by K. K. Allen
“Easy.” He answers without thinking, so I give him a second to consider his own words.
It’s not easy. Easy would entail him not playing in the NFL.
“Football players date. They get married, have babies, take care of families even. It doesn’t matter what time of year it is. Football is demanding during the season, sure, but we have lives outside of the game.” He tilts his head as if it finally clicks. “Is it that? Is me playing football a problem for you?”
I shrug, not meeting his eyes. We’re getting far too close to broaching topics I can’t talk about with him. “It’s not the kind of relationship I want.”
“This”—he points between us— “is just two people getting to know each other. How can you possibly know this won’t work for you?”
“I just know!”
He flinches as if I’d slapped him, and I instantly regret my reaction. But Zach makes me feel … unbalanced. Like he knows me better than I know myself, which is impossible. He doesn’t know half of it. If he did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Taking a breath, I continue weakly. “And it sucks.”
With that, a piece of my mask falls. I may look put-together and confident to everyone else, but I’m just a girl with a confused heart who hides behind bold outfits and perfect makeup. This guise, I learned from my mother. Maybe we’re more alike than I’ve ever wanted to admit.
“Thank you for dinner tonight, Zach. I’ll never forget it.”
I shuffle out of the Jeep and approach my car, key shaking in my hand. I’m stepping into my car when I hear Zach’s door open.
Turning, I almost expect him to demand more from me—or maybe I want him to demand more. But it doesn’t matter what I want. What he wants. I’ve seen firsthand where this kind of attraction could lead. It’s like fate has already decided for us. And a bomb waits, ready to explode with one step in the wrong direction.
No. Our paths are laid out for us, brick roads made of different colors, leading in different directions. He’ll go his way. I’ll go mine.
My heart spasms in my chest as he steps forward, but when he hands me the box of leftover cake, it seizes with disappointment. “Don’t forget this.”
He’s not even looking into my eyes anymore. Zach will forget all about me in a few days. He’ll be busy with football and distracted by the beautiful women who would never turn away at a moment like this. Tonight was memorable, but fleeting. And I have no choice but to be okay with that.
I take the cake and slip it into the passenger seat before standing to say goodbye. “Good luck this season.”
He lifts his tight jaw in acknowledgement, but his stare drifts off into the distance. We stay like this, quiet, for several seconds. Every single one brings a pang to my chest.
Our eyes finally lock, and instinct tells me to step forward, to bridge the small gap between us. But I hesitate, because it doesn’t feel small. It feels deep and gaping. I could fall and there’s no telling what waits on the other side.
Fuck it. I take the step and let my arms circle his waist, drawing his eyes to mine. His expression softens, telling me so much about him, more than I’ve already learned tonight. Zach’s emotions run soul-deep, and he’s not afraid to express them.
I bite back a smile before I speak. “Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory … lasts forever.”
An infectious smile blooms on his face before he can stop it, and I find myself smiling too. “Impressive and appropriate. The Replacements, huh?”
I shrug. “It’s one of my favorite movies.”
Just when I think the tension has been defused, he places his thumb on my bottom lip and draws a line across the sensitive skin as if memorizing the texture, wanting to burn it into his memory. “Thanks, Cakes.”
There it is. The nickname that awakens every nerve ending in my body. I’m going to miss it.
When his forehead lands on mine, my eyes fall shut. I never want to let him go. But I have to. This man might have already ruined me, but I won’t ruin him.
His lips brush mine, and instead of pulling away like I should, I cave.
It’s just one kiss.
One.
Last.
Kiss.
Our lips only caress for a moment before he slides his mouth to my ear and releases a breath that has me clinging to him. “It goes against everything I believe in to let you drive away.” I shiver in his hold. “So don’t you dare for a second think that I want to.”
I smile into his chest and then climb into my car with a heavy heart. I want to look back. I almost do. But this is for the best … I hope.
Chloe and I walk out the BelleCurve doors at five o’clock on the dot, which is a rare occurrence for us both, and stroll arm-in-arm to my apartment. I live just two blocks from the office in an insanely nice building on First Street, but looks can be deceiving.
With seven hundred and ten square feet, I have what I need. Because I live so close to work, I rarely need to use my old clunker of a car. The place is safe and convenient, and although the price is steep for the square footage, I’m saving money in other ways.
When I first moved to Washington I’d chosen a cheaper place south of Seattle and regretted it for an entire year. Not only was traffic ridiculous, but the money I was spending on gas was insane, and the apartment wasn’t even worth it.
As I change into my comfy clothes, Chloe gets a call from Gavin, so I tidy up. I start with my sewing crap in the living room, which I toss on my bed, and then I step into the kitchen to find us something to snack on while I wait. We might get takeout later, but I grab two cans of tuna and a box of crackers to tide us over.
I plop down on the couch and turn on the TV, flipping channels until I’ve found an entertainment news station. Chloe walks in and joins me just as I’m digging into the tuna.
“Yum,” she moans sarcastically.
“What?” I say, clutching the can in defense.
“Is this all you have at your house? When are you going to learn how to cook?”
I roll my eyes. “Never. Who needs to cook when there are perfectly nice establishments within walking distance from my home? There are professionals who get paid to cook. I am not one of them.”
Cooking was always a sore subject in my childhood home. There was a time our housekeeper made all our meals. Before the threat of losing financial freedom ended causing a million and one problems between my parents. Sophie was let go, and my mom was expected to do more around the house. Only that never happened, which ended up causing a bigger divide between my parents.
Unfortunately for me, Chloe won’t let the subject go.
“You’ve heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right? There is truth to that. You should learn how to cook. At least to make basic stuff. Like popcorn. Or sandwiches.” She snorts at her own joke.
I toss two pillows at her head in quick succession. “I can heat popcorn, and I know how to put a sandwich together.”
“What about baking chicken or throwing food into a crockpot? It’s so easy and takes no time at all.” She gasps, and her eyes light up. “You should go to Zach’s cooking school! Maybe he’ll be there.” Then she sighs deeply. “And it will be like a second chance at love.”
I really wish I hadn’t run out of pillows so quickly. “Not interested.”
“You are the flirtiest person I know. Honestly, Mon, your hang-up with Zach is confusing. Do you want to just be a tease for the rest of your life?”
Wait, what? How did we go from my lack of cooking skills to my issues with Zach and relationships?
Holding up a finger, I shake my head. “A tease doesn’t put out. I, on the other hand, do.” I pause, realizing how slutty I must sound. Luckily, Chloe knows better. “You know, if I like the guy enough.”
“You’re a relationship tease. You hook up with a guy, and then once you’ve punctured his little fishy mouth, instead of reeling him in, you rip the hook out.”
/> “Oh my God! Worst analogy ever. Who the hell pays you to write?”
Chloe grabs one of the pillows and smacks me with it. “It was awesome, actually. Think about it. You toss them back in, and then they bleed out.”
“Right, because if I reel them in, what would happen then? You’d prefer me to gut and eat them? Stuff them and mount ’em on my wall?”
Chloe makes a face. “Okay, yeah, bad analogy—especially for a foodie.”
“So bad.”
She laughs. “Then what? What would make you give in?”
I have a feeling it wouldn’t be as hard as she thinks to give in to Zach. Physical separation from him helps, but it’s not enough to get him off my mind. My pull to a man has never been so strong, and it’s all for nothing.
What can I tell Chloe? She’s become my best friend in Washington, and I know she would accept every single flaw that comes with me, including my daddy issues. But this is different … and with Zach, with his career, it’s beyond complicated.
“I’m not sure,” I finally say. “I freak out about relationships in general. It’s just scary to think about settling down with someone for the long haul.”
Her eyes relax into sympathy. “You just need to find a guy that completes you.”
I bat my eyelashes at her and smile. “But you complete me, Chlo Chlo.”
Making her best attempt to adopt a serious look, she tilts her head, suppressing laughter. “Then you need to find a dude version of me.”
Not a bad idea.
“Zach is a dude version of me,” she says, perking up.
I narrow my eyes. Chloe hates my death stare. Seriously, what is her obsession with Zach? “How so?”
The way her face transforms to confusion tells me she has absolutely no clue why she just said that, but I’m amused and patient as I wait for her response. Her eyes widen and she straightens her back.
“We both used to sit alone at the lunch table. We’ve both got the silent but strong thing working for us. Oh! We both like to journal—”
“Zach likes to journal?”
Her eyes go wide. “Every night.”
Why does it bother me that Chloe might know more about Zach than I do? She has to interview the guy for events, so it shouldn’t get to me, but it does. Clearly. Our night was fleeting, but something about it was special. Even I’ll admit that much.
“Told you, Monica. You need to get to know the guy.”
“It’s too late already, okay? Even if I wanted to pursue something with him, which I don’t, he’s probably forgotten I even exist by now. He could have anyone. Like Meredith.” I shrug. “I had my chance, but even if I had another one, nothing would change. It would never work out.”
“Why? I feel like you’re not telling me something.”
The sound of the doorbell saves me from coming clean. I’m surprised to see Chloe jump to her feet to open it.
“I invited a special guest to make this party complete!” she says as she throws the door open.
When Jazz enters carrying a large pizza like she’s Vanna White strutting past a tile of glowing letters, I laugh. “Yes! She’s hot and she fills bellies.”
Jazz winks. “That’s right. When the boys are away, the girls will play. And by play, I mean stuff our faces with calories because our men will love us anyway.”
A pang hits my chest when the girls talk about their “men,” because maybe I feel just a little bit left out. Deep down I think it would be nice to have a constant. A best friend who’s a little more than that. But every time my thoughts head down that road, I think of Zach, and I’m pulled back by the certainty that I don’t want all the bad that would come with that relationship. I’ve been through it once—and once is more than enough.
It’s only been six months since I last visited BelleCurve, but everything feels different the moment I walk through the wide double doors. The music coming through the speakers has changed from pop country to soft rock. The colorful décor that used to scatter the front desk has gone neutral. Even the scent of wild strawberry and mint is gone, replaced with vanilla. It’s all changed.
My eyes are quickly drawn to the figure behind the reception desk, expecting to see her—but that is another thing that’s changed.
The blonde receptionist’s blue eyes widen and pink stains her cheeks, but she pulls it together quickly. She swallows, then blinks nervously. Everything about this girl is the complete opposite of Monica.
The stranger staring back at me straightens a stack of papers and adopts a far too serious look for the occasion. Monica never pretended to act professional. She was the most charming combination of cordial, professional, and snarky.
Where the hell is she?
“Mr. Ryan,” the woman greets in an overly formal tone “Mrs. Spencer will meet you in the private conference room today. I’ll take you back there now.”
I should give the girl a chance. She’s obviously new—by no more than six months, anyway. And she’s nervous. That’ll go away after she gets to know me. “You can call me Zach. Everyone here does. I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new?”
Something sparks in her eyes, and she looks pleased to be asked. “I am. I’m Jessa—Jess. Everyone calls me Jess.” The pink in her cheeks deepens.
My laugh is subtle, but it can’t be helped. I’m used to girls acting nervous around me, but it’s usually followed up by a request for an autograph or photo. Jess will do none of those things, because she’s a professional. At least she’s trying to be.
“When did you start? I haven’t been here in a while.” I lean in, letting my elbows land on the counter. This is my way of getting her to talk about who she replaced and to hopefully ease her nerves, but we’re interrupted when Sandra comes strolling in from the hallway.
“Zachary Ryan, are you chatting up my office manager? Be nice; she’s new.”
I wink at Jess and give Sandra a look of complete innocence. “It’s not my fault you hire all the pretty ones. She was keeping me occupied since you’re always late for our meetings.”
Sandra’s jaw drops in mock astonishment before she laughs and pulls me in for a hug. Backing away, she puts a finger near my face. “I am never late for our meetings, young man. I resent that.” She nods at Jessa. “Thanks, Jess. I’ll show Zachary back.” Turning to me, her eyes narrow into a glare, and then she gestures with her head for me to follow her. “Let’s go, showboat.”
“Nice to see you too,” I tease. “I see you’ve scared another office manager away.”
“You mean Monica? Let’s just say she moved on to bigger and better things. I caught her playing around in the production suite instead of doing her job, clearly bored. Had to do something about it.”
“Seriously?” She’s got to be kidding. The Monica I remember was the best at her job. A little loud at times and a klepto when it came to food, but nothing irredeemable. But fired? Geez.
She turns and cracks a smile at me. “Don’t worry, Zach. She’s in a better place now.”
“I hope you weren’t the one to give the eulogy.”
“Oh, but I was.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
Once we’re in the private conference room, Sandra closes the door behind me. She prefers not to use the see-through room when we’re discussing potential projects. It causes too much gossip and speculation in the workplace before a deal is even signed. Honestly, I’m surprised she doesn’t sneak me in the back entrance when I visit too.
“Congrats on a fantastic season, by the way. I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to you. John and I were biting our nails until the very end of that last game. It was nothing short of exhilarating. Gave the fans what they wanted—well, except for a win.”
I clutch my chest and fall back into my chair. “Ouch. That was painful coming from you.”
“Hey! I said it was a good game.”
I wave a hand in the air jokingly. “Thanks. It was a great season. Looking forward to
the draft. Fresh meat on the team always inspires us to get creative on the field.”
“Speaking of creative.”
“Ah, check out that segue.”
She beams. “So, another project, huh? Let’s hear it. You know I’m a huge fan of your community outreach initiatives.”
BelleCurve is known for turning simple stories into inspirational messages that resonate. Not to mention, their network of potential sponsors is invaluable.
“For the last two years I’ve held youth football camps in the spring. I rally a few of the guys together, we meet with the kids a few days somewhere in Seattle and then wish them luck with their future. Heroes and Legends inspired me to go bigger and give the camp more meaning. So…” I clap my hands together excitedly. “We’re making it bigger, better, and badder than ever. One camp. Twelve coaches. Speakers. Activities that promote leadership. A scrimmage, and an awards ceremony.”
I see her face lighting up already, but I hold my hand up to tell her I’m not done. “Best part of this? We’ll be with the kids for a full week at a real camp somewhere. We’re still working on that. And the response we’ve already gotten is incredible.
“I love it. Where does BelleCurve come into the picture? We don’t own the anti-bullying campaign anymore. Heroes and Legends was sold to Mastermind Comics in August, so I’m not sure repurposing any of that content would be possible.”
I can already see her wheels turning. Holding up a hand, I wiggle my fingers a little to get her attention. Her head snaps up to find my amused face peering back at her. “I don’t want to repurpose Heroes and Legends. I want to speak directly to young athletes about community and leadership and empower them to set positive examples. It’s not just about how to throw a spiral or pummel their opponent. Sure, we’ll do some of that too, but there should be a theme, and we’ll need some help getting sponsors.”
“That’s great, Zach. You know I’m happy to help you however I can.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s talk about funding. If we want big sponsors like we had at Heroes and Legends, we’ll need big incentives.” She leans back in her chair as she tosses some ideas at me. “What’s the charity?”
