by Zoë Lane
“Hello, Rose.”
His pleasant baritone timbre gave me goose bumps. His smile settled my nerves, and his quick look to the sky silently communicated that he knew this was a setup. I smiled back.
“Um, please come in.”
“Oh, Magdeline!” my mother said from behind me. The two exchanged kisses on each cheek. “So wonderful to see you again, and Harold!”
“Victoria,” Harold acknowledged with a smile and then shook the hand of my father. “Gregory.”
Bryan introduced himself, shaking both my parents’ hands.
“Dinner is ready, so why don’t we make our way to the dining room? If you need to freshen up, there is a bathroom to the left in the next hallway,” Mother said.
Bryan and I hung back. “I think our mothers are the same person,” he whispered into my ear.
“Then you know how I feel.”
“Trapped? No way to break free unless you move hundreds of miles away?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t move out until next week, and I can only go as far as downtown, where I work.”
Bryan thin lips parted with laughter, his brown eyes lighting up. “It’s a start. I’m doing my residency at Columbia, but what kind of a son would I be if I didn’t come home every now and then? Especially since they paid for college.”
“You’d be a terrible one,” I said with a perfunctory nod.
He grinned, and again with the goose bumps.
We walked into the dining room, where the food had already been placed on the table; probably while I was answering the door. A turkey sat in the center, and various plates holding anything you’d find at a typical American Thanksgiving. Not sure why my mother had chosen these dishes, but whatever. I loved Thanksgiving.
Bryan sat next to me, of course, while his parents sat across from us. Mine were at either head of the table. They all chatted like they hadn’t spoken in ages while Bryan and I traded sheepish looks over passing the green beans and cranberry sauce.
“I love Thanksgiving, especially not on Thanksgiving.”
I giggled. Seriously giggled. “Same here.”
“So my mom said you’re in public relations.”
“Mm-hmm. I work for MacCallister, Wembly, and Poach.”
He leaned away, a look of shock and admiration in his face. “Congrats to you. That’s a prestigious firm.” He leaned in close, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Do you know they handled the mayor’s tryst with his mistress when she was caught coming out of his hotel room?” His pale cheeks colored. “The only reason I know is because my mom is obsessed with salacious gossip. I…I’m not into that, really. I’ve got too much going on.”
I grinned. “Right. You’re a doctor, by the way.”
He laughed nervously. “Right.”
“Cardiology? Like my dad?”
Bryan nodded. “Yeah. It’s the only specialty that really held my interest. I mean, if you think about it, the heart…it powers everything. It’s the doorway to our souls. When you see it pumping for the first time—sorry, is this too graphic?”
I shook my head, having heard all of this before from my dad. I loved how he could talk for hours about his passion and never lose momentum. It was one of the reasons I had gone after the job at MacCallister, Wembly, and Poach when my mom had told me I should focus more on getting a part-time job that’d leave me with plenty of time to date and find a husband. Really…what year were we in again?
“Yeah, so, when you see it for the first time, and touch it…I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like holding a newborn baby, I guess. It’s so fragile, yet can draw a tremendous amount of emotion out of you. You want to protect and care for it.” He took a bite of turkey and then his eyes widened. I watched his jaw move wildly as he chewed his food. “I wasn’t bringing up babies because I want to have them with you.”
“No?” I innocently asked. I drank some water to cool my own throat. I didn’t hate this guy. I’d thought this evening would be terrible and I’d have to avoid my mother for the next week, but I honestly was having a good time. Bryan was cute and sweet, and…cute.
“No…I mean, not that a guy wouldn’t want to have babies—I’m screwing this up, sorry. I meant, I was just trying—”
I put my hand on his arm to stop him from embarrassing himself further. “I get it.” I gave him my sweetest smile. “It’s okay.”
He smiled back. “Good. I’ll just eat some more food now.”
Did I mention he was cute? And did doctors normally work out? Because when he flexed his bicep underneath my hand, I could actually feel it. I thought they were too studious to have time to hit the gym. My gaze strayed to his hands. Large. Big enough to cover…
I gulped down more water, drawing a look of disgust from my mother, no doubt judging my table manners or lack thereof. I slowly set the glass down and asked her to pass the pitcher. She did, and mouthed, “Slow down.”
Tell that to my blood racing through my heart.
After we finished eating and our mothers—to our petrification—suggested Bryan and I go for a walk, we did just that. On our second lap around the block, Bryan mentioned the possibility of returning to Richmond.
“Residency is pretty demanding, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be spending all of your time in Columbia?” I asked. Not sure why, since I didn’t exactly not want to see him again.
“Yeah, but my schedule can be pretty flexible. Flights from New York to Richmond are really quick and cheap. I figured”—he gave me a side glance—“since this isn’t going too badly, that maybe…”
I stopped walking. We were a few houses away from mine, and just in case our parents had their faces glued to the front window, I didn’t want them to have any ammunition about making love connections in the future. I faced Bryan. “Maybe?”
His arms slipped around my waist, drawing me into his embrace. Warm, comfortable, sweet. “Can I kiss you?” he breathed against my lips.
“Yes,” I whispered.
What had I said earlier about his hands? His lips… they captured mine, pulling and pressing, his tongue teasing mine with quick touches before complete invasion. My arms went around his neck, and I pressed my breasts into his chest while his hands skimmed my lower back and settled very low on my waist. Our tongues danced, curiously exploring. By the time he pulled back, I was breathless.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said in a throaty whisper.
“Me too.”
“Saturday?”
“Mm-hmm.” I leaned in again and his lips pressed to mine.
“I think we should agree on what we’re going to say to our parents.”
“I think we should say nothing.”
Bryan laughed. “My mom will think I screwed it up somehow.”
“If we say anything, then I’ll never hear the end of it from my mom. She’ll want to know every detail, and then plan every future detail.”
“Huh…well, we’ll tell them we’re friends. You think that’ll satiate your mother for a while?”
I shrugged. The only thing that could satiate her was me walking down the aisle. “We can try it and see.”
“Good.” He squeezed my hips, kneading me into his groin. “I love your dress, by the way,” he breathed into my ear before placing a kiss right beneath my earlobe. I let out a sound of pleasure, rising into him. He groaned before releasing me. “Let’s get back before they interrupt us.”
No. No, I didn’t want to do that at all. “Okay.” We walked the remaining yards to my house, where his parents were stepping out onto the front porch.
“There you are,” Magdeline said. “We were about to send a search party for you.”
Bryan sent me a smirk. He thanked my parents and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. No sooner had they left and the front door shut than my mother pelted me with questions.
“Don’t you start with that,” my father interrupted. “If you think we’ve finished our earlier conversation, you’re mistaken.”
I watch
ed my parents start another staring match. I’d never seen my father this upset. He had pulled off a brilliant performance of casual and calm at the dinner table, but the hardness of his jaw and the tightness of his voice said he hadn’t cooled off at all. He really wanted this fight.
“All of this over a tie?” my mother’s voice rose. “Did you have a bad day at work or something? Because I don’t think you should be taking it out on me.”
“Don’t you dare patronize me, Victoria. You know exactly what this is about and, no, it’s not the damn tie.”
I tiptoed through the foyer and around the corner to the hall that led to my bedroom. I’d thank my father later for getting me out of that inquisition, although it appeared he was starting one of his own.
In my room, I back-flopped onto my bed and sighed. Blind date over. Not even the sound of my parents shouting from the front of the house could anchor the lightness I felt. For once, my mother hadn’t gotten it wrong. Bryan was a catch.
My phone buzzed.
Had a great time tonight. Can’t wait to ditch our chaperones on Saturday.
Neither could I.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LANDYN
I watched her float into the room like she was being carried by clouds. Well, cloud nine to be exact. Her cheeks flushed, her smile extra bright. Her attitude annoyingly upbeat. Her date had gone well. Too well, by how often she seemed distracted.
“Rose?”
“Hmm?” She looked up from her folder with a smile on her face.
“What are we doing?” I said, leaning against the podium of our media room.
“We’re practicing media today, remember?”
“I’ve been standing here for—”
“I just want to make sure I have the right set of questions to ask you.”
“I’ve been handling media since college. I know how this works.”
“Do you? How?”
I stared at her for a minute. She looked back with a half-smile. She really wanted me to answer the question. I debated whether or not I should step into the trap, because it definitely was one. She hadn’t brought a second folder with her, which meant she wanted me to fly blind. I had been in enough situations on the field where I had called a different shot from the coach to know how to handle the unknown. It was about adjusting your play. Adapting.
“I’m waiting, Mr. Gallagher.”
I didn’t know if it was because of that smug remark or the fact that she was obviously crushing on her blind date, but I wanted to remind her how I had thoroughly kissed that mouth of hers, and I’d do it again until she looked at me the way she gazing at that folder of hers.
And I was jealous of that pen in her mouth, and how her lips wrapped around the top. Sliding in and out.
“The reporters ask you questions and you answer them,” I spat. If I could get my hands on that pen, I’d fling it across the room. “If the team just lost, make sure you spin it to a positive. The team isn’t dwelling on the loss but focusing on how it can improve. Stuff like that.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said without looking up.
That damn pen was back in her mouth, and if my groin got any harder I’d have to walk out, carrying the podium in front of me. Rose wasn’t a stupid girl; she’d probably figure it out. Then it’d be even more embarrassing because she’d know I was thinking about her. She’d be annoyed and say the only thing on my mind was sex—which wasn’t exactly accurate. Sex with her, and how I hated that pen, and how much I wanted to knock her date’s front teeth out and I didn’t even know the guy. I guess I was too used to commanding the attention of any woman I was ever in a room with. My little mouse couldn’t be more disinterested.
“Can we get on with it?” I practically shouted.
There. That got her to look at me. She arched a brow and stood from her chair in a row of chairs facing the podium. The room was all set for the first press conference we’d give, right after winning game one.
No, we weren’t going to lose; I’d handle that. If I had to, I’d carry the team like I had on numerous occasions back in college. Now I had to play with rivals from my division, and the cynic in me wondered if a few of them weren’t above sabotaging me on the field, like not running the route fast enough so I’d overshoot them, or run a completely different route altogether. Only problem with that plan was they’d screw the whole team and their chances of not getting cut or traded before the end of the season.
“Landyn, this was you first time on the field as an NFL quarterback, and you completed less than fifty percent of your passes. Did you come into the game more confidently than you should’ve after now underperforming?”
“What?” I barked.
“Do you need me to repeat the question?”
“No, I don’t need you to—ugh.” The training had begun, and already I was underperforming, something that never happened.
“Landyn,” she continued. “Do you feel, as the quarterback and leader of this team, that you’re to blame for this loss?”
Nothing. I had nothing, because I hadn’t envisioned a scenario where we would lose that game.
“Landyn, what was going through your mind on that third down when you overshot your receiver? Do you wish you’d done a running play instead, given you needed only three yards to make the first down?”
I laughed. She’d been in my head somehow. It should’ve freaked me out, but it felt kind of nice. Comfortable. Not at all threatening.
Rose stalked forward like a cat with its eyes set on prey, and it shut me up quick. I hadn’t noticed how her skirt appeared to be a couple inches higher, or how she hadn’t buttoned her top all the way up to her neck. The white shirt created a lovely V that descended into the shadow created by a beautiful pair of breasts I suddenly wanted to see.
“You’ll need to take this seriously.”
I forced my gaze to her eyes. “I am taking this seriously.” Seriously planning on getting her out of that top.
“You could very well lose the first game. You might be asked how you view yourself as a leader, and if you decide to make a play that doesn’t work, that blame will fall on your shoulders. At least the media will put it there.” She stopped just shy of the podium.
My height gave me the perfect vantage point.
“If you’ve dealt with the media—as you claim—”
“Wait a minute, as I claim? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Had she seen me on TV?
“I’ve seen quite a few of your interviews.”
Okay, now I was a little freaked out.
“No one could deny you have a certain…charisma that is definitely you and not anyone else.”
“I’m going to pretend I wasn’t just insulted by that remark.”
“Whatever you want. But what you can’t do”—she tapped the podium with my rival—the pen—“is go so far off script that you damage the brand of this organization. That you make yourself out to look like the hero in a tragedy. Like you’re the only one on the team doing anything to win, and everyone else is a bunch of buffoons.”
The air whooshed from my lungs with her harsh characterization. Was that what she saw from my interviews? “Rose, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She shook her head, the light in her eyes dampening and her lips frowning. “Doesn’t surprise me. Have you actually seen yourself in an interview? It’s different than doing it in person. You think you said one thing or displayed a certain emotion, and the audience’s perception is the complete opposite. Here, let me show you.” She pulled out her cell phone and, like she couldn’t wait to show me, had one of my interviews from YouTube already loaded and ready to go.
For three long and painful minutes, I stood at the podium watching a kid I knew really well, and then didn’t at all. It was right after my second Heisman Trophy win. I sounded like the biggest douchebag, a real dick. I didn’t thank a single teammate—not even Cas!—just my coach and my baby sister. I droned on and on about how great a player I was. I mean, I
had just won the Heisman for the second time. Only one player, a running back, had ever done that, and that was way before I was even born.
When the video ended, Rose said, “I have several others cued up.”
I handed back her phone. “I get your point.”
I reluctantly met her eyes. She offered me a sweet smile. “Want to practice?”
She’d done her research on me and saw me for what I was: a giant, champion ass. Yet she still could look at me and smile in a way that wasn’t patronizing or condescending. If I didn’t know she was doing her job, I would think she genuinely wanted to help me.
“Like I said,” she continued, “it’s about the brand of the team. After all, you’re not the only one on the field, and I know you know that—deep down. All of you have a part to play in order to function like a cohesive unit. When it works, and when it doesn’t, you’ll have to be prepared to answer why.”
“I understand,” I whispered, although I wasn’t sure how I’d lost the will to be forceful. Perhaps when you see yourself as not what you’ve thought you had created all these years and instead as a badly drawn caricature, you want to rethink how you portray yourself. “What do I need to know?” I asked with a bit more volume, not totally defeated by reality; still willing to learn.
Rose’s smile widened. “Good. I think the best thing you have going for yourself—although you weren’t really on your game a few minutes ago—is that you’re quick on your feet. It doesn’t take long for you to think of an answer, and you’re fairly articulate—”
“Especially when I’m talking about myself.” I cringed a little, but I wanted her to know I could take criticism and make fun of myself.
She sucked her lips in, and the lightly applied blush on her cheeks appeared to darken. “Right. That’s probably the first thing you’ll want to either tone down or just eliminate all together.”
“Talking about myself?” What a foreign concept.
She placed a hand over mine and leaned in. “Landyn, your skills speak volumes. More so than anything you could say about yourself.” She tapped my hand. “And to make things better, it’s a quality endorsement, whereas what you’re saying is boosting only your ego while giving nothing to the listener.”
