Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3)

by Lex Martin

  That realization stops me in my tracks. I’ve never told her I love her. I didn’t want to move too fast and freak her out or go out on a limb and get pummeled.

  Christ, I am an idiot.

  As I’m walking up to her, one of the other contestants, a guy who plays for the Red Sox, places his hand on her lower back and whispers in her ear. She smiles shyly and pulls back, shaking her head.

  What the fuck is that about?

  He’s looking at her like he wants her for breakfast. No fucking way, asshole. Not happening.

  I stalk up to them. When her eyes meet mine, they cool. “Daren.” That’s it. She says my name, and the lack of emotion behind it kills me just a little bit.

  The idiot next to her returns his hand to her back, and fury coils in my stomach and makes its way through my chest.

  “Maddie,” I say. “Can I talk to you a second?”

  Her lips twitch. After a moment, she starts to nod yes, but an announcer tells everyone to grab their seats.

  “I have to go, Daren. Maybe we can talk afterward.” Then she turns on her heel and heads for the front of the room.

  Idiot boy leans toward me. “Holy shit, she’s hot. I call dibs on fucking her.”

  My jaw tightens so much it aches. “You ever talk about her like that, and I will launch that sorry-ass throwing arm through that wall over there.”

  He rears back and holds up his hands. “Kidding, man. Kidding.”

  Blowing out a long breath, I look for my table.

  I need a break. I need the stars to align in my favor tonight, and I have to make this right. There is no way in hell I’m letting my pride fuck this up. I’m going to lock her in at my place and tell her all the crazy shit that’s been going on, and she might be pissed that I haven’t told her, but it’s better than this. Because I know for a fact that I’ll lose her if we don’t talk this through.

  When I spot my table, I curse under my breath. Fuck you, stars. Because who am I sitting next to? Camille.

  Goddamn it.

  “Daren!” she squeals too loudly. Gone is the financial planner. Someone has replaced her with a fangirl, because she jumps up and all of her parts jiggle in her overly snug dress. A second later she hugs me and presses herself all over me. No, no, no.

  I give her a quick pat on the back, nearly gagging on her perfume, and step back. When I look up, Maddie is staring daggers at us from the podium.

  Running my hand through my hair, I drag my seat farther away while I glance around, hoping to find a way to move somewhere else without offending Camille. Her firm is donating so much money that my whole table is filled with her coworkers.

  I sit and wave down a waiter for a Scotch. I’ve never drunk hard liquor during the season, but these are special circumstances. And tonight I need a fucking drink.

  After welcoming everyone, Maddie says, “I have to give a special shout out to my co-worker Nicole Stanton, who can’t be with us this evening. She came down with the flu and sounds terrible.” She holds up her phone. “But I’ve been receiving hate mail from her for the last hour for stealing her gig, so at least we know she’s alive.”

  Everyone chuckles, and she smiles sweetly at the crowd. “I guess I have my hands full tonight. I mean, I just get the worst jobs. Interviewing Boston’s sexiest bachelors all night. Jeez. I need a raise.”

  People laugh, and my heart is seizing up from an overdose of her charm.

  She’s so effortless up there. Sweet and charismatic. Funny and flirtatious. I’ve seen her on the news, and I’ve gotten to know her easy-going style during our interviews, but to watch her up there, without a single notecard or teleprompter, she’s so fucking impressive. My chest swells with pride.

  Maddie introduces every bachelor, and they banter back and forth up there. I know she has to hype the guys, but each time she smiles adoringly at them, my heart aches a little.

  After each introduction, a special segment featuring the bachelor’s charity is shown on the screen behind them. At several points in the evening, people have tears in their eyes from her stories.

  Finally, she introduces her ex, and he strolls up there and drapes his arm around her. She stiffens and pushes his arm off her. “Hey, stud, haven’t you ever heard you’re not supposed to touch the merchandise?”

  She plays it off like a joke, and the audience laughs. She keeps his intro short, just long enough to not diss him, and then she plays the video about his charity.

  It’s for an after-school program in South Boston. When it’s over, she leans toward the mic and says, “I actually grew up going here. It’s where I learned about journalism. They brought in a local broadcaster, and right then and there, I knew it’s what I wanted to do.”

  From the expression on her face, I’m wondering if that program had anything to do with the internship her dad tried to help her get when he brought her to cover my high school game.

  She clears her throat. “Jacob, I’m really proud of all that you’re doing for our neighborhood. Great job.” She sounds sincere, and Jacob’s shoulders slouch.

  He reaches over to hug her and whispers something in her ear, and she nods. Before he walks backstage, he leans closer and kisses her cheek.

  Everyone “awws” and she wipes her eyes. “Enough of this mushy stuff. Let’s get to our final bachelor.” I realize she’s calling me up, and I make my way to the podium as I smooth my tux.

  I give her an awkward hug, and she smiles toward the crowd, careful to avoid eye contact with me.

  “With some of the best stats in football for a rookie, Daren Sloan has dominated the field this fall. He’s known around these parts for being the go-to guy in a clutch. A Heisman winner, a two-time All-American, and a three-time All-Conference player, Daren’s reputation precedes him. So it comes as no surprise that the Rebels are in contention for the playoffs. Nor does it come as a surprise that his charity, St. Martin’s Homeless Shelter, raised the most money tonight. Because if you know Daren, you know he plays to win. He eats, breathes, and sleeps football. It’s hard to be around him and not be impressed with his professional commitment.”

  I’m touched by her words, but I’m even more moved by her story about the shelter. After an overview of some of the resources St. Martin’s provides, she introduces a man named Sam, and the moment I see his face, tears fill my eyes.

  I turn to look at Maddie, but she stares up at the screen. Sam wasn’t in the original segment that already aired on the news.

  Sam’s weathered voice comes through the speakers. “Daren comes here several times a month. He helped me fill out a job application once. I know he cares about the people of this city. How many football stars do you see eating lunch with the homeless? And yet he sat with me for an hour, listened to my story about how I lost my home. Before he left, he gave me a hug and said he’d find a way to help me. And he has. He put his name down as my personal reference and got me a job at a local hotel.”

  Sam’s voice cracks, and I have to turn my back to wipe my eyes. “The only thing Daren asked in return was that I come back here when I had a chance and try to pay it forward by helping others. I hope his charity wins because I know for a fact that this place changes lives. It changed mine.”

  The lights come on, and there’s a hushed silence. When I turn to face the audience, the applause is deafening.

  When they’re done clapping, Maddie says, “Congratulations, Daren. You raised six million dollars, which will be matched not by one corporation, but two. Last night, we got word your father’s corporation, Sloan Industries, will also be contributing, which brings your total to eighteen million dollars. The shelter will be able to afford all of the renovations they need to stay open and expand to help twice as many homeless in the Boston area.” She turns to me finally, and says, “I’m so proud of you. Congratulations.”

  But before I can thank her, she takes a deep breath and places her hand against her stomach. “Which brings us to the dating portion of the evening,” she announces into the mi
crophone.

  The women in the audience start cheering, and Maddie laughs that slightly artificial chuckle she does when she’s on film. She calls up all of the athletes, who stand behind her.

  Maddie motions toward us. “Six very lucky women will go on exclusive dates with these bachelors next week, so I hope your calendars are clear. But before you accept this date, you should be fully aware of what you’re getting yourself into. Because with so much popularity come the fans. And let me tell you, these boys have quite the admirers.”

  She turns back, and when our eyes meet, her glare is glacial.

  Shit. This can’t be good. When she returns her attention to the audience, a smile is plastered to her face.

  “Without further ado, I call this segment Buyer Beware.”

  Everyone laughs, and if my stomach could sink any further, it would. When we signed on for this contest, the guys agreed to be roasted. And something in Maddie’s eyes tells me I’m about to go down in flames.

  The segment starts with girls screaming over the Red Sox douchebag I nearly pummeled earlier. Athlete by athlete, the fans talk about what lengths they’d go to get close to us. A girl jokes about how she was arrested after following one of the guys onto a plane. Guess TSA didn’t find it amusing. Finally, the segment cuts to a shot of me with the guys on the team before cutting to footage of screaming girls who are sitting on top of my SUV.

  As images of the women project onto the screen, the voice of one of my teammates says, “Daren has the most insane fans I’ve ever seen. They’ve locked themselves in his car. Naked. Snuck into his hotel room at away games. Naked. And they’ve flooded his phone with all kinds of pics. Naked pics. We even have a locker full of underwear girls leave for him. He’s a lucky bastard.”

  The kicker comes at the end. It’s a photo of a buxom blonde. And she's only wearing a red t-shirt. The image instantly stops my heart. Because the t-shirt says, "Not just a pretty face." It’s the one Maddie gave me at the beginning of the season. The fabric comes down to the girl’s thighs, and then you see her bare legs. Worse, though? She’s standing in front of a rumpled bed.

  Except I have no fucking clue who that girl is. What the ever-loving fuck?

  Of course, everyone thinks it’s some random pic, but the girl who gave me the custom-made t-shirt sure as hell won’t.

  The segment ends with a big “buyer beware” warning sign and hazard lights. The audience laughs, roars because they think it’s hysterical, but when the lights turn up, Maddie is wiping her eyes. Fuck.

  After clearing her throat, she introduces tonight’s biggest corporate donor, who will announce the winners of the dates with the bachelors. Maddie steps back to let the donor take the mic and turns to walk off stage. I grab her wrist.

  “Let me explain, Maddie,” I say low enough so she’s the only one who can hear.

  Her head drops, and all of her beautiful hair cascades forward. “I’m pretty sure you had that chance.” She sniffles and pushes back her shoulders as a tear escapes. “All I asked for was honesty.” Her chin quivers, and she adds, “I’ll drop off the bracelet next week.”

  “Don’t do this. I know that looked bad, but nothing happened. I swear to God I never touched any of those girls. And I have no goddamn clue who that girl was in my t-shirt.”

  She gives me a sad smile. “Daren, I’ve heard that excuse before. Maybe it didn’t come from you, but it might as well have.” She wipes away another tear. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

  As she walks away, I start to go after her, but her boss Spencer stops me and motions toward the podium. “Don’t even think about leaving, Daren. You need to go accept an eighteen million dollar check. I’m pretty sure that trumps a piece of tail.”

  What the fuck?

  A corporate suit is calling my name from the stage as I watch the love of my life walk out the back of the ballroom.

  My head is pounding as I wander back to the podium. What the hell just happened?

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  - Daren -

  “Dude, you look like shit.” Jax kicks the pizza box at my feet and pushes off the mountain of laundry at one end of my couch before he drops down next to me.

  I barely grunt a response as I stare at ESPN. They’re replaying last week’s interview Maddie and I did, and I’ve been rewinding it for the last half hour, torturing myself. The only reprieve I’ve had is the fact that my date for the bachelor contest is a seventy-five-year-old widow named Lucille.

  Pointing the neck of my beer toward the TV, I say, “Right here. She knew. Look at her eyes. She fucking knew all those girls were sneaking into my room. All I had to do was tell her. That’s it. Maybe it would have hurt her, maybe she would have been pissed, hell, maybe she wouldn’t have believed me, but it’s better than her thinking I’m an outright liar. All I had to do was open my fucking mouth and tell her.”

  “Have you groveled? Begged her to listen? Sometimes ya gotta beg, man. I myself have done that once or twice with Dani.”

  “Dude, if I could fucking find her, I would. She isn’t taking my calls, and Sheri swears she has no clue where Maddie went. Maddie just told her she was staying with a friend, that she didn’t want to be next door to me. That she couldn’t handle the headboard once that got going. Whatever that means. The girl packed a bag the night of the contest and left.”

  “What about her job? You could track her down there.”

  I glare at him. “Idiot, she’ll lose her job if her boss thinks we’re sleeping together.”

  Jax looks confused. “I thought he already knew about it.”

  “He could have been talking out of his ass to get me to stay at the gala. I have no idea, and I’m not willing to risk Maddie’s job to find out.”

  “How about you just wait for her to leave her job? Like, camp out by her car until she comes outside.”

  I make a face. “You creeper. I’m not going to fucking stalk her.”

  My buddy punches my arm, and I sink deeper into the couch. “How did your game go last weekend?”

  I close my eyes. “Like you need to ask. I played like shit. We won, thank fuck, but I had very little to do with it.”

  “And you’re drinking during the season. Gotta say this is a first. Even when Veronica was acting like a crazy bitch, you’d just put all that shit aside and play football like it was your lifeline.”

  “It was. I don’t know how I got away from that.” I rub the spot on my chest that’s been aching for days. “I just can’t get my head straight. It’s like I can’t fucking breathe.”

  We’re quiet for a while, and I listen to Maddie’s voice come through the speakers. God, I feel like a pathetic asshole, sitting here watching our interview over and over again.

  Finally, Jax turns off the TV. “Some of the guys and I are headed out to get tattoos tonight. Wanna come? Sometimes you gotta brand that shit on you so you don’t forget. Life lessons and all that. It’s better than sitting here, being a sad sack.”

  Laughing, I close my eyes. “I’m pouring my heart out to you, and you want to get a tattoo?”

  “Yup.”

  My shoulders slump. “Fine. Fuck it. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Jax’s friends meet up with us on Boylston Street, and Jax grumbles, “I can’t believe this is the place the guys picked.”

  “Why? Are we going to get tetanus from their needles or something?”

  He shakes his head and groans. “I wish.”

  We walk in, and I’m relieved to see such a spotless parlor. It’s a beautiful setup, actually. Exposed brick walls, two rows of black leather chairs, framed artwork everywhere.

  A tatted-up guy walks up to us and motions to Jax. “You gonna let me ink you up, man?” Then he laughs.

  “Fuck, no. I’m not an idiot.” Jax turns to me. “Here, you can do Sloan.”

  I look back and forth between them, a little more than certain that they hate each other. “Bro, you’re freaking me out,” I tell Jax.

&nb
sp; “Brady might be an asshole, but he’s a great artist. I promise you’ll be happy with his work.” Then Jax smacks me on the back and walks off to talk to his friends.

  Brady shrugs. “I’m old friends with his girlfriend Dani.”

  “You mean fiancée.”

  “Whatever.” He sighs and runs his hands through his black hair. “We doing this or what? You have some idea of what you want?”

  I check out the lines that snake up both of his arms. The guy has some really nice pieces, which assuages my anxiety.

  Nodding, I describe what I’m looking for, and he motions for me to grab a seat while he sketches the design.

  Two hours and three beers later, I’m still not sure how to get Maddie back. This might be the dumbest thing I’ve done yet, but I’m hoping the effort counts for something.

  * * *

  The next morning, I’m so grateful I don’t have to haul my ass to an early practice I could cry. My mouth is pasty, and my eyes are glued together. I groan and try to sit up.

  “Want some coffee?” a female voice calls out.

  What the fuck? My heart starts to thud in my chest. In a panic, I look around and realize I’ve been passed out on Jax’s couch. And that voice must be Dani’s.

  Thank you, Lord. Because I really can’t deal with another girl trying to break into my place. I take a deep breath to calm down. “Yeah, thanks, Dani.”

  Dropping onto one of the bar chairs, I gratefully take the coffee. I smile at Dani, but her mouth twists into a frown.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her frown deepens. “I might not be the best person to tell you this.”

  I lean forward. “Tell me what?”

  “You’re going to be upset. Jax said he’d be right back. He went to grab some bagels. He really should be the one to tell you.”

  “Dude, you’re seriously freaking the fuck out of me.”