“How bad is it if you come downstairs with your hair straight?”
“Really, really bad. My dad’s a details guy. Oh, God,” I moan.
“Wait a second,” Blake says. He leaves the bathroom and returns a minute later with a shoelace. “It’s from my only pair of dress shoes, but I can be unorthodox tomorrow and wear my suede sneakers to practice.”
It takes me a minute to realize he’s kidding. Of course he wouldn’t wear dress shoes to practice.
“Thank you,” I say. I tie my hair up with it, leaving one lock of hair loose. I wrap that strand around the shoelace to cover it up, tucking the ends of the lace into the underside of my ponytail. I secure the hair with a bobby pin.
“That’ll do,” I say. “Thank you.”
He shrugs. “Don’t mention it.”
We stand there awkwardly. “I think I’ll take the elevator to the second floor and then slip down the staircase and back out into the lobby. It’ll look like I just went to the bathroom since they’re right there.”
Blake looks impressed. “You’ve done a lot of sneaking around, haven’t you?”
I shrug. “Mostly to go read in the backyard.”
I snap my purse shut and stare at my feet.
Blake starts talking at the same time I do.
“Well, I guess-“
“This was fun,” I say.
I nearly slap my forehead in embarrassment. This was fun? This was fun? Ugh. At least I didn’t thank him for the sex.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks.
“Maybe. Possibly,” I say enigmatically. “I’ll be up in the top box where my dad will be with his business partner, making all sorts of phone calls.” I pause. “At least there’s room service.”
He leans down and kisses me on the cheek.
“I gotta go,” I whisper. But every ounce of me wants to stay.
It takes all my willpower to go downstairs and away from Blake.
I think about him as the floors count down.
I follow my plan, disembarking on the second floor and sneaking into the staircase. I step out of the landing and into the hallway where the bathrooms are. As I walk into the lobby, I see my father shaking hands with one of the coaches.
I trot over to him, taking a deep breath to control myself.
“Dad, I’m ready when you are,” I say.
He nods. “Good, Camille. We have an early morning tomorrow.”
“Yes, Dad. Of course.”
I play the dutiful daughter all the way home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CAMILLE
I wake up to the sound of sirens. I shove a pillow against my ears to block out the noise, but nothing works. Then I see red flashing lights bouncing around the walls of my room. I listen for Hazel to see if she’s been awoken, but I hear nothing. Nothing but the sirens.
I walk over to the window and my stomach drops.
It’s an ambulance.
And it’s right outside my window.
I throw on a bathrobe and run down the hallway. I slam into Eloise. She’s sobbing in her own bathrobe.
“What’s wrong, Eloise?” Time seems to slow down around me. The doorbell rings somewhere in the distance.
“It’s your father. He’s – he’s. Oh, Camille. I tried everything. He rang for me in the middle of the night, not twenty minutes ago. I tried – oh. I tried everything. Everything.”
The doorbell rings again followed by pounding.
“He’s what?”
But I already know the answer.
“Oh, Cami. He’s dead.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CAMILLE
I’ve cried myself dry.
Hazel is bouncing off the walls talking about the ambulance.
“How about you go explore the house a little bit?” I beg of her.
She doesn’t need to be told twice, her sneakers squeaking across the marble tile floor.
I’m in the kitchen with Eloise, tortilla soup cooking on the stove. The rich chicken scent makes my mouth water. This is comfort food. Of course this is what Eloise would choose to cook.
“It was a heart attack,” Eloise says for the hundredth time. It’s like she thinks if she keeps saying it like an incantation, the words will bring him back to life. “It was quick. He was upright at the dining table and then suddenly he was gone.”
I nod my head.
“Okay.” I don’t know what else to say to her. We’ve said everything. Words have lost their meaning entirely.
There’s a thick manila envelope on the countertop. Eloise sees me looking at it.
“I know it’s soon. But he always wanted me to give this to you right away. And considering the circumstances of timing and schedules…” she drifts off into silence.
“What do you mean ‘timing and schedules’?”
“Open it, Camille. I know you hate drawing things out longer than necessary.”
I open it. Inside is a thick stack of papers covered in legalese along with no fewer than six credit cards.
I read the letter on top first.
I read it again.
I read it a third time.
It’s not sinking in.
“Dad gave me the team?”
Eloise nods.
I hate football.
Did I mention that already?
“I’m going out,” I announce to Eloise. “I need a change of scenery.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BLAKE
I wake up early the morning after Camille and I fucked, checking out of my hotel room and meeting up with the moving company down the street.
I rented an apartment online, sight unseen. I pull up to the building, a glass skyscraper dwarfing the small buildings around it. There’s a concierge in the front.
“May I help you, sir?” he asks. He’s so young he still has traces of acne on his pale face. He looks uncomfortable in his polyester uniform.
I don’t know how he’s still standing upright from the oppressive heat and humidity.
“I’m moving in,” I explain. “Blake Merriman.”
He nods. “Of course, Mr. Merriman. Do you need some help?”
Three hours and about sixteen pairs of hands later, my new apartment is overflowing with cardboard boxes. Just as I suspected, the furniture that fit so well in my tiny San Francisco apartment is swallowed up by the space here. The rent is a third less than what I was paying in California and I’m getting three times the space.
The view isn’t half bad; the lake sparkling beneath me, the skyline stretched before me.
I fall asleep on the sofa and wake up to one of my alarms reminding me to head to practice. Then my phone rings.
“Hello?”
It’s my agent. “Merriman. Bad news. Bill Sanders passed this morning. Practice is cancelled for the day.”
My mind instantly flashes to Camille.
“He’s dead? How?”
“Heart attack. Woke up in the middle of the night. He was dead before the ambulance got there. Anyway, congratulations; you’ve got the day off.”
He sounds so flippant it makes me hang up on him. Unfeeling asshole. I go to my contacts list before I remember that I don’t actually have Camille’s number. I sigh and realize I need coffee. Badly.
I shower, put on my running clothes, and jog down the eighteen story steps to the ground floor. I spotted a Starbucks around the corner when I pulled in the day before.
There’s a line of early Saturday morning go-getters waiting for their caffeine fix. I get up to the register and order.
“Grande iced coffee.”
“Cold brew or regular?” The barista asks, smiling at me.
“Cold brew.”
“That’ll be five sixty-nine,” she says.
I reach into my shorts pocket and realize my wallet isn’t there.
Fuck.
I grin at her, hoping my charm will help.
“Looks like I forgot my wallet.”
She’s unmoved. “Then
you’ll have to come back.”
Fuck. Again. Where is that legendary Texas friendliness? It’s definitely not here.
“Is there any way I could get my coffee and come back? I live two minutes away.”
She shakes her head. I can feel the people in line behind me start to mutter amongst themselves.
“Sorry! I forgot my wallet,” I say to the guy behind me.
He passes on the bad news to the rest of the crowd.
I can feel people rolling their eyes in frustration. Whatever.
“I’ve got you,” says a feminine voice.
I turn around and nearly fall over. She looks at me and my jaw drops.
“Blake.”
“Camille?”
“Could we maybe hurry this up?” says Frustrated Weekend Businessman Number One behind me.
Camille whips out a shiny Black American Express card and pays for me.
“Don’t you want something?” I ask her.
“Oh, right,” she says. She looks behind her sheepishly. “I sort of cut the line.”
Frustrated Weekend Businessman Number One rolls his eyes. “Just order and pay, lady.”
She stammers out the same thing I ordered, which is an incredible coincidence.
“Great minds think alike,” I say to her with a smile.
I realize her eyes are puffy. Of course, she’s been crying. “Huh?”
“We ordered the same drink.”
“Oh,” she says, her face covered in a fiery blush.
“You want to sit together?” I ask her, grinning.
She shakes her head. “No.” But I can tell she’s curious.
“Come on. Five minutes. It’s been, what? Two years?”
“Four and a couple of months,” she says immediately. “But really it’s been about twelve hours.”
“Okay, four and a couple of months. Let’s catch up.”
She freezes, totally cold to me. Then she sighs. “Fine. But only until I have my order. I have to get back home. Back, well. Back to my dad’s house.”
The word dad is permeated with a deep sadness.
“I’ll take what I can get,” I say to her. She looks good. Not as good as last night, but still really, really fucking good.
We sit at a two-person table with high chairs.
“Last night was awesome,” I say to break the silence. I’m letting her take the lead. She hasn’t mentioned her dad so I won’t either.
“It’s been a weird few days,” she replies dully.
I stretch my arms over my head. “I don’t know how any of you live here. It’s the temperature of Satan’s asshole.”
Camille laughs and I relax at the lovely noise she makes.
“You sort of get used to it.”
I shake my head. “I saw people running. Outside. In the sun. That must be caused by some kind of sickness because I’m sweating just walking down the street to get a coffee.”
She chuckles again, brushing a strand of hair over her ear. I fight the urge to reach forward and lick the side of her cheek.
“It’s a contagious illness. It’s called being a Texan and there is no cure. Once you’re here – and it doesn’t matter how or when you come – a part of you will always be here. Always. I promise you that.”
I laugh. “I don’t believe you.”
Camille shakes her head with a smile. “Trust me, I know this better than anyone. I keep trying to get away and I keep getting pulled back.”
A baby shrieks from across the space and I grimace.
“Man, that noise is annoying.”
A look I can’t quite read crosses her face. Is it regret? Annoyance? A combination of the two?
“They grow out of it,” she responds. And just like that, she’s freezing me out again.
I tap my fingers on the table. “I wasn’t expecting you to have a Black AmEx card.”
She pauses. “It’s not really mine. Well, I guess it is now, technically.” She pauses. “Honestly? This has been the weirdest twenty-four hours of my life. Yesterday I couldn’t pay for six gallons of gas and today…well. Today I get to pay it forward.”
I don’t know what she means by that, and I don’t get a chance to learn. The barista calls out our two orders and it’s time to go.
We walk outside together. Camille adjusts her purse strap over her shoulder.
“You want to get together sometime? I’ll bring my wallet,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” she replies evasively.
“It was a fine idea last night,” I point out.
Her phone rings and she waves goodbye. “I’ve got to get this.”
She walks away before I get a chance to stop her.
She hasn’t changed, and all I can think about on my way back up to my apartment is how good she’d look on my bed between the sheets.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CAMILLE
I’m sitting in a five-star restaurant wearing a sundress that I haven’t seen since before I gave birth to Hazel.
I haven’t exactly made it a point to come home very frequently over the last few years.
I sip nervously from a glass of frosty water. I glance out the windows to the lake. Kayaks and canoes float across the shimmery surface, piloted by tanned Austinites.
I think about Blake and how unlikely it was that he would turn out to be a player on my dad’s team. My team.
My team.
“So sorry I’m late, Camille,” Janet says, rushing over to the table and sitting down. “It’s been pure chaos the last few days, as you can imagine.”
I nod. “I can imagine.”
“Have you ordered yet?” she asks, picking up a menu.
I shake my head. “I was waiting for you.”
“Well, I’m paying, so eat up!”
I tap my fingers on the table. There was no sense in dragging it out. “I already made my decision, Janet. I’m selling the team. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I have a life in Dallas. A job. Friends. Hazel is doing great there. It makes no sense for me to uproot my life for a sport I’ve never enjoyed. It’s just not going to happen.”
Janet lowers her menu and purses her lips. “But you considered it, right?” She pauses. “You still really are considering it, aren’t you?”
I open my mouth and close it several times. She sees right through me. “I am. I just don’t have any idea why. I hate football. I have no idea how to manage a team. I don’t get why I’ve had this feeling like I should say yes.”
“But you do know. You’ve been by your father’s side - against your will, but you were there - your entire life. You’re a smart woman, Camille. Whatever you don’t know, you will learn faster than most people would. You can do this.”
“It’s not about the money,” I reply, getting defensive over nothing. “I have a job in Dallas. And I know the terms of my father’s inheritance are clear. I either take the team and get everything, or let go of the team and get nothing.”
“Nobody would fault you if it was the money you were considering,” Janet intones. “You could do good things with all that money. You could give all of it away.”
I look out the window again, hoping for an answer. But it seems like I’ve already made up my mind. “I studied chemistry because I wanted to change people’s lives through researching medicine.”
Janet nods. “I know.”
“But I could take this money and do incredible things with it. And it would be immediate.”
Janet breaks into a wide smile. “Are you saying that we’ll be working together from now on?”
I take a huge breath, shaking. “I think I am.”
The waiter comes over to our table. “You ladies ready or do you need more time deciding?”
I laugh. “I think I just did decide.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BLAKE
“You remember your first day in San Francisco, right? It’ll be great.”
“I remember the guys pu
tting two hundred super bouncy balls in my locker and making me clean them all up,” I reply with a laugh.
“See? Tons of fun. It’ll be great,” Thomas replies.
“Yeah, I’ve got to meet with the new owner first,” I say.
“Ah, yeah. Who gets the team now that Sanders is gone?”
I shrug. “Dunno. They’re announcing today.”
“I gotta go, dude. Text me about it, alright? Talk to ya later.”
I hang up and grab my keys, opening my phone to call a Very cab. It’s there in a matter of minutes. I break out in a sweat from the humidity. Wool suits made sense in San Francisco but not down here. Austin is like a different planet in so many ways. A guy on a pedicab drives by me shirtless, customers in the back texting on their cell phones.
“The Ranch,” I say to the Very driver.
“On it,” he replies.
This guy is clearly angling for a five-star review. Candy, gum, even a pack of cigarettes with a sticky note saying “Take one for later, no smoking in the cab” are spread in a basket on the middle console. I reach out for a piece of gum.
“You new to Austin?” he asks.
“Why do you say that?”
He laughs. “People don’t really wear suits here.”
I nod. “I’m finally getting that vibe, yeah.”
“Need any good restaurant recommendations?” He stops at a red light.
“Sure,” I reply.
“Terry Black’s for barbecue. Don’t worry about going anywhere else. Bring an appetite and some patience; there’s always a line. But if you want a great burger, Hopdoddy is a must.”
“Alright, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Business meeting?”
Chatty taxi drivers drive me insane. “Yeah.”
He nods. “Cool man, cool.”
I bury myself in my phone to get him to stop talking to me. There are a ton of articles about Bill Sanders dying. Funeral later this week. I wonder what that means for me.
We pull up to the Ranch Hotel and I tap on the app to give the guy a big tip. He meant well with all his talking, I know.
“Welcome to the Ranch,” the guy at the door says.
DIRTY PLAYER: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 6
