Pick Six: A Quick Snap Novella

by S. A. Clayton

  “Now, Ashley, we both know you're no liar. You do know why those reporters are outside.”

  I deflate and lean back against the chair because…she's right. I do know why they're here, and it's useless to pretend I don't.

  “When did you start dating him?” she asks, her voice sounding a little less irritated and more concerned.

  “Marcy, I don't see how that's relevant,” I say quietly. I’m usually not one to talk back, but I’ve pretty much had my fill of people asking about my love life.

  Marcy nods slightly, then takes off her glasses and places them on the desk in front of her. When she pinches the bridge of her nose, I take a deep breath. That usually means she's frustrated, and that won’t end well for me.

  “Fine. You're right.” My eyes meet hers, and I see that at least she looks apologetic.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have asked you. I know none of this is your fault. I’m just worried about you—and this hotel.”

  I give her a curt nod because. Of course, she's worried about this hotel. Who would want to stay here when there is a sea of reporters outside?

  “Marcy, you have to know that I would never do anything to hurt the hotel.”

  She gives me a skeptical look, and I lean back against my chair.

  “I’m serious. When I met Brooks, I had no idea who he was. He was just the good-looking guy sitting next to me on a plane. When I got home, Daisey actually explained who he is and why he's a big deal.”

  Marcy’s look when I tell her that I had no idea who Brooks was, sets us both up for a fit of laughter.

  “Ashley, honey. How can you not know who he is? His face is on almost every billboard around town.”

  I shake my head, smiling for the first time since I got to work.

  “I know. Now, I see him everywhere I go. But at the time, I just thought he was a nice guy who wanted to get to know me. Not some famous football star with all this extra baggage.”

  Because this was baggage.

  Is he worth it?

  “Okay, here's the thing. I don't really want you here when all of this is going on—”

  I go to say something, anything to make her see that I love this job and don't want to lose it, but she stops me.

  “I am not firing you or suspending you.” I take a deep breath but then give her a confused look because I have no idea what her plan is here.

  “You haven't taken a vacation in years,” she states.

  I hold up my hand. “Um, I just went to that conference in Dallas.”

  She rolls her eyes and picks up her glasses before placing them on her face and looking at her computer.

  “You have ten weeks of unused vacation time. Ten weeks, Ash. And you know full well that going on a work trip is not a vacation. What I’m asking is that you take some of that time and stay home for a while. Relax. Try and figure out what to do from here on out. I’m here if you need to talk. Your job will be here when you get back, but I need you to take that vacation. Now. Not only because of what's happening outside, but also because you need the rest. You've worked your ass off since you were sixteen, and I need you here long-term.”

  She wasn’t wrong. I haven't taken a vacation in forever, I never stop working. So, if she's making me take a few weeks off… I’ll do it.

  I give her a curt nod and stand. “How many weeks do you want me to take?” I ask, hoping she doesn't want me to take all ten. I don’t think I can be by myself for that long and not go insane.

  “Let's start with two. You can see how everything goes, and we’ll talk and see how you're feeling. Determine if you're ready to come back.”

  “What if I want to come back after one?”

  She throws a crumpled-up piece of paper at me, and I start laughing.

  “You are not to come back after one. You need to take some time off. If I have to lock you inside your house to make you do it, I will.” Her wink tells me she's joking, but the Marcy I know will make sure I take the vacation she thinks I need.

  It took me an extra twenty minutes to get home because I drove all around town, trying to lose the reporters that decided it was a good idea to follow me the moment I left the parking lot. What I didn't expect was to learn evasive driving maneuvers. Clearly, those bastards would do anything for a picture, including almost driving me off the road...twice.

  By the time I finally turn onto my street and check my rearview mirror to make sure I lost them all, I take in the first full breath since I got to work that morning.

  The longer I drive, the more annoyed I get. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to get myself in this situation. I knew going out with someone like Brooks would come with some hiccups. I just never thought it would be this bad. At least, not this fast. I thought I could slowly get used to the idea of strangers knowing my name.

  The gavel comes down even more when I turn on the radio and hear my name being mentioned. As I listen to the commentators contemplate who I am and wonder if I’m good enough for a superstar like Brooks, I know the decision I need to make.

  When I see my driveway, I do a double-take because Brooks is sitting on my front step, looking fucking handsome as ever—even with the worry that clearly crosses his features. He watches me pull up, and the moment I open my door, he's off the front step and making his way toward me. I know if I don't stop this now, I'll cave. However, right now, I need time to figure out what I can handle when it comes to a relationship with Brooks.

  “Don't,” I say as I get out of the car. He steps back, giving me space.

  “What do you mean…don't? I just wanted to make sure you're okay,” he says as I try to ignore him the best I can so I can gather my thoughts.

  “You want to know if I'm okay?” I say, ignoring his open arms as I head for the front porch. The idea of being held by him right now makes me want to throw out every plan I made on the way here and cry. Instead, I stop at the stairs and turn.

  “You think I’m okay after getting to work, only to be surrounded by reporters asking how I know you? Or wondering if I slept with you?”

  He flinches and stops a few inches from me.

  “You think I'm okay with being told to take a two-week vacation because my employers want to make sure all of this dies down before I come back? Or maybe I should be fine hearing my name on the radio, the hosts talking about whether I'm good enough for you.”

  His eyes fill with confusion, and I silently beg him to say something, anything. He doesn't. And, honestly, I don't blame him.

  “Or maybe it should be driving home, only to be chased by people that want a good photo of me and will do anything to get it.”

  His eyes bulge, and he balls his hands into fists at his sides. But just as quickly as the anger surfaces, it dissipates when his eyes meet mine.

  “What can I do?” His eyes plead with me to understand. “What can I do to make this easier for you?”

  “I don't think there's anything you can do.”

  His expression falls. At that moment, I know I'm making the right call, even if every fiber of my being yells at me to do the exact opposite.

  “I think I need some space. See if this dies down. Maybe then we can reevaluate.”

  “Okay, I can do that,” he says, coming closer. I back away, not trusting myself around him.

  “For how long?”

  I dread answering that because I know the answer won’t be what he wants to hear. It’s not what I want either, but I know it's for the best.

  “I don't know.”

  “You don't know?”

  I shake my head.

  “So, that's it. One night and you're done?”

  I can tell how angry he is, but I know it's coming from a place of uncertainty. And from the pit growing in my stomach, I'm in the same boat.

  “Brooks, I really like you. You know that.” He shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets, almost as if trying to physically stop himself from touching me.

  “But right now, this is all too much for me. I�
��m not used to this kind of attention. I know you are, and that's fine. But for me, it's affecting my safety and my life.” He nods his head solemnly.

  “Just for the record, I hate this idea,” he mumbles, and I smile warmly. This is the last thing I want to do, but we both know it's for the best.

  “I know.” I expect him to walk away and leave. Instead, he prowls toward me, then grabs each side of my face and pulls my lips to his. The kiss isn't gentle, it's not sweet. It's passionate, full of lust, and I know in that second that not having him in my life will be excruciating.

  “This isn't goodbye,” he murmurs as his forehead touches mine for a split second before he lets go and walks back to his truck, not once looking back.

  Chapter 10

  Brooks

  “What’s wrong with you?” my best friend Dave says from the other side of the room. We've been at the gym for a few hours, and I know I’m going harder than I normally do. But right now, I have some extra anger that needs to be released. If I don’t, I’ll just end up punching a wall.

  “What?” I grunt as I do my last set of deadlifts and drop the weights to the floor, causing the room to vibrate from the sound. Dave stays silent until our eyes meet. That's when I see the genuine look of concern on his face.

  “Nothing is wrong, I’m just having a bad day.” Day? Try week. That’s how long it's been since Ash told me to leave—and I obeyed. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I knew from the look in her eye that she needed time, and I was willing to do it for her. Still am. The only issue is that I keep waiting for her to call, text…anything. But all I'm getting is radio silence.

  “Bullshit,” Dave grunts as he steps away from his bench and sets down his hand weights. He heads over to where I'm hunched over, trying to catch my breath. Normally, I work out with the team, but being around those guys is a nightmare right now. All they want to do is talk about the news stories that seem to come one after the other lately, no matter how hard my publicist tries to make them go away. I know they're just ribbing me good-naturedly, but ever since Ash told me to leave her alone, it's been hard.

  “What do you want me to say?” I ask, evading the question and hoping he’ll leave it the hell alone so I can get back to putting my body through hell.

  “I want you to tell me why you're working out with me instead of the team. And I also want to know why you keep looking at your phone every five minutes like a teenager in high school.”

  “You're way too nosy for your own good, you know that?”

  He gives me his megawatt smile that I know his wife loves.

  “It's my job to notice things.” I throw a towel at him because he's right. Being a security guard at the stadium means he has to notice the small things. But that aspect of his job is making me hate him right now.

  “Sometimes, I hate you,” I mumble. He chuckles and places a hand on my shoulder. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I know what's coming. I start to roll my eyes before he even speaks.

  “You love me. Now, tell me what's going on. Does it have anything to do with that girl plastered all over my television?” I tap the end of my nose as I groan and let my head fall into my open hands.

  “I thought that was going well. That's what Amy said anyway.”

  I don't even want to know how his wife knows anything about my love life, but I stay silent and simply rub my face. If I hope hard enough, maybe this will all be over soon, and I can get back to sweating so much that I’ll forget about my life for a minute.

  I immediately realize that isn’t going to happen. “I never saw her coming, man,” I start, deciding to just let it all out. I mean, I tried working myself to the point of exhaustion, and that didn’t work.

  “She just sat beside me on my way home from Mom and Dad’s. Then, all of a sudden, she was nowhere to be found, and I got this sinking feeling that I just lost something precious. You know?”

  He nods.

  “I knew I needed to do something to find her.”

  “So, that's when you sent the tweet?”

  I nod, not really knowing if what I did ended up hurting more than anything. But I can't think about that right now.

  “You found her, and then what?”

  How could I explain to him what happened on our date? How do I put into words the feeling of utter relief I felt when I was with her? By her side and inside her?

  It wasn’t easy to articulate and make clear to anyone else—even my best friend.

  “I fell hard, that's what happened.”

  “After one date? You fell hard after one night with her?”

  I can tell he doesn't believe me, and I know that no matter what I say, he won't get it. So, I just nod and lapse into silence.

  “So what are you going to do now?” he asks after a few minutes. I just shrug because there's really nothing I can do right now.

  “Nothing. She couldn't handle the press, and I don't blame her. They tried to drive her off the road, man.”

  He flinches.

  “She asked for space, so…I’m going to give her that.”

  “You're a better man than me,” he says jokingly. When he sees the look on my face, he sobers.

  “You know you can go after her, right? You can make her see your side. Realize that you're better together.”

  I shake my head.

  “What do you mean, no? What's stopping you?”

  “She's stopping me. She asked me to stay away. I can't crowd her. I'm not that guy. I might want to go to her house, bang on the door, and demand that she talk to me, but I know that will only make things worse. So, I’m going to sit here with you and complain about it until it doesn't make me want to punch something.”

  With those words he gets up, nods his head, and holds out his hand to help me up.

  “If you need me to spot you, let me know.”

  And then, as if the last ten minutes didn’t happen, he goes back to working out.

  If only I could take my mind off Ashley that easily.

  Maybe I could forget that I might have just ruined the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  Chapter 11

  Ashley

  “You look like shit,” Daisey says as she sits beside me on the couch, taking in the discarded chocolate bar wrappers, wine glasses, and used Kleenex on the floor.

  “Thanks so much. Love you, too,” I mutter as she crouches in front of me, taking the wine glass from my hand and placing it on the coffee table in front of me.

  “Ash, you know I love you, but this is just sad and pathetic.”

  Way to make a girl feel good when she's down, I think as I pull the blanket away from my face. I don't hesitate to bury my head in the pillows, wanting nothing more than to escape this reality. I feel like everything around me is so out of control, and I have no idea how to rein it all in.

  “What do you want me to say? That I’m sad the guy I was falling for is famous, and I can't handle what comes with that? Because we all know that part.”

  “Then what? What's got you this twisted?” I sit up and face her, the blanket pooling in my lap.

  “I’m pissed that I never got the chance.”

  “The chance to what?”

  I take a deep breath and tilt my head back so I can look at the ceiling and not my best friend, who is waiting for me to articulate something I can't even figure out for myself.

  “The chance to fall in love with him,” I say.

  When our eyes meet again, Daisey’s are filled with confusion.

  “The feelings I had when I was with Brooks were all-consuming. And even though we only saw each other for two days, and spent just the one night together, it felt like the start of something spectacular, you know?”

  She nods as I get up off the couch and head into the bathroom. When I get back, Daisey is holding my phone in her hand, reading something.

  “How long has Brooks been texting you?” she asks as I make my way into the room and sit down beside her.

  “Since I
told him to leave,” I murmur. I don't really know what else to say at this point. I don't want to tell her that these texts have gotten me through some long nights alone. That, although not entirely helpful, they are the reason I get up each morning. Or that they just make me wish things were different.

  “And I'm guessing from your lack of response that you've ignored him.”

  I shrug, sitting back on the couch and pulling the blanket over my legs.

  “I’m still confused, angry, scared. Hurt…” I drift off before I name every emotion known to mankind.

  “Hurt?” she asks with a bit of bite to her tone. I avoid her eyes knowing she's about to drop some wisdom.

  “Ash, it's okay to feel these things. But you know it's not his fault, right? He can't control what those assholes do, let alone avoid it.”

  “If it wasn't for that fucking tweet, this never would have been a big deal.”

  Daisey bursts out laughing and throws my phone onto my lap.

  “If you believe that, you are the biggest idiot on the planet.”

  My eyes shoot to hers, tears threatening to fall.

  “Those words might work on Brooks, but not me. So, rein it in, because a lecture is coming,”

  I roll my eyes and hope she's quick for once.

  “Brooks Davis is one of the most famous football players in the league. Not just in Seattle, but in the entire United States. So, get the bullshit that this wouldn't have happened if he hadn't tweeted about it out of your head, because that's a lie. The media would have found out regardless, and it would have ended up exactly like this. Granted, you might have had a few more weeks before it got this intense, but the end result would be the same.”

  I shake my head, prepared to fight her, but she holds up a hand.

  “You need to pull up your big girl panties and fight for him. He's not going to do it for you. The man is respecting your wishes. Honestly, I love him for that. But you need to let him do what he does best and that’s get that pick-six and take it all the way to the house.”