by K. Bromberg
It should be complicated and troubled, because isn’t that what I was told her family was? Isn’t that all I’ve known since the day he walked away from the game?
And yet the mere thought of her has a smile on my face.
The sound of her voice makes me want to be with her.
And that feels so fucking right.
BREXTON
“YOU’RE WORKING ON A SUNDAY and you’re watching football?” Chase asks when she walks into my office. “Do I need to check your forehead for a fever?”
I lift my middle finger in the air but don’t bother looking up at her. “One, I’m catching up before I leave for Iowa tomorrow. Two, I’m always working. And three, since when is it weird for any of us to watch sports? Last I checked the sign on the door said Sports Management,” I say, stretching the last two words out like I’m speaking to a child. She offers me a middle finger in return. “If you’d like to know, I’m watching to make sure Whittier doesn’t fuck up again with the added bonus of checking in on Hobbs.”
“You mean the man who’s already thrown two interceptions? That one?” She perches her hip on my desk and I look up to meet the eyes of my youngest sister. She’s in yoga pants and some cute tank top, looking flawless without trying as per her usual.
“Yes, that Hobbs.”
“Any leeway with him? I haven’t seen anything new on the weekly status reports.”
“Because those reports are annoying.”
“And yet they keep the pulse of everyone and everything.”
“Spoken by the rule follower,” I tease, because while we’re all disciplined, Chase goes that extra mile to follow every rule to a T. When she just stares at me, demanding an answer, I continue. “There is nothing to report. I’m trying and he’s denying.”
“So no Hobbs yet? Then who exactly is putting that extra pep in your step?”
I meet her eyes and roll mine. “No one. I’m just in a good mood is all.”
“The only thing that puts you in that good of a mood is some good old-fashioned sex.”
“Whatever. Speak for yourself.” I wave a hand at her. “Go away while you’re at it. I’ve got work to do.”
“Rumor is that you were kissing some man at the McMasters’ wedding.” My expression must fall because her grin widens and eyebrows lift. “What do you have to say about that?”
“I’d say a kiss is a kiss. Nothing more, nothing less,” I lie on the fly as I think of all the wonderful things that Drew can do with his mouth.
“So you what? Found a groomsman to get hot and heavy with in the bathroom?” she teases.
“Not a groomsman. Another guest, if you must know. We’d both had a few drinks, danced a bit, and then we kissed. Is that a crime?”
She throws her head back and laughs. “When you pull the is that a crime bullshit, we all know you’re lying.”
“Go away, Chase.” I wave a hand at her. The last thing I need is her meddling nose in my business.
“So it was more than just a kiss, then?”
So much more than just a kiss. The night with Drew comes back in snapshots. Him at the door. Him hovering over me. Him sinking into me.
“Did you plant spies there? Jesus.” I laugh.
“Nope. More of a friend of a friend kind of thing.” She scrunches her nose up. “Too bad they’re shit at spying or I’d know who the Wedding Kisser is.”
“There is no . . . him,” I say refusing to dignify her stupid nickname. I slide a printed contract to the side of my laptop, trying to end the conversation. “Go away.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” she asks in her most annoying little sister voice.
“Because it’s none of your business, Tattletale,” I say, using the nickname we used to call her just to upset her when she was little.
She used to be so desperate to be a part of whatever the rest of us sisters were doing, and she tried to get us in trouble when we wouldn’t let her.
“Oh, geez. You’re reaching deep with the insults using that one.” She rolls her eyes, unfazed, and I level her with a glare.
“Since when do any of us tell you anything?” I continue, trying to deflect. My little pain-in-the-ass sister. I love her to death, but she’s notorious for running straight to everyone else and gossiping.
Or trying to get one of us in trouble.
“Ohhh,” she chides. “It must be really good. Or he must be really wrong in all the right ways if you’re afraid for Dad to find out.”
“I’m not afraid for Dad to find anything out.” I start typing on my keyboard to try and show her I’m busy.
“You’re such a liar,” she goads and then sighs. “Guess it’s time for me to go work my sources and find out who exactly the Wedding Kisser is.”
“Have fun with that,” I say as she turns and heads out of my office.
Then I silently wonder if anyone I know—or she knows—saw Drew kiss me.
She grins at me before stepping into her office and I immediately grab my phone and change my passcode.
She’s a little shit.
I wouldn’t put it past her to “accidentally” check my texts.
The last thing I need is for her to see the heavy flirting going back and forth between Drew and me.
She wouldn’t be able to keep anything that juicy to herself.
BREXTON
“KSM. THIS IS BREXTON.” I move the pile of papers on my desk and rap them so their corners square up.
“Brexton. This is Justin Hobbs.”
I stop mid-motion, surprised to hear from him, considering he hasn’t returned any of my calls thus far.
“Justin. Hi.” I grab a pen and my notepad. “What can I do for you?”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he says and chuckles. “A woman who knows she’s—”
“Don’t mistake the fact that I want you as our client to mean that I won’t put you in your place for being crass.”
He whistles softly. “Nothing wrong with a woman who can grab a man by the balls and give them a good twist.”
I’d like to twist them, all right.
“You called me. Now, what can I do for you?” I ask trying to get him to focus.
“I’d like to talk with you about representation,” he says, and I nod even though he can’t see it.
“What about it?”
“What you can bring to the table for me.”
“The table is set differently for every athlete, Hobbs. I need a bit more than that to know what we’re talking about. Are you looking for a long contract, more money, a specific team? I mean, I can bring a lot of things to the table, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to sit down and eat.”
“I have a big appetite.”
Clearly, and not that I’d ever say it out loud, but Finn’s done a decent job satisfying Hobbs’s hunger. Besides, Justin’s barely into his professional career and he’s already playing the agent-game. I’m beginning to wonder if Justin is just one of those guys who’s never satisfied.
I guess it’s my goal to see if that’s true or not.
“I’m not a miracle worker but my track record speaks for itself.”
“I’ve researched and am well aware.”
His sudden change of heart to talk after blowing me off for the past three weeks means he either had a fight with Sanderson or he’s playing the field without any real intention of making the switch over to KSM.
It’s a conundrum. My gut instinct is to tell him to take a hike and that I don’t need him. My sense of responsibility to my family and our company has me biting my tongue because isn’t this what my dad asked of me? To land Justin Hobbs as a client? His experience in the industry has him thinking that if the rising star comes our way, other football players will wonder why he made the switch and follow suit.
It’s all about visibility and catching the brightest stars. It’s about securing the future of KSM for my sisters and me. It’s about sticking to my word.
So I grit my teeth and grin and bear it. O
r at least I try to.
“I think it’s best if we speak face to face,” Justin says.
“Agreed. What works best for you?” I ask as I pull up my calendar on my computer.
“I’m in Florida. Practice tomorrow. Game on Sunday,” he says. It’s not like I didn’t already know where Drew was, but I don’t say a word.
“And you’re telling me this because . . .”
“Because if you want my business then you’ll come to me.”
I have to keep my mouth shut, when all I want to do is tell him that no self-respecting woman would do just that. But I have to.
This is business, after all.
“Let me be clear on one thing. I’m not a fan of wild goose chases, Justin.”
“Noted.”
Silence stretches as neither of us want to bend our wills, especially considering he’ll be back in New York less than thirty hours after the game. Wouldn’t it be easier to meet then?
But that’s not how Justin plays. I know that much.
He likes the trappings of fame. The entourage. The people who come at the snap of his fingers. People chasing after him for his business.
That’s the only way this is going to work. My satisfying his need to be sought after.
The problem? I’m already committed to being in North Carolina on Sunday.
“Give me one sec,” I murmur as my fingers fly over my keyboard and I check flights. I can be in Miami by five p.m. today then leave Saturday for Chapel Hill.
“I’ll be there tonight. We’ll talk then.”
“Tonight?”
“You said if I wanted your business I needed to come to you.”
“Responsive.” He chuckles. “You have no idea how much I like that.”
I ignore the innuendo and the suggestion I hear in his tone and say, “I’ll be in touch.”
The bright side in all of this? I might land the client I’ve been chasing. Even brighter? Miami means there’s a chance of seeing Drew again.
And yes, I’m fully aware that that means I’m chasing after a man.
But I’m just going to pretend that I’m not.
BREXTON
“THAT’S WHAT I REQUIRE IN order to sign with you and be under KSM management.”
“So that’s the ultimatum huh?” I ask. “I need to get you traded to the Los Angeles Chargers or Rams and then you’ll transfer your representation over to me?”
“Simple, right?”
I all but laugh as I meet his eyes across the table in the back corner of a small Cuban restaurant I decided on. It’s crowded enough that there are people around in case Justin decides to get handsy but not too loud where he can’t hear me.
The fact that I even had to navigate those boundaries says more than enough about the character and reputation of the man sitting across from me.
I shake my head. “You’re asking the impossible. There’s no way in hell any management team is going to listen to me, let alone negotiate with me on your behalf, when they already know you’re represented by someone else. It’s unethical and frankly kind of shitty for you to ask me to consider it.”
His nonchalant shrug and unapologetic smile grates on my nerves. If he’s asking this of me before I’m his agent, I fear what he’d ask once I am.
Especially since I’d have already broken rules for him.
“I prefer to call it dangling the carrot to see how hungry you are for it.”
“I don’t like carrots,” I deadpan. “In fact, I hate them.” I lean across the table. “What I prefer are athletes who are straightforward and without bullshit. That’s the kind of thing that excites me, Justin. Those are the athletes I like to fight for.”
He stares at me with confusion etched in the lines of his face, almost as if he can’t figure out if I just insulted him or not. “Isn’t this the part where you as an agent are supposed to be showing me just how good you really are?” he asks over the top of his beer bottle.
“No, this is the part where I tell you that you’re asking the impossible. Like I told you on the phone, I don’t like games and, frankly you’re playing one right now. Without that little thing called a signed contract, I literally have no authority to act on your behalf. I can bring you up in a casual conversation, I can mention you to the general managers when discussing possibilities, but as far as flat-out asking, it can’t happen.”
“So then you’re saying you don’t want to sign me?”
“No, I’m saying that no one client is worth risking my reputation. Once word got out, team management would shy away from me, other agents would think I’m always out to steal their clients, and other athletes would question my integrity. You’re good, Hobbs, and would be a great addition to KSM, but not with that being the cost.”
Justin blows out a steady breath and shakes his head, no doubt stumped why I’m not bending over backward for him like I’m certain he expected I would.
An awkward silence settles between us as the server clears our plates, and while I try to figure out how to salvage this business meeting. When she leaves with dishes stacked on her forearm, I ask, “Why California? As an agent, I have to tell you that your strengths are best suited to teams like the Raptors over the Chargers, Rams, or even the 49ers.”
“I’ve got my reasons,” he says as our eyes hold. I don’t back down from the stare. He needs to know I’m not intimidated by him in the least.
But while he’s being stubborn, I’m sitting here doing mental gymnastics over the epiphany I just had.
Getting Justin to California opens up the starting QB spot that Drew could easily step into. That would create the opportunity he’s been waiting for. It would finally give him a chance.
And while that scenario is as perfect as perfect can be, it doesn’t address how I could ethically make it happen.
It’s a line I can’t cross.
But I decide to play Justin’s game, to feel him out, and see if there is a legitimate interest in my representation or if he truly is playing me. “So say, perhaps, I could pull this off and get you traded, how do I know you’re not bullshitting me? How do I know that I’m not going to be doing all this work, get things lined up for you, and then you’ll turn around and have Finn take my work and own it as his own?” I ask as his eyes widen. “I mean, I’d be the one working without a contract. All I have is your word that you’d actually sign with me.”
“Are you saying you don’t trust me?”
I lean onto my elbows on the table and lower my voice. “I’ve dealt with a lot of players over the years. While I may be out chasing after and for you, you’re only out for yourself. That makes it pretty damn easy for doubt to fester.”
Justin takes a long sip of his beer and then leans back in his chair, lips pursed for a moment. “Then how do we get around this, Kincade?”
“Why did you call me, Justin? What made you pick up the phone?”
“I was told you were one of the best.”
My eyebrows raise. Not because he’s speaking of me, but that feels like the most honest thing he’s said all night. “By whom?”
“Drew Bowman.” I measure my reaction to his words. “Shit, the way that fucker defends you, you’d think he has a thing for you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I bark the words out.
“Stranger things have happened. Just don’t tell your boyfriend or he might get jealous of all this extra attention.” He winks.
“My boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Drew said you had a man already and that I couldn’t poach.”
I nod, confused and amused. Poach? “I’m flattered, Justin, but one, you are way too young for me”—I laugh quietly to soften the blow—“and two, I never date clients or potential clients. It’s not a line I cross.”
“All lines get crossed at some point.” He chuckles. “Just like the one you’ll figure out how to cross to get me traded.”
“It’s not the same. It’s—”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
<
br /> I emit a resigned sigh as my mind races over a conversation I’d love to have been a fly on the wall for and a trade I can’t technically negotiate.
“I’m sure I will,” I murmur.
“Los Angeles, Brexton.” And it’s the last thing he says before he balls his napkin up and tosses it on the table before excusing himself and walking away.
My sigh follows soon after.
He’s already proving to be difficult and he’s not even my client yet.
BREXTON
THE BASE OF THE CLUB throbs against the walls and feels like it’s a second heartbeat in my chest.
It’s the last place I expected to be tonight, but I needed to put myself in check. I’m in Miami for work. Sure I slept with Drew and want to again, but reaching out to him while I’m here felt needy and stalkerish. In an attempt to keep my overromanticized heart in check, I texted one of my college girlfriends who now lives in Miami.
And now we’re here at Club Cerulean where the drinks are strong, the men are deliciously hot, and the music is on point.
It’s the perfect place to let my hair down and just breathe. It’s a chance to let loose and remind myself that man or no man, I can have a great time.
“You ready to hit the floor again?” she shouts above the beat.
“Yes. I need some air though, first.” I fan my hand in front of my face as if it’s actually going to help cool me off.
“’Kay. Let’s head to the patio for a minute. Then we’ll dance our asses off.”
We push our way through the crowd and just as we hit the exit, I run smack dab into Dax Conway, the Raptors’ tight end.
“Kincade? What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks as he wraps his arms around me in a brotherly yet drunken hug that I gently extricate myself from.
“Work. Meetings.” I push against his chest when he steps in closer and he just laughs.
“Hey. Look who I found!” Dax says as he turns to about seven other players. As I wave in greeting to all of them, Drew walks up, his feet faltering when our eyes meet.
