the manager about renting a banquet room.”
“My suite’s like an apartment,” Cassian said. “Let’s have it there.”
“Yeah?” Kevin asked with a tone that said, You sure?
Cassian nodded.
“Great. Let me grab some menus and—”
“I’m cooking.”
Everyone shot a look at the big, badass quarterback.
“Oh, you don’t want to do that.” Kevin seemed surprised at the suggestion. “There are fifteen of us.”
“I got it.” Cassian sounded confident.
“You cook?” Gigi asked.
“I’m single. Of course, I cook.”
“I’m not eating any of those green smoothie things.” The retired baseball player stuck out his tongue like it had a hair on it. “My days of eating veggies are done and gone.”
“I got you,” Cassian said. “Nothing green for you.”
Gigi was still fixated on the fact that he made his own meals. “Don’t you have a chef or something?”
“For just me? No. Besides, I like to cook. It gets my mind off a lousy play or the latest social media scandal about me.”
“If only that worked for me,” Grant said, and everyone smiled.
“If you’re sure, then let me know what I can do to help,” Kevin said.
“Just show up at seven for hors d’oeuvres and cocktails.”
Gigi snorted. “Did the Bad Boy Quarterback just say hors d’oeuvres? Are you actually going to make them or are you opening bags of chips and pretzels?”
“You have so little faith in me.” When he grinned like that, all cocky and playful, she got hot and restless.
To be honest, the whole party animal persona had lost its power. She saw him now, and he wasn’t anything close to how the media depicted him.
She’d never fully trust him again, of course, but letting go of the hate…it was huge.
Cassian turned to Kevin. “My sous chef and I will have everything ready. All you have to do is provide the booze.”
Kevin grinned. “I can do that.” He clapped Cassian on the back. “Okay, I’ll see everyone at seven.”
She watched the group disperse, surprised that no one had offered to help. “You shouldn’t have to cook for everyone all by yourself.”
“I agree. That’s why I’ve got a sous chef.”
She stopped herself from making a crack about the woman behind the reception desk who’d been eyeing him since they’d checked in. It was time to kick that knee-jerk reaction to the curb. “And who would that be?”
He gave her a sexy grin and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tugging her against him. “Only my most favorite person in the world.”
They rolled the cart along the far wall of the store, past eggs, milk, cheese, and yogurt. Gigi couldn’t believe the way everyone blatantly checked Cassian out. It was easy for her to go incognito—all she had to do was skip the costume and fix her hair a different way.
But Cassian? The worn baseball cap set low on his forehead might disguise the top half of his face, but it didn’t make him invisible.
He strolled, eyeing every single thing in the refrigerated case but choosing nothing.
“What exactly are you cooking?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
That body—all tight, hard muscles and tan skin—made everyone doubletake on him. Dark brown hair curled out the back of the hat like a duck tail. Cassian projected potent masculinity, and once spotted, no one could take her eyes off him.
She was no different. No matter how much time she spent with him, that jittery sensation wouldn’t ease. It was like the crush that wouldn’t die. “Yeah, but we have to start somewhere. Are we making meat? Pasta? Oh, we could do lasagna. That’s super easy.”
“You can make lasagna if you want.”
“You don’t like lasagna?”
“I don’t eat white flour, tomato sauce, or much dairy, so…no.”
“What’s wrong with tomato sauce?”
“Tomatoes are a nightshade vegetable, which means they’re inflammatory.”
“Right. Strict diet.”
He stopped at the cheese section, tossing a wheel of brie in the cart. “I don’t view it as strict. I just educate myself and use the ingredients that maximize my health and performance.”
“That’s a good attitude. So, what do you eat?”
“Mostly just vegetables, meat, whole grains, and legumes.”
She hip-checked him and took over the cart.
“Hey. Where are you going?”
“You don’t eat dairy.”
“But other people do.”
“You’re cooking. It’s your food. And I’m going to guess you cook as well as you play ball, so they’ll love whatever you make.” She turned down a random aisle. “If you were home tonight, what would you make?”
“It’s Friday, so I’d eat leftovers.”
“You’re very
annoying. Let’s pretend it’s—”
“Sunday. Because that’s when I cook for the week.”
“Okay, Sunday…wait, how did I not know this?”
“Because I didn’t cook when I was seventeen?”
She stopped to face him. “No, I mean, how come you’re all over the media for threesomes and models shrieking at you, but not for your football camp or your cooking skills?”
Passing a mom with two kids playing in her cart, they split up and met on the other side. “I’d like to keep my camp on the down-low for as long as possible. First, I don’t want anyone to associate me with Calamity, but secondly, I don’t want paparazzi hanging around, disturbing the kids and their families.”
“I wonder how long that’ll last.”
“This is our third year, and it’s worked so far.”
She’d chosen the wrong aisle to cruise. They didn’t need canned fruit or vegetables. “I think it’s amazing that you do it. Those kids are lucky. How do you choose who gets to go?”
“We research community demographics, talk to rec centers and schools, looking for the kids we think will be a good fit for our program.”
“Oh, so they don’t just apply?”
“It wouldn’t work very well if we did that. It’s pretty intense physically, so we’re looking for the right fit. When we find them, we offer scholarships.” He lifted his cap, ran fingers through his hair, and set it back down, tugging until he got it where he wanted. “And why would I be in the news for cooking?”
“Because it’s the opposite of your playboy persona. People should know things like that about you.”
“They know what the press tells them.”
“That’s my point. Be a guest chef at a restaurant. Do a football clinic at the stadium over spring break. You don’t have to be a victim to the press. Do things that showcase a whole other side of you. Invite them to see it.” She pushed around the corner, turning up the next aisle. “Okay, so, it’s Sunday night, what ingredients are you buying?”
“A big bag of quinoa, a pile of fresh vegetables. Some unsalted broth. Maybe some garbanzo beans. And lots of fresh herbs.”
“Fresh herbs? The badass football player buys fresh herbs?”
