by Tracey Ward
He doesn’t tell me yes and he doesn’t tell me no. He doesn’t give me anything, but he doesn’t take anything away either. He leaves us where we are; comfortable with each other. Secrets between us building as walls begin to crumble.
I stand, taking my plate to the sink. I reach down to ask for his and he hands it to me without a word. I feel him stand up behind me, the air in the room shifting against the weight of his presence. It rolls over me slowly. It makes me shiver against the chill of the AC and I suddenly feel bone tired. Weary in a way that’s absolutely sublime.
I take his hand without looking at him. Without speaking to him. Silently we pad through my apartment together, turning off lights and stepping over our clothes. He follows me willingly to my bedroom where I leave the light off. Where we climb into bed together. Where he kisses me sweetly. He pushes his body against mine in a way that doesn’t arouse me. Instead it soothes me, like a warm blanket on a cold night. It makes me melt against him, every muscle in my body relaxing. Sighing.
Singing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KURTIS
July 21st
The DAK Agency
Los Angeles, CA
I push through the door to the DAK Agency, relaxing in relief when the cold air envelopes me. Hollis and Sloane may have left some luxuries behind when they walked away from the Ashford Agency, but thank God AC wasn’t one of them. The other changes, the cosmetic look of the agency compared to Ashford, is better now too. I wouldn’t have thought it three years ago, but now that I’m older and vaguely wiser I see the differences as pluses instead of poverty.
The reception area to this office is much smaller than their old one, but it’s also less sterile. It’s not stark white with shining surfaces and stock sports photos. Immediately when you walk in you’re met with large, palmed plants in brilliant red pots. The floor is a rich wood grain, the walls painted a soothing gray, blown up photos of each of their clients decorating the walls. I’m there by the thermostat in my Kodiak uniform, my hair a mess with sweat. An uninhibited smile on my face. I’m stunned every time I see it because you’d think it was from my rookie year, but it’s not. It was just last year. I don’t remember what game it was, but judging by the look in my eyes it was a win. We had a lot of those last season.
“Kurtis, hey,” Sloane calls out to me happily.
Her heels click down the hallway in a steady, purposeful rhythm as she comes out of her office to greet me. Someone follows close behind her, and at first glance I think it’s Tyus. He’s an average build; just under six foot, all lean muscle. Jet black skin and a confidence to his walk that can’t be forged. But then the guy lifts his head, the bill of his baseball hat revealing his face, and I know it’s not him. This guy has an easy look to his eyes, a kind of calm that Tyus just doesn’t do. At least not lately.
The guy grins at me, raising his hand in a short wave. “What’s up? Kurtis Matthews, right?”
“That’s right.” I offer him my hand. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t. I doubt you hit up Canada much.” His grip is solid when he shakes my hand. “Demarcus Sawyer.”
“Good to meet you, man.”
“Yeah, you too.”
“Demarcus was a wide receiver at Florida State,” Sloane explains, her brown eyes shining with pride when she looks at him. “He broke three school records.”
“Two,” he corrects.
Sloane smiles, “If you’re only counting the official ones. And I don’t.”
“Can’t put beer pong on my highlight reel, Sly.”
“Shut up. You know what I’m talking about.”
“You’re gonna embarrass me, aren’t you?”
“There was a fundraiser for the humane society,” Sloane explains to me.
“Ah shit, here we go,” Demarcus groans, lowering his head and tugging at the bill of his hat.
“There was a big storm that hit the city during Demarcus’ junior year. A lot of animals were displaced and lost. The humane society was overflowing with them and they needed help getting them all taken care of. A bunch of athletes put together a kind of a beauty pageant like they do at a lot of high schools, only this one was co-ed. They carried around jars for a month collecting donations and campaigning for the student body to vote for them when the time came. The amount of donations you collected counted toward your score at the end and lot of people set up kissing booths and massage tables in the courtyard. But not my D.”
He snickers at her. “You know it sounds like you mean dick, right?”
“My big, black D,” she draws out slow and sensual, “didn’t do any of that. He didn’t make it sexual.”
“I didn’t want herpes.”
“You used your talent, that’s what you did.”
“What’d he do?” I ask.
“He painted portraits for donations. He sold paintings of landscapes and dreamscapes and really anything anyone asked for. And they were good.”
He chuckles modestly. “They weren’t that good.”
“You earned more money than anyone else in the school. They were good. They still are.” Sloane gestures over her shoulder down the hall. “I have one he did for me hanging in my office. You should come in and see it.”
“We’re running late, Sloane,” Demarcus tells her abruptly. “We gotta go.”
She looks at her watch, frowning. “No, we’re not.”
“We are if we’re going to stop and get a breakfast burrito.”
“Is that happening?”
“It is now.”
Sloane laughs. “Okay, another time then.” She puts her hands on my shoulders, stepping up on her toes to kiss me softly on the cheek. It’s her standard greeting and farewell, but it catches me off guard every time. “See you later, handsome. Give Hollis hell for me.”
“I always do,” I promise.
She smiles as she leaves me. Demarcus holds the door for her, casting me a quick wave before disappearing out into the simmering heat.
I’m alone in the office. I can feel it without knowing it. They don’t have a receptionist, just a desk to give the impression that they might, and the third agent that makes up the DAK Agency is rarely here. Berny Dawe is an older guy, a veteran to the game who doesn’t care for sitting behind a desk all day. He worked with Sloane’s dad way back when we were all in diapers, but old man Ashford burned him once they started making money. He buried Bernie to get ahead because that’s the kind of guy that son of a bitch is. When Sloane realized she didn’t want to work under Ashford for the rest of her life she called up Bernie Dawe to join forces with her and Hollis Kane. Her dad was furious. From what Hollis tells me, they’re still not speaking.
The door behind me swings open, a wave of heat disrupting the cool I’ve been enjoying. Hollis rushes in behind it. He smiles when he sees me, pushing his aviators up on top of his head.
“Hey, what’s up? Have you been waiting long?”
“I just got here.” I gesture to the empty reception desk collecting dust. “I was chatting up your receptionist here.”
Hollis rolls his eyes as he steps around me. “It’s unreal. It’s been almost a year and Sloane is still being a bitch about that.”
“What’s her problem with having a receptionist?”
“Nothing, except she vetoes every woman I bring in.”
“Seriously? She doesn’t seem like the jealous type.”
“She’s not. She’s the picky type. She wants someone who knows sports. Like honestly knows them, not casually knows them. Inside and out. She wants another her, basically, but she’s rare and she’s expensive as shit.”
Hollis unlocks his office door. I follow him inside, taking my usual seat on the couch.
“I didn’t see your car out front,” he comments, rounding his desk. “Did you drive here?”
“Yep. A Fiat.”
Hollis drops a large manila envelope heavily on his desk. “’the fuck?”
I gesture to the
window. “You didn’t see it out there? Fire engine red?”
“You’re messing with me. No way in hell you bought a Fiat.”
I grin. “It’s a rental. Chill.”
“Thank God,” he mutters. He drops down into his chair, shaking his head. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought you’d finally lost your mind.”
“’Finally’? Are you waiting for that?”
“Are you not?”
I stare at him, not smiling. Not moving.
He grins, not put off by my annoyance. “What happened to the Blazer?”
“It took a baseball through the windshield.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. I went out in the morning and found the windshield gone and a ball on my seat.”
“When?”
I throw my arm over the back of the couch, settling in. “Night before last. I was on the street near a park. It was probably some kids.”
Hollis smiles. “Or maybe a Raiders fans.”
“Maybe.”
“Why get a rental, though? Why not get out the Hellcat?”
I snort derisively. “Why don’t I get a room at the Luxor while I’m at it?”
“Alright, shut up,” Hollis groans, opening his laptop. “I didn’t think about it before I said it.”
“That’s a quality I want in an agent. Speak before you think.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re getting a real lip on you lately, you know that?”
“I feel it, yeah.”
“Not even sorry, are you?”
“Why would I be?”
“I have no goddamn idea,” he mutters. He opens the thick manila envelope to pull out a stack of papers. They look official. Contractual.
I feel myself scowling at them.
I cough roughly to clear my face, my thoughts. “I met Demarcus when I came in.”
“Oh yeah? What’d you think of him?”
“He seems cool.”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“What do you say?”
“I say I haven’t met him.”
“How? He’s practically Sloane’s only client.”
“She has Colt Avery,” he reminds me, searching for a pen.
“I think Colt sees it more like he has her.”
“I think that’s how Colt sees everything.” He slaps his hand down on top of the pile of papers. “Are you ready for this?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Alright. The first stack is the extension of the contract with Calvin Klein. I’ve been over it with our attorneys and it’s solid. Same terms as last time. Another marketing campaign with your pretty little face on it and you get another three million dollars.”
“Two point five,” I correct him.
He grins, shaking his head. “Three. They sweetened the pot. I think they were worried you wouldn’t go for it a second time.”
“They weren’t wrong to worry.” I shift in my seat, eyeing the stack of contracts. “Where does that put us?”
“You still owe three million, but that’s all to creditors and banks at this point. Everything you owe to the IRS will finally be paid off.”
“I’ll owe new taxes on the money coming in though.”
Hollis purses his lips pensively. “That’s true. You’re right. But that’s a future worry, one we’ll manage when the time comes. Right now, looking at the past, we’re almost clear of it.”
I feel weightless when he says that. Sick in a serene kind of way. “Three million left to go?” I clarify, my voice oddly breathless.
“Three million left.”
“How do we do it?”
He smiles. “I have ideas about that.” He puts aside the majority of the stack. His hand lands on top of a new, smaller pile. “This is a proposal from Dairy Queen. They want to bring you in on the Triple Threat ad campaign with Trey and Colt.”
I scowl. “What happened to Tyus?”
“Tyus has bowed out. He doesn’t want anything to do with it anymore.”
“But Trey and Colt are staying with it?”
“They’ll be able to if you come in with them. Dairy Queen has centered this campaign on the idea of three. Double Threat doesn’t have the same ring to it. Without Tyus, it’s dead. Unless you join in.” He lifts the proposal, waving it at me enticingly. “You’ll get all the ice cream you could ever eat.”
“So, none then?”
“You don’t like ice cream?”
“Nope. Never have.”
“Man, do you hate happy,” he grumbles. “Look, it’s a good deal. A sweet one, if you—“
“No puns.”
He sits back in his seat with a frown. “I hate you.”
“Yep.”
“Okay, fine. If free sugar doesn’t sell you, maybe one point five million dollars will.”
“Done.” I stand from the couch. Two strides take me to his desk where I’m reaching for his pen. “Where do I sign?”
Hollis holds his pen hostage, staring up at me suspiciously. “I spent a week convincing you to do the CK ad campaign the first time. Today you’re going to sign on with them again and sign on with DQ, no fight?”
I shrug. “What’s there to fight about? I’m almost to the finish line. If you brought me a deal advertising a boner pill for that last million-five to clear my debts, I’d sign on in a heartbeat. No questions asked.”
“Don’t joke with me. I might be able to swing that.”
“Okay, one point five million was a joke. But two million isn’t.”
He scrunches his face in confusion. “Who are you?”
“Whoever they want me to be.”
“Seriously, though,” he says slowly, handing over his pen. “Something’s going on with you.”
I sign my name with a flourish on the top sheet, flipping quickly to the next. “I’m almost a free man. That’s what’s going on with me.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HARPER
September 30th
Charles Windt Stadium
Los Angeles, CA
I miss you.
I darken my phone, sliding it into my pocket. A quick glance around the room tells me no one is watching me. No one saw my face fall when Derrick’s text came through. No one can see my throat close up in the back, a gag reflex willing the acid bile from bubbling up. It’s anxiety. Stress. I can handle it, I just need to keep moving.
That’s not a problem today. We’re traveling with the team to Tennessee to film them facing off with the Titans. They’ve played against them once before already in the preseason. It was a game that didn’t count for anything other than practice. The rookies got their feet wet playing against someone unconcerned with concussing them. It was an eye opener for a lot of them. After the game we interviewed Josh Ramsey, the new slot receiver they picked up in the Draft, and he was visibly shaken. He’s not a big guy and even though the Titans aren’t much competition for the Kodiaks as a whole, the massive men on their defense are mountains compared Ramsey. They rattled him, that’s for sure. He caught only one pass and he was ground into the turf for it.
Travis tells me that he’ll get better as he gets his confidence up. He says most rookies start out that way; nervous as hell. Part of me wants to believe him because I’d hate to see Ramsey finally make it to the big league only to choke. But another part of me is watching the sidelines, watching Tyus Anthony pace and scowl, and I think it wouldn’t be so bad for the rookie to fail. I’m torn between the two of them, and to say I’m having trouble staying impartial on this job is an understatement of mammoth proportions.
I’m in bed with Kurtis Matthews almost every night. Some nights he brings dinner. Others we cook together, side by side in my small kitchen, his shoulder brushing mine. His lips brushing my temple. My neck. My breasts. Food burning on the stove as he lays me out on the narrow dining table and drives inside me slow and steady. Unhurried in a painfully beautiful way. He holds my face between his hands as I come. As I loose myself and my sight and
the fear grips my heart no matter how hard I try to harden myself against it. He holds me and he stays with me, whispering sweet words against my skin until I can see again. Until I kiss him gratefully, mumbling my thanks.
“Dude, what are you thinking about right now?” Les demands from across the room.
I snap to attention, clearing my face. “I don’t know. I was spacing out.”
“Liar,” Travis accuses.
It hurts to hear him say it. He’s said it a lot lately, and the worst part is he’s right every time. I’ve lied to him at least once a week since July and it kills me inside. After the drama with Derrick last year I swore to Travis that I wouldn’t lie to him again, but here I am. The woman who demands truth from every source, from every friend, every enemy; here I stand, a habitual liar. I’m a hypocrite and I hate it, but I can’t let them find out. No one can know that I’ve gotten so close to a subject. I’ll be labeled a whore, but worse than that my credibility will be blown. No matter how impartial my work may be in the end, anyone who sees the documentary and knows the truth will be looking for bias. They’ll say I favored Kurtis and the Kodiaks. I can’t take that hit to my career. Not with it just starting out.
“You were blushing,” Les accuses with a sly grin. “Were you thinking about a boy?”
I laugh. “No. I wasn’t thinking about a boy. What am I? Fourteen?”
“So you were thinking about a man then. Was it me? Were you fantasizing about me?”
“It’s the only way I can get off. You and your pasty gamer’s skin that rarely sees the light of day. It’s so damn sexy.”
“I knew it,” he says seriously. “I could feel it. You’re always looking at my ass.”
Travis snorts. “Your ass is too bony. She was thinking about someone else. Someone with a little more meat on their bones.”
“You thinking a player?”
“Hell yeah, I think it was a player.” He eyes me critically, a grin on his lips. “But which one…”
“Domata?”
“Nah, he’s taken. She’s not the homewrecker type. That rules out Avery too.”
