I wasn’t glad, per se, to drudge up a scandal … but those bitches deserved it after what they’d done to her, and to me. And probably to loads more innocent girls that had passed through their ranks over the years.
“How was work?” Colton sets our plates down on the table, having set up the food I’d brought home in containers while I washed off the day.
“Bloody chaos, but I loved every minute. Chef Jacques was in rare form tonight, he smashed five plates against the wall. I had to bite my tongue to stop from giggling.”
“Please, allow me to bite it for you now.” Colton leaned over me as I took my seat, his mouth a wicked smile before it descended over mine.
My heart fluttered, actually fluttered, as he delivered me a proper welcome home kiss. And when he pulled back, that same devilish grin on his lips, I had to catch my breath for a minute.
We were more in love than I could have ever imagined being with another person. And not just that, but we were companions. We supported each other; he, when I worked late into the night at the restaurant I was a line cook at, and me, when he was on the road for a game and lonely. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, coming home to another person, sharing every intimate part of your life with them.
Colton and I were two opposite sides of a coin that just happened to fit perfectly together. Who knew it would take a cross country trip in which I promised to have some fun and let me hair down, that I would end up coming away with the love of a lifetime.
“You know what would really turn me on tonight?” I held his hand across the table, the food hot and ready to be eaten in front of us.
“What’s that?” He tipped a sip of wine back with his free hand.
“If you spoke French to me.” I grinned, knowing I was being a bit cheeky.
Colton gave me a stink-eye. “You know I’m not very good at those lessons.”
I laughed. No, he wasn’t making much progress on learning the language, but it was adorable to hear him try.
And secretly, I liked it when he butchered those elegant French words in the bedroom.
Forty-One
Eloise
Since Colton moved in with me, we’ve done some weekend trips here and there so he can see the different places in Europe that I love the best.
London, obviously. We flew to Vienna two weeks ago and ate spaetzle at a little table overlooking Graben. A trip to Rome proved to be Colton’s favorite, the Vatican and the ruins of the Colosseum absolutely floored him.
But the one place that was nearest to my heart, the one that made me feel vulnerable and small each time I stepped foot back in it … no, I hadn’t taken him there yet.
Until now.
“That’s where you grew up?” Colton is standing next to me on the sidewalk outside a dingy apartment building.
Both of our heads are tilted up, looking where my finger points at a third-floor window. “That’s it. A one bedroom, seven hundred square feet. I used to sleep on the sofa.”
The noises of Liverpool dance around us. Traffic, machinery from the factories, boats coming in to port. Underneath that, if you strain your ears, you can hear the sound of musical instruments coming from the various pubs, and down at the music school. Every bright-eyed student who came here had the same dream of being the Beatles one day.
“Thank you for showing me your roots.” He turns to me, his dark hair so contrasted by his light blue-green eyes.
I stare at the ring of blue surrounded by the ring of green, trying to get a grip on my emotions. I’d finally decided to bring Colton here after weeks of internal debate. Coming back to Liverpool always made me fear that I’d end up under the poverty line again. Once you come from nothing, you keep running, keep working, never to be there again.
But he’d shown me his hometown, flayed himself open and showed me all of his scars and wounds. So I knew I had to do the same. It was the last piece of my puzzle, and he needed to see it.
“I used to sit in that window and stare out, dreaming of a life like the one I have now. Only … it’s funny …”
“What is?” He wraps his long, muscled arms around my waist.
People pass on the sidewalk, completely unaware of who we are. “When you don’t have the wealth or the fame or the houses or the cars or whatever it is that you think you need to be happy, you’re completely convinced that once you get it, your life will be complete. But it’s not, is it? It’s why girls like those in Charter continue to gossip and rank and haze. They’re so bored with the privilege that they need more; they need to indulge in the next thing. And to a certain extent, I was the same way. I became so unimpressed by the money and status. I needed more mystery, and the highs I followed became more dangerous and more outlandish with each passing moment. It’s easy to see now that I just wasn’t happy. I was trying to tell myself this lie; that by being independent and untouchable, snubbing my nose at everything, I was happy and fierce. But I wasn’t. I was just a scared fool.”
Colton’s eyes search mine. “You know, you’re a hard woman to unwrap. But each time I find a new layer, I’m pleasantly, and humbly, surprised. There is so much more to you, Eloise Mason, than you ever let on. And I’m happy I get to be the one you show that part of you to.”
I push up on my toes and kiss him. “And I’m happy that you were so cheeky with me on that first night at The Croc. And that the cockiness matches what you’re packing.”
I squeeze one perfect arse cheek and Colton rolls his eyes. “Is that all you care about?”
“Pretty much.” I smile jovially.
“Okay, so now that we’ve seen the childhood apartment, what’s next?” He’s trying to cheer me up.
“Well, there is the shopping. Some fantastic shopping in the downtown area.”
He smiles. “That’s your element. I want to see some sights, otherwise, I’m not a real American tourist.”
“We could do the Beatles tour.” I shrug.
“Never listened to them.” His face shows no sign of recognition.
Shock pulses through me. “What?!”
Colton nods. “I just … it was never my type of music.”
I can’t grasp this. “John, Paul, Ringo and George are everyone’s type of music.”
“I guess they just never were mine.”
“Okay, we are rectifying this, right now. I can’t believe you’ve never actually listened to one Beatles song all the way through. That’s a travesty. Well, no matter, we’ll get you brushed up in no time on my non-official Beatles tour of Liverpool.”
Colton laces his fingers through mine. “As long as we can end it with a beer at the Cavern Club.”
I look at him, shocked. “I thought you said you didn’t know anything about the Beatles!”
He grins, patting himself on the back. “I may not know the Beatles, but I do know famous places in Liverpool. When you told me we were coming to your hometown, I did my research. Oh, and I would also like to get tickets to a football match, if possible.”
Smiling, I lead him down the street, my attitude about where I grew up taking a turn for the better. “I think that can be arranged.”
It’s funny what personal growth and the love of another will do for you. Experiencing the city with Colton, seeing it through his eyes, makes me appreciate this place more. Over the next few hours, as we make our way through the Beatles Museum, to Penny Lane, past Strawberry Field, and finally stopping for appetizers and a drink while some band plays at the Cavern Club … I fall a little bit in love with the city that raised me.
As I’d said to Colton, I’d learned that the affluent status I once thought was of utmost importance, was absolute rubbish.
Real happiness finally came when I let all of that go, and embraced my truth. And the love that that truth brought.
Forty-Two
Colton
It’s funny how small the world seems once you travel outside of the bubble you once thought was the only place on earth.
Once my life official
ly fell apart, and I hit rock bottom, there was only one place to go, and it wasn’t up. It was Europe … with Eloise. I’d never traveled outside of the United States, and of the traveling I’d done within, most of what I’d seen had been the inside of airplanes and basketball arenas.
I used to think that my world, the social clubs and VIP athlete treatment, was the biggest thing out there. In that world I’d been a king, and when you’re a big fish in a little pond, you tend not to look for adventure or validation anywhere else.
So, moving to Paris was humbling on so many levels. The world opened up for me, revealing all of the beautiful sights and unknown experiences that I hadn’t even known I was missing out on. I met new kinds of people, learned different customs and languages, became a face in the sea of faces. No one knew who Colton Reiter was here, no one had expectations or wanted anything from me. It was freeing, in a sense, to become a small fish.
It was also humbling to become the low man on the totem pole when it came to basketball.
“What’s up, rook?” Vladamir Hugo holds up his hand for a high-five as I walk past him into the gym.
“Not a rook anymore, you big Russian.” I smile good-naturedly and pick up a ball.
“When you’ve been here as long as I have, and won as many championships as I have, you’re still a rookie until you’ve gotten your … let’s say third ring.” He goes to the free throw line and begins warmups.
“Well, then, I’m one third there.” I join him as the rest of our team hits the court, ready for practice.
Last season, my Parisian basketball team had won the European Basketball League championship. And I had seen a side to the sport that I didn’t even know existed. Of course every player knew about the European league, but what people didn’t assume was just how insanely good these guys were. Most of them were better than NBA players, but chose to stay here because there was less bullshit. Here, it was all about the sport. And there were no superstars, not to these seasoned veterans. You came, you put in the work, you played as a team, and you won as a unit.
They’d taught me so much more about my sport in one year than I’d learned in my entire lifetime. Each guy had something to show me about his culture too; Vlad made me borscht, Samir had taken me and a couple of the other guys to his favorite golf course on the outskirts of Paris, Henrik had invited us two months ago to his summer house in Sweden. My world had been completely blown open, and while my life had fallen apart, if had been built up twice as strong.
“Let’s go to Bon Amor after this.” Micah, our shooting guard, dribbles past me.
“You can’t eat for free at my girlfriend’s restaurant every night.” I laugh.
“Who said for free? You’re paying.” Samir chuckles, fist-bumping Micah.
At least once a week, me and the guys went to the restaurant where Eloise worked late into the night. It was one of the most expensive, and delicious, restaurants in the city … and it allowed me to stare at my girlfriend through the open concept kitchen as she worked.
Was it crazy that I found her even hotter when she was running around the kitchen, her eyes so focused and cheeks pink with exertion? I’d never seen her in her element fully until I moved here, and now I wanted to sit at a table in the corner of Bon Amor every night just to watch her.
I might have fallen in love with Eloise because of her spunk, her need to challenge me and keep me on my toes, that beautiful face and body, and the overall meshing of her personality with mine. Those were all of the things that attracted me to her from day one when she stepped foot on campus at Jade Mountain.
But what kept us together, and what made me fall just a little bit further each day, was when she proved just how loyal, compassionate, understanding and solid she could be. Standing by me through the Mac scandal, supporting me in West Virginia with my mother … I’d never really had anyone who would be … well, it’s corny, but ride or die.
I’d never envisioned myself being wifed up, living with a girl and spending my nights cooking and watching Netflix shows and getting in bed early so that we could talk and flirt in the dark.
It was safe to say, that over the past year, I’d reinvented myself into a stronger, more caring, more open person. Sure, I kept up on which one of my old teammates was drafted and where they were now playing. And yes, I had regrets. I still had a tiny flicker of hope in my chest that I’d make it into the most famous league in the world; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.
“Reiter, Coach wants to see you in his office.”
I stop what I’m doing, and automatically, a cold trickle of sweat moves down my spine. The last time I had to walk into a Coach’s office and have a private discussion, my entire world was torn to shreds. But no one else seems to think anything of it, the guys continuing on with their drills and jokes.
When I walk into Coach Schmidt’s office, the large German man is at his computer, a lemonade half drank on the corner of his desk. Schmidt is a good coach, knowledgeable, but a little aloof. He doesn’t connect with the players as much, but then again, this isn’t college. He isn’t supposed to be molding us into good men, he’s supposed to be winning championships for the organization.
“Coach, you needed to see me?” I stand at the door.
His accent is thick as he waves me in. “Yes, yes, Reiter … sit down.”
I do as he says, and fold my hands in my lap.
“You have been good player, we value you. But, I’m afraid your time here with us is ending.” He’s blunt and his expression doesn’t change in even the minutest of ways.
My stomach bottoms out, and that clawing emotion of desperation works its way up my throat. “I’m sorry … you’re letting me go?”
Technically, my contract was up after last season and I’m still in talks. I thought it looked good; I’d get a nice pay increase, I’d get to keep playing with a team I admired. But apparently, I’d read the signs totally wrong.
“Not letting you go, not at all. I’m sorry to have to see you go. But, when a team in the NBA wants to sign you, I think I know what your answer will be. So, like I said, your time with us is ending.”
Did he just say NBA? “Wait … what?”
Finally, the normally stoic coach cracks a small smile. “The New York Cougars want you, Reiter. They saw what you did last season, and it’s outweighed any scandal that is now yesterday’s news. They want you to play in the NBA, starting for them this season. You need to be on a plane on Friday.”
My mind whirls; with the news, with excitement, with terror that I won’t live up to the hype. This is all I’ve ever dreamed of, and now that it was here, I was letting hope fill my chest like it was a ten-gallon jug. My entire world was about to change once again, but this time I was prepared for it.
But in that moment, I realized my life kept doing one eighties, with one constant grounding me. Because the only thing I wanted to do was go home and celebrate with the most amazing girl I’d ever met. Who just happened to agree to be mine.
Epilogue
Eloise
Two Years Later
“Two foie gras quesadillas, two tofu curry meatloafs, and six macaroni and cheese samosas on the fly, ready in five!”
I call out the orders, my voice never wavering as chaos swirls around me like a tornado. I thrive in this, live for this, feed off the raw energy flying around the kitchen.
“Yes, chef!” My sous calls back to me, the entire galley moving at warp speed.
“Hey, lady, your boy just scored a three.” Blair points up at the television we have mounted to the wall in the gleaming white and stainless-steel kitchen of my restaurant, Elite.
Turning to watch, I see Colton’s lean, muscular, drop-dead gorgeous body on the screen. The camera zooms into his face, those eyes that I look into every morning completely focused as beads of sweat drip down his forehead.
Bloody hell, my bloke is beautiful.
“Yes, baby!” I cheer as he scores another two points on the television.
; Someone claps, one of the sous chefs, and I snap back into boss mode, scowling. “All right, enough slacking. Get me those plates in the window!”
When Colton got the call to join his current team in New York, I hadn’t hesitated in the slightest in telling him to go. We both knew I couldn’t join him, not right away, but I would have never gotten in the way of his greatest dream.
When I’d said that, he countered and told me that I was his greatest dream, and that someday he’d make an honest woman out of me.
Someday was only three months away now, my beautiful emerald engagement ring flashing on my left hand as I examine the plates, checking for any swab of sauce out of place.
Colton had proposed the night I’d arrived in New York as its newest permanent resident, just about a year and a half ago. I’d stayed in Paris for six of the loneliest months of my life to stay at Bon Amor and gain some street credit for my cooking skills. And then, when I couldn’t stand to be away from Colton another moment, I enlisted the help of my father to help me build my restaurant.
Sure, people could say I’d had it easy in this business because I had a rich daddy who funded me. And it was true, I had never had trouble with investors or wondering where the next installment of funding was going to come from. But I worked bloody hard, fought tooth and nail for every good review I, and Elite, had earned. And it was fast becoming one of the hottest spots in Tribeca. It wasn’t easy, and I worked longer hours than most anyone I knew, but I absolutely loved it.
“Do you want me to make you an espresso? You’re going to need all the energy you can get.” Blair raises an eyebrow at me.
I poached her six months ago from the restaurant she was working at, not having to work hard to convince her to come run my bar staff. She had full access to buy whatever wine and liquor she wanted, as well as work up the drinks menu. She was fantastic, and our signature alcohol concoctions were one of the most raved about parts of Elite.
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