by Sasha Gold
He stares, thunderstruck. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”
She gives him a perky grin. “I do, Papacito!”
His look of dismay softens. He chuckles and gives her a heated gaze. “Mm, that’s kind of hot. Spanish. Wow.”
Charlotte rests her elbow on the table and gives a feminine growl. “There’s more where that came from big boy.”
He growls back and then smiles. Here we go. This is the thing that Dane and Charlotte do that make me think there’s actually a snowball’s chance in hell that they’ll last.
“I’m going to miss my Daddy Dane,” Charlotte coos.
Ugh. I steal a look at Miranda who looks as appalled as I feel.
“Well you better hurry back, Chiquita, or I’m going to be muy angry,” Dane says.
Can you believe this guy works for the District Attorney? From what I’ve heard, he’s actually brilliant in the courtroom, but when he acts like this I wonder if he’s as smart as people claim.
Miranda clears her throat. “I have things to do. I need to finish with details for two galas before the wedding. Charlotte, talk with Leah before you run off to save the world. Make sure everything is in place. I need her help with the Calvert Museum Benefit. If she is still tied up with wedding details I might as well cancel. I couldn’t possibly manage on my own.”
“You bet,” Charlotte says in a way that tells me that wedding details are the last thing on her mind.
Miranda takes the almost empty chardonnay bottle and slinks out of the room. Charlotte and Dane are flirting with each other from across the table. Moments later they’re out the door. I’m assuming they’re going either to his apartment or hers to spend a little time together before she leaves. They are both a little bit of a mess, but one thing’s for sure, they’re crazy about each other.
The idea that Miranda has added things to my ever-expanding to-do list makes me wilt a little. She’s not exactly the evil stepmother. She’s not abusing me or anything terrible. I’m certainly no Cinderella.
Now that I’m alone I pull out my phone and read the text from Riley. His words make me shiver. They’re intense and send a shot of desire through my body.
Back out of dinner and I’m coming for you.
Chapter Three
Leah
I stand at the back of my family’s property at the little service entrance that’s for the help… lawn care guys or whatever. This is where I’ve come to wait for the cab. He’s prompt. Thank goodness. I called him a half hour ago because Miranda said she needed to borrow my car. Hers had mud on the bumper. Lewis, has the night off from driving, so I had to call a cab company and pray they’d come through for me.
I get in and give the driver the address of the restaurant. This stealth stuff is not really my bag. Miranda didn’t leave for her meeting until six thirty and I couldn’t get ready until she was gone. I could have just told her I was leaving and if she didn’t like it she could go to hell, but she controls the purse strings. I have to stay on her good side so she’ll pay for my last semester of school. Otherwise, I’m on my own and an unfinished art history degree won’t exactly wow people at job interviews.
My phone buzzes. Do I need 2 come get you Rapunzel?
No. On my way. In a cab.
I wait for a response but he doesn’t text me back. The cab cruises through the leafy neighborhood and soon we’re on the highway heading downtown. This is the first time I’ve gotten dressed up to go out on my own in ages. Since I came home from school all I did was take care of Dad or help Miranda with her pet projects. I used to go out with friends when I was in school. I can hardly imagine going bar-hopping with them anymore.
In the last year, I fell out of touch with many of them. They’d text me and tell me how trashed they were getting while I was spending the evening researching drugs and their side-effects. I couldn’t really relate to them anymore and they couldn’t understand what I was going through, or even why I’d agreed to do it.
I’ve always been a little more intense than any of them. I prided myself on coming into college with over forty hours of credit, the result of online classes and college level work I completed in high school. Every one told me to slow down, even my instructors.
The trip downtown goes by fast. I feel like I have no time to prepare. Nerves taut like bow strings. We’re stopped at a light a block away from the place he picked, an exclusive members-only restaurant down on the River Walk. I look past the driver and see him leaning against a lamppost. I let out a slow breath. My heart seizes in my chest because it's almost painful to see him again. So much has happened since I last saw him. The light turns green and the cab pulls through the intersection. The driver puts on his blinker.
I want to tell him to keep driving, that I’ve changed my mind. My pulse drums in my ears. Riley sees me and pushes off the lamppost and comes to the curb. The taxi rolls to a standstill. Riley opens the door and smiles at me.
“Well, hi there, pretty girl.”
My response sticks in my throat. I take his hand and let him help me out of the car. He nods at the driver and pays the guy with two twenties.
Even with my heels, he’s a head taller than me. His hair seems darker and he has a beard. Not long, but short and groomed. He probably grows one so fewer people recognize him but I can’t imagine that works too well.
I’m a bundle of nerves, shy, awkward, giddy, but I can’t take my eyes from him. Riley Tarrant, standing a foot away from me. He holds me in his gaze like he can’t believe it either and then he grins and sweeps me into his arms.
I revel in the feeling of his embrace and close my eyes. His chest feels like granite as he holds me tightly. He practically lifts me off my feet. I know I shouldn’t do this in public. I never know if someone might recognize me and snap a picture. I’m not wearing my usual invisibility cloak, an over-sized hoodie. No matter. I still want him to hold me like this forever.
My senses reel. I drink in his scent. It’s masculine, clean, and powerful.
“Look at your beard. You look like a lumberjack,” I tease. “A well-dressed lumberjack.”
He keeps me in his embrace. “Hey, I wore a suit and tie just for you.”
Cupping my shoulders he steps back and gives me a once over. “Even prettier than you were on our trip. Didn’t think it was possible.”
I stare into his fathomless gray eyes and I feel completely adrift. Unmoored.
“Thank you. You look so different.” I tear my eyes from his handsome face and let my gaze drift across his massive shoulders and chest. “You look older.” I give a breathless laugh. “Less wimpy.”
His smile reaches his eyes and in spite of his short beard his dimple pops. “You’re the only person who gets away with telling me those things.”
Zinging him with mild insults is something that I started within minutes of meeting him. The back and forth felt natural. We spent a lot of time together on that trip. The whole time Riley and I talked and laughed and exchanged good-natured taunts. We never kissed or really even touched, but I felt a bond I’d never known with another man.
He takes my hand in his, kisses the top. “I’m starving. Let’s eat. I have a lot I want to tell you.”
I walk with him into the restaurant. All I can think of his hand on the small of my back. It would be better if we went in the back or side entrance to avoid being recognized, but I don’t want to sound nervous or paranoid. I’m a complete nobody next to his supernova fame. My heart thrills that I’ve pulled it off, slipped away from the house without anyone knowing. Even more thrilling, I get to see Riley. Finally.
“What do you want to talk about? Business or pleasure?” I ask.
He leans in to speak softly. “Both.”
His voice rumbles and I’m sure I’ve never heard a sexier man. He leads me to a table in the back of the restaurant. A waiter comes for our drink order and Riley orders a bottle of wine.
I stare at him unabashedly. He’s different from what I remember of course, but t
he gestures are all the same. The half-smile, the polite nod as he talks to the waiter while he orders wine. The waiter recognizes him and seems nervous, but Riley acts like it’s no big deal.
“I’m sure you get recognized everywhere,” I say when the waiter leaves.
He shrugs. “Sometimes it’s worse than others. I’ve been in the news for some bad behavior lately.”
“I heard you threatened a fight promoter.”
“The media made a big deal about nothing. It’s settled now.”
His tone is casual. When I first met him he had almost nothing to his name aside from his football stats. Since then he’d amassed a fortune and I could see how that changed him. Before he’d been confident, now he has a little arrogance added in.
“People probably see you as a big paycheck,” I say.
“Some do. Not the people I’m closest to and those are the people I like to do things for. They make everything worthwhile.”
His gaze drifts from my eyes to my lips. I didn’t have time to straighten my hair, but I managed an up do, and my dress is an LBD. I tried on six dresses before I settled on this one and I hope I hit the right note. Sexy but subdued. I’m not even sure what we’re doing is a date so I don’t want to give the wrong message. Actually, I totally want to give the wrong message but don’t have the nerve.
Dressed in a suit, he could have anything in mind, from a date to a business meeting. When I first met him he still had the look of a young man, clean-cut, boy-band hair, but he’s all man now. I glance at his hands. They’re massive and I imagine the force he wields when he faces an opponent. He’s unbeaten. No surprise there.
When the wine comes, the steward wants to pour, but Riley takes the bottle from him and dismisses him.
“I want to pour your wine. You won’t be twenty-one for two months, so I better be the one corrupting a minor. Don’t want them to lose their license.”
Warmth seeps into my chest. When I was in school, he’d send me calla lilies for my birthday. He always remembered even though he denied sending them. The note only said, “Happy Birthday, Angel.” I knew it was him because we had talked about flowers while driving through the Appalachians and I told him these were my favorite. No one else knew it. When I asked him what his favorite flower was, he raised his finger and tapped my lips, as if to tell me to be quiet, and then he said “tulips.” Weeks later it dawned on me that he was teasing.
Riley clinks his glass against mine. “It’s wonderful to see you. I don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”
I take a sip of wine. It warms my throat and I swear the alcohol goes directly to my head. In my nervousness, I forgot to eat lunch and now I feel a little light-headed.
“I’m drinking on an empty stomach,” I confess.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. This makes his shoulders flex and tighten under the fine fabric of his suit.
“I’ll order another bottle.” His eyes glint with mischief.
He makes me feel reckless. “What do I care? I’m not driving.”
“What would your family say if they knew you were fraternizing with the enemy and that he was plying you with wine?”
The thought of my family brings reality crashing back. “They still think you’re a monster.”
The amusement lighting his eyes doesn’t falter. If anything he’s even more pleased and when he leans forward he speaks with a conspiratorial tone. “And you? Is that what you think?”
He’s sizing me up. Do I think he’s a monster? Sometimes I wonder. I’ve seen pictures of him after fights when the ref is holding up his arm. Riley’s gaze is so cold it makes me shiver every time. I’ve seen pictures of what the other guys look like too and none of them are good. Every guy looks like he needs an ambulance. And I remember the trip we made together, the simmering fury I sensed when he spoke of his childhood.
Abandoned by his mother, a ward of the state, he bounced around from foster home to foster home, until he finally found a couple that could handle him. Mr. and Mrs. Tarrant. George Tarrant, a football coach. He looked at Riley and saw a boy who needed to work his body to exhaustion to keep his demons at bay. George and Emily Tarrant were probably the first people to love Riley, and I sensed it was the first time he loved anyone back.
His stare is intense and I try to add a little levity to the heavy feeling. “If I thought you were a monster I wouldn’t have ventured downtown with only twenty dollars in my wallet. Thanks for paying for the cab by the way. I hope you’re buying dinner, otherwise, I’ll be washing dishes.”
He leans back in his chair and smirks. “Leah Mathews, the poor little rich girl.”
“Sad but true. I have credit cards to Neiman’s and Ann Taylor’s and a dozen other stores. Appearances are everything. But actual cash. Not so much. My stepmom tells me I should forget about school and marry well.”
He nods absent-mindedly and motions for the waiter. I listen, half amazed as he orders for me. He gets each of us a steak, but mine is a small filet while his a T-bone. Riley tells the waiter to cook them medium rare and when the man leaves, Riley gives me a smug look.
“I remembered how you like your steak.”
“Impressive. That was a few years ago.”
“It was. But I remember everything about that trip.”
My heartbeat stutters. “I do too.”
He reaches across the candlelit table and clasps my hand. He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t need to. His touch sends a jolt of awareness up my arm. His hand envelopes mine and he tightens his hold before releasing me. A simple gesture, but it derails my thoughts and I have no snappy comeback, just awkward silence. It’s both delicious and agonizing.
A young boy, maybe nine or ten, approaches the table, his eyes shining as he gazes at Riley with unveiled adoration. He holds a pad of paper and a pen in his hand. It’s clear he wants to say something and is star struck by Riley. I understand. Completely.
I hold my breath and watch Riley. He’s known for being reclusive. He’s also known for being hostile when fans or the media approach him. I saw a clip of him leaving an airport last year. The reporter followed him to his limo. He wanted to ask about a brawl Riley had supposedly been involved in. Riley responded, but more than half the words were bleeped out.
“Hey buddy,” Riley says to the boy.
The boy’s mouth opens and snaps shut. He doesn’t move.
Riley gestures for him to come closer. “What ya got there?”
The boy holds the pad out, his hands shake badly. My heart squeezes with sympathy for the petrified child.
Riley takes the paper and pencil. “What’s your name, son?”
“My parents told me it was rude to bother you while you were eating but my brothers dared me and I’m not allowed to see your fights, but my brother has and he says you’re the best.”
Riley grins. “I am the best. For now. Who should I make this out to?”
“Thomas. I want to be a fighter too.”
Riley’s brows raise at this. I half-expect him to say something encouraging but he shakes his head.
“Don’t become a fighter, Thomas.”
“I want to learn to fight so my brothers will stop giving me swirlies.”
Riley’s lips twitch as he writes. “What are you brother’s names?”
The boy’s eyes widen. “Brandon and Will.” He gulps. “Sir.”
Riley flips to the next sheet of paper. “Brandon and Will,” he murmurs as he writes. “Stop giving Thomas swirlies.”
Riley hands the paper back to the boy who looks like he could be knocked over by a feather. When the boy is gone, Riley gives me an awkward smile.
“Sorry,” he says.
“I thought you didn’t give autographs. That’s the rumor.”
“I give kids autographs. They’re always half-terrified and I don’t want to say no. I like them. It’s the adults who are rude.”
Dinner comes and we eat, talking about nothing much. How he trains and
has to follow a certain type of diet, depending on if he’s leading up to a fight or recovering from one. After the meal we each have coffee. I’m so relaxed by now I think I could melt under his warm gaze. He’s every bit as sweet and wonderful as he was years ago. He makes me laugh. A lot.
“I’m thinking of retiring,” he says. “I have one more fight and then I’ll be done.”
I draw a deep breath and feel weight slip from my shoulders. This is what I’ve hoped and prayed for. When I was taking care of my father I thought about Riley all the time, not just because I’m madly in love with him, but because it hurt my heart thinking of him fighting. I thought about him taking blows to the head. No one said my Dad’s college boxing led to his Alzheimer’s, but it probably didn’t help.
“That’s wonderful,” I whisper. My eyes sting and I’m horrified I might cry. I distract myself by stirring cream into my coffee.
“I have a big endorsement offer from a watch company, but they want me to clean up my act,” Riley says. “They want me to pull back on some of my pre-game trash talk. After that, I’m going to work for the networks.”
“As an announcer?” I can hardly imagine him sitting behind a desk, strapped to a mic.
“No, more behind the scenes. Pre-fight stuff.”
Riley’s on to his second career and I haven’t even figured out my first. It’s good though. I’m so relieved. If he can funnel his energy into a new career he can leave the fighting and all that violence behind.
He lowers his voice and the expression in his eyes is solemn. “My publicist said I need to show a wholesome side to balance the beast side. They’re tired of football players and fighters who carouse and brawl. They want a more stable figure. They suggested I marry my girlfriend.”
A lump forms in my throat. All the heady feelings crash to the ground. I’m sick. Did he invite me to dinner to tell me he’s getting married?”
“You’re getting married?” I can barely manage a whisper. “Was that what you wanted to tell me?”
“I hope I’m getting married.”
He looks at his watch and my heart twists. Next thing he’s going to tell me is that he needs to leave so he can meet her somewhere.
