by RC Boldt
“Fascinating.”
I can practically hear his brain working.
“If you were married, do you think you’d still be able to work your magic?”
My breathing stutters, and I immediately work to calm my voice. “I’m not getting married.”
“Ever?” he poses quietly.
“No.” My response is firm. No room for misunderstandings.
Which is why I press on. I need to do what’s necessary. “I’ve really enjoyed talking with you these past few weeks.”
His laugh is stilted. “That sounds like you’re trying to cut me loose.”
Because I am. For both of our sakes. “I’m sorry, but I’m just not comfortable being in the spotlight by default.” There’s far too much at stake for me.
He swears beneath his breath. “Never thought a day would come when a woman wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me because of my job and the attention that sometimes goes with it.”
I remain silent, not knowing what else there is to say.
“Did you see any cameras today? When I came with Dax?” he suddenly questions.
“No,” I answer slowly, cautiously, unsure where he’s going with this.
“How about when I talked to you outside the coffee shop?”
“No.”
“Exactly. Because the bulk of the paparazzi know and respect me enough to understand that I’ll give them photo ops at events, but my private life is just that: private. And this city, the people here, are supportive of that. I give back to this city and its people because they’re special to me and take care of me.
“You don’t have anything to worry about, Ivy. We can go grocery shopping, or we can go get some frozen yogurt. Doesn’t matter.”
“But on the off chance it does happen—”
“Then I’d deal with it.” His tone brooks no argument. “I don’t let anyone mess with my friends.”
Something churns in the pit of my stomach at the one word, but I can’t quite fathom why.
Friends.
“We’re friends?” Way to succeed at sounding needy and pathetic, Ivy.
“Friends.”
There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t think this is a good idea. And in full disclosure, I literally have one guy friend. He happens to also be a co-worker. I’ve never been…” Shit. I’ve talked myself into a corner.
“You’ve never been…?” Becket prompts gently.
I shift beneath the covers. With a wince, I answer, “I’ve never been interested in anything serious with guys. Casual…that’s as far as I go.”
There’s no way this conversation could possibly be more awkward. No possible way.
“What you’re saying is”—there’s an undeniable hint of amusement in his voice—“you only hook up?” He pauses. “Because relationships aren’t your thing.”
At his softly spoken reiteration of what I’d initially declared to him, I scrunch my face in response. Admitting this has never bothered me before—has never made me feel so shallow—so why now?
“Right.” My voice sounds small, timid.
I hate it.
He exhales slowly. “Okay. So here’s the deal. I need to be up front with you.”
“Okay,” I murmur hesitantly.
“I think you’re funny, smart, and I really like talking to you. And after today, I can add that you’re beautiful, too.” There’s a pause. “You okay with that?”
“Please tell me this isn’t going to be a compliment sandwich.”
His laughter rumbles, and I find myself smiling at the infectious sound. “I don’t do compliment sandwiches, so rest easy. There will be no but involved here.”
“Okay.”
“However,” he continues, “I want to go on record and say that I think you’re pretty amazing already.”
My grin spreads wider. “Thank y—”
“And I don’t plan to let your anti-relationship stance get in the way of things.”
My smile drops. “Becket,” I start.
“Ivy.” He murmurs my name with gentle reverence, and threaded in it is a hint of affection that should send me running away in a frenzied panic.
For some reason, it doesn’t. Instead, it has me asking, “What things?”
And it’s his answer that has me reeling.
“Ah, now. I never reveal my key plays before the game. Because, Ivy? I play to win.”
11
Becket
University of Florida campus, YOUTH FOOTBALL CLINIC, SECOND SESSION—FINAL DAY
JULY
GAINESVILLE, FLORIDA
“Great job, guys!” I high five the kids in congratulations for finishing their program, and they head over to meet their parents. “Enjoy the rest of your summer!”
Man, it’s been a hot one, but this clinic has run smoothly. We decided to do things differently this year due to the increased number of applicants. Instead of only holding the clinic once during the summer, we’ve offered it twice and split our weeks to better concentrate on positions and skills. Dax and I are paired up for throwing and receiving, so it’s been easier to narrow down the skills for these kids during our given week.
Sammy Tate hugs my waist quickly before he backs away with a shy smile. “Thanks, again, Becket.” He runs off to gather his things and leave.
I turn to ensure we’ve collected all the equipment, and Dax and the other volunteers are all set. I barely make it five yards across the field before my name is shouted.
“Jones!”
Beneath the disguise of my dark sunglasses, I allow myself an eye roll because of who that voice belongs to.
The one and only Nathan Tate.
Slowly, I face him as his feet eat up the distance between us like a man on a mission.
A mission to irritate the hell out of me.
“Yes, sir?” He’s one of the few people who makes me nearly cringe while I employ my manners and respectful nature. But it’s one of those things my mother instilled in me at an early age, and I can’t stomach the idea of her looking down at me with disappointment.
Nathan’s face is mottled red, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s got him so upset. It’s the last day of the summer clinic, for God’s sake. The kids did well, and the group meshed far better than any I’ve had in the years past. Hell, the only issue I’ve had to deal with is him.
The man adopts an adversarial stance, his feet planted solidly apart, and folds his arms across his chest. I glance briefly at the sidelines where his son waits, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in obvious nervousness.
“I’d like to know if you plan to talk with the coaches of the youth football team about Sammy.” He tips his head to the side. “I saw them stop by earlier.”
As respectfully as possible, I adopt a casual, friendly tone. “They just came by to see the boys and say hello.” I lift a shoulder with a small shrug. “The dynamics and makeup of their team are completely up to them to determine.”
He takes a step closer, as if attempting to intimidate me. That’s laughable since I have a hundred pounds of muscle and at least a foot in height on him. “You and I both know you could mention something to them, and they’d jump at it.”
Meaning, put his kid in a starting position of quarterback. Something his kid happens not to be crazy about. Sammy is good at kicking, however. The boy has a hell of a leg on him, and I have no doubt he’ll get better with more practice.
But that’s not what dear old Dad wants. He wants a stereotypical star quarterback. Without giving any thought to what his son wants.
And he thinks bullying people will get it done.
“Jones! Need your help over here, man!” Dax yells from a few yards away.
I glance at him, and he quickly flashes me a hand signal we use on the field when we refer to a guy who’s notorious for playing dirty on the field, and we need extra protection while I’m in the pocket.
Take out the trash.
I give a nearly impercepti
ble nod before returning my attention to Nathan. “I apologize, sir, but I have to help the others finish so they can get home to their families.” I force a polite smile. “Take care and hope to see you guys next summer.”
With that, I spin around and jog off toward Dax, relief surging through me with every subsequent step I take that puts distance between Nathan and me.
Once I reach my friend’s side, he mutters, “All clear,” shaking his head in disgust.
We ensure the equipment is secured and we haven’t left anything behind before we say goodbye to the remaining volunteers and head to the parking lot.
It’s nice being back because this is one of the few places these days where Dax and I are still just two guys who played ball here and have a love for the school and community. Guys who love giving back. Here, my Heisman Trophy or any other accolades don’t matter as much. What matters to Gainesville is I haven’t forgotten about them. I haven’t forgotten my hometown, where it all started.
“So tonight’s the night?”
Dax exhales slowly as we draw to a stop at our parked vehicles. “Yeah, and I’m still nervous as hell even though it seems like things will go smoothly. I mean”—he waves a hand in gesture—“with everything they’ve outlined, they’ve considered every possible avenue.”
“I told you I’d tag along if you need me to.” He’s supposed to be meeting Kayla back in Jacksonville at a small café in Midtown.
He drags a hand through his short hair. “I know, man, and I appreciate it. But I think it’s best to do this alone.”
“Well, keep me posted on how things go.” I open the door to my SUV and am about to slide in when he stops me.
“Hey, man.” Something in Dax’s tone sets me at unease, and when I look over at him, he steps closer to my vehicle. “Be careful with that one.” He gives an imperceptible tip of his chin and, without turning my head, my eyes follow the direction of his gesture.
I wish I could be surprised at who’s sitting in his vehicle, engine running, windows down even amidst the scorching July heat and humidity.
Nathan Tate.
I press my lips thin. “Guy sure doesn’t give up. I’ll give him that.”
Dax nods, gives a slight pat on the roof of my SUV, and steps back. “Be safe.”
“You, too.”
I drive off, leaving the campus behind. And as I get on the interstate to head back to Jacksonville, I can’t help but wonder at the trickle of foreboding that travels down my spine.
Ivy’s backed off.
I can tell. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
I refuse to give up, though. Maybe it’s idiocy or delusional, but there’s something about her I just can’t walk away from.
Which is why, once I’m home and showered from the trip back from Gainesville, I pick up my phone and send her a text, using the Word of the Day.
Me: I just saw a horrifying example of malfeasance by a local congresswoman in the grocery store.
I stare down at my phone’s screen, practically willing those three little dots to appear.
When they do, I can’t restrain the whoosh of relief that spills from my lips.
Ivy: Ah, well done. Did she also have a blithe attitude?
I grin at her use of yesterday’s word.
Me: Indeed, she did.
Me: Anyone get ditched today?
Ivy: No, but there are plans in place to do it soon.
Me: That reminds me. I wanted to send this to you.
I pull up a short video clip I’d recorded to exhibit another example of my Word of the Day use and press send.
Ivy: Did you just send me a video of you narrating how you “assuaged” your hunger by cooking chicken breasts in the oven?
Me: Yep. I’m trying my hand at being a techie.
Ivy: LOL. Try harder, buddy. Plus, that chicken breast looks lame. All alone with no barbecue sauce or anything on it.
Me: Ivy Hayes. This body can’t afford BBQ sauce. Under Armour wouldn’t give me free undies anymore. And we just can’t have that.
Ivy: What an outrage.
Me: Your sarcasm has been noted.
Ivy: ;)
Me: Changing the subject… Look, I like you. I hate texting because my thumbs are big and awkward, but I do it for you. And I’ve backed off a bit. If you want me to leave you alone—texting included—just say so.
Those three dots pop up, then disappear. Pop up again and disappear. Only to finally show up and her response comes through.
Ivy: You know I don’t do relationships. I don’t want to lead you on.
I stare at her words for so long, the screen of my phone turns dark. Finally, I type a response.
Me: Maybe you just haven’t had the right incentive.
A FEW DAYS LATER
I’m a glutton for punishment, possibly. Who really knows? But I continue to text Ivy.
And she responds.
Me: So there I was, futzing through my drawer of DVDs, trying to find the movie I wanted to watch.
Ivy: And you’re telling me this, why? (Aside from your obvious use of today’s word.)
Me: I was trying to find Love Actually. Your favorite movie.
Ivy: Okay, that’s creepy. How do you know that’s my favorite movie?
Me: Easy. Because not everyone in it lives happily ever after. It’s totally up your alley. Although I really think you could’ve worked your magic and helped the wife kick her cheating husband to the curb.
Ivy: Wow. You actually know the movie.
Me: I’m good like that.
Me: So that means you might consider dating me? Yes?
Ivy: Becket…
Me: Can’t blame a guy for trying.
TWO DAYS LATER
Ivy: I wended my way down the sidewalk and bought a cup of coffee from my favorite café this morning.
Me: Nicely done. Wend is a great word. Although I noticed you chose not to use anfractuous from yesterday.
Ivy: You noticed correctly. It’s 8:30 a.m. I haven’t imbibed enough caffeine just yet.
Becket: I can readily assist. The muscles in my biceps are anfractuous.
Ivy: I just spat out my coffee, laughing.
Becket: You’re welcome.
12
Ivy
DITCHED DAY
JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA
“That was impressive.”
I flash a proud grin up at Dax. “You doubted me, didn’t you?”
His expression is a bit bashful, and it still amazes me how a man this handsome can be so sweet. Then again, Becket Jones seems pretty great, too. “Sorry.”
I wave off his apology as we head to the small parking lot. “Trust me, it happens.”
“Do you have plans tonight?”
My eyes widen in shock. Is he asking me out?
My surprise must be evident because Dax laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m not asking you out on a date. I just wondered if”—he lifts one shoulder in a half shrug—“you had plans with Becket.”
We draw to a stop near my bike. “No, I haven’t really talked to him the past few days.”
Okay, so I backed off a bit from Becket. Our contact has consisted mainly of text messages somehow including the designated Word of the Day. It pains me to admit that I…miss talking to him. Actually hearing his voice. I’ve begun to look forward to his text messages and our easy banter.
He’s the one guy—the only guy, really—who incites a unique nervousness within me.
“Heard about your aversion to all things attention-related.” Dax jars me from my inner thoughts. My eyes meet his, and he appears impressed.
He shouldn’t be. He wouldn’t be if he knew about my past.
“I’m just not a fan of being the center of attention. I’d prefer to keep things low-key.”
He nods. “That’s cool.” There’s a slight pause. “But in case you’re wondering if I’ve got all kinds of sordid info on my buddy—”
“I’m not.”
&nbs
p; “He’s pretty lame. No substance abuse problems, no gambling, no anger issues. Doesn’t kick puppies or snarl at small children.”
I give him serious side-eye because this is more information than I’d expect him to part with freely.
He flattens his palm over his chest in dramatic fashion. “It pains me to say this, but Becket Jones is damn near perfect.”
“He paid you to say this, didn’t he?”
Dax rears back as if I’ve severely offended him. “He would never stoop to such a level!”
I merely stare at him. And wait.
Ten seconds is all it takes.
“He asked me to put in a good word.” When I part my lips to speak, he holds up a finger and rushes on. “But everything I said was true.”
“How much did it cost him?”
He averts his gaze and mutters, “Two months’ worth of organic protein shake mix.”
Gah. Pro-athletes.
Then he grins and pats me on the back. “I think you’re pretty damn cool, Miss Hayes. But if my boy doesn’t play his cards right, just remember there’s a cocoa-skinned hottie waiting in the wings.”
At my skeptical look, he laughs. “Too soon?”
I can’t help but let out a laugh of my own. “Good night, Mr. Kendrick.”
“Night, Miss Hayes.”
Instead of sending a text message, I decide to be brave. The urge to hear Becket’s voice is far too compelling once I’m home from work.
Of course, I use our Word of the Day in my attempt to break the ice.
“If you have a moment, I thought we could have a bit of a tête-à-tête.”
His easy chuckle is like music to my ears. “I’d love to have a heart-to-heart chat with you.”
And just like that, things are easy and comfortable between us once again. I fill him in on my earlier conversation with Dax.
