I can’t stop staring at Nora. She’s like a sexy stick of bubble gum right now. Not sure she’d actually think that comparison is attractive, but believe me, it is. She’s wearing a two-piece bright pink outfit that I was told is called a bandeau and trousers fit. All I know is her shoulders are completely bare, still a little red from the burn and sprinkled with cute freckles that have darkened from our day out by the pool this morning (taking pictures for the article), and a section of her abdomen is peeking out from behind the high waist of her flowy pants.
She looks good.
So good that as Alec took photos outside the restaurant and people stopped to watch and snap pics with their phones when they realized who I was, I felt the urge to stand in front of Nora. Her body looks too incredible. Her smile is too wide and sparkling. I want to hide it so no one else can see it. She’s mine.
But no, Nora is very much her own person. And hiding any part of this woman would be a mistake—so instead, I angled behind her, setting her up front and center where she belongs.
Her lips curl around the rim of her drink now—oblivious to the desire and possessiveness thrumming under my skin.
“What’s next when you get home, Nora?”
She eyes me sidelong. “Like…next for us?”
“I mean, what’s next for you.” I tilt my head. “You haven’t so much as slipped a mention of your career plans for after we’re back—which tells me they’ve been swirling through your head for days and you’ve been extra careful not to hint at them.”
She sits back in her seat, eyeing me appreciatively—hesitantly. “I didn’t want to bring it up and risk messing with whatever this connection is again.”
“You think it’s that fragile?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. It seemed wrong to flaunt my dreams in front of you when yours are…” Hanging in the balance is what she doesn’t say. And now she looks like she instantly regrets those words.
I get it. There was a time when I unintentionally prioritized my career over hers. When I wouldn’t have been able to stomach watching her success while mine was fading. And now she thinks this truth might shut me down completely.
I sit forward and smile. “It’s Demetris, isn’t it?”
Those lips pull into a soft surprised smile. She leans forward too. “What do you know of Demetris?”
“Going into his senior year of high school. Shattered several records by the end of his junior year. Is an all-time leading career rusher in varsity history.” I pop a bite of steak into my mouth. “Seems like he’s going places and will need a great agent to take him there.”
A competitive twinkle opens in Nora’s eyes. I could stare at her like this all day. “Seems like he will indeed.”
“Speaking of great agents. We never talked about that endorsement deal you got for me with Dapper.” I pause. “It’s unreal. How did you get them to fork over that much money?”
Her grin—the one so many people underestimate because it comes from a watermelon-pink mouth—turns downright cunning. “Simple. They were asking for my A-list celebrity athlete to star in their commercial and wear their suits to every major function for the next year. They needed to pay like it.”
“Yeah, but Bill never landed deals like this for quite that much money.”
“Bill was a nincompoop,” she says plainly, making me laugh. “Honestly, Derek, I looked at half of your deals and they all should have been negotiated for a higher payout. Bill needed to grow some ovaries and fight for his client.”
Mark my words, Nora is going to take over the sports agency world—and I’m just lucky to have gotten in with her from the beginning.
“Back to Demetris.” I lean back, crossing my arms. “Everyone is going to be after him. Including Nicole. What’s your plan?”
She narrows her eyes and points a fork at me. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Unfortunately for you, I don’t discuss clients or future clients with my current roster. So put your magnifying glass away, Sherlock.”
“Mm. That’s fine. I’ll have fun trying to get the answers from you later, Ginger Snap.”
Her cheeks turn the same shade of pink as her top, but she doesn’t look away. “Bypassing that salacious comment. How do you know about Demetris?”
I shrug. “I like to keep up with notable high school and college players just in case they ever end up on my team.” It’s happened twice. One of those high school players being Collin Abbot, the guy who very well might take my job this year. “I know veteran players don’t normally pay much attention to the rookies—or if they do, it’s mainly for hazing. But I’ve always preferred to take a different approach.”
“Which is?” she asks.
Suddenly I feel exposed talking about myself. I’ve never liked it much. But especially not when it’s something personal like this. But for Nora, I will. “I like to help them adjust and show them the ropes from the beginning because you never know when one of our starters might get injured and the rookie suddenly becomes a vital part of the team. Also…I don’t know…I just enjoy it.”
I pause and adjust my pant legs just to give myself something to do. But Nora the menace doesn’t say anything. She just watches me with a smile.
“Don’t tell me that you suddenly have nothing to say?” I ask sarcastically.
“Oh I have plenty to say! But I know that there’s more, and I plan to stay quiet until you say it all.”
I roll my eyes and groan. She taps her foot against my leg under the table, eliciting currents that roll up my shins and thighs and settle low in my stomach. “Fine. I guess I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday and letting myself really consider what will happen if I get cut. And then I realized that even if I’m not a Shark anymore, I don’t ever want to fully let football go. It’s a part of who I am—but maybe there’s another avenue I could approach. I think I’d make a good…coach.” I wince. “Is that ridiculous? I don’t even know if I could find a coaching job. I just…” My voice fades out.
“Why would that be anything other than super incredibly amazing? I think you’d make a wonderful coach. And I also think it’ll make an excellent option for you when you’re in your forties and decide to retire from the Sharks.” Her smile is a sharp, sweet dagger. “Because I’m willing to bet you anything, my top client—”
“Your only client.”
“—That you’re going to come back stronger than ever. So quit your fretting, because I’m a hotshot agent and I know what I’m talking about.” I wish everyone else shared her faith in my abilities.
Truth be told, I’m afraid I’m going to get out there on the field, hear the haunting echo of my bone snapping in half, and freeze up. I’m afraid that maybe this really is the end for me. But at least that fear doesn’t come with quite as much panic as it used to. I have some options…
“Okay, I’m done talking about me. Are you going to visit Demetris when we get back?”
“Why are you so worried about this?” she asks with a curious smile.
I shrug. “I guess I just…I’ve already gotten in the way of your career enough. I want to support you going forward.”
She looks at me now like a person in a museum studying an abstract painting and trying to find the hidden meaning behind it. And then a soft smile curves her mouth as she pierces a bit of potato onto her fork. “Don’t worry. I’ve got everything in hand, and I do plan to pay Demetris a visit.”
“Good.”
“Just not until Nicole does first.”
I frown and sit forward again. “Why?”
That challenging glint that sets my body on fire hits her eyes. The one that most people miss because they’re too distracted by her bright clothes and innocent demeanor. Those people are fools. I was a fool for thinking I could ever orbit around Nora without falling into her gravitational pull. She owns me.
“Because I want him to hear her pitch first, and then see what it was lacking when he hears mine.” She is all delicious confidence. “Nicole taught me everything—which means I had a front-row seat to her weaknesses. And before you think I’m a horrible greedy human, she already told me to use them against her. Nicole appreciates a challenge and seems to be excited to have a new competitor in the ring.” Her smile drops away when she sees the muscle in my jaw jump. “What? Do you think I’m being a sleazy colleague? You have to understand, Nicole and I—”
“That’s not at all what I was thinking.”
“Then what is that look for?” she asks, picking up her glass. “Tell me the truth. I can handle it.”
“Okay.” I rest my forearms on the table and let my emotions reach my eyes as I stare into hers. “That look was the result of me wanting to rip your clothes off with my teeth and do very dirty things to you right here on this table when you talk like that.”
She chokes on the water—because whatever it was she was expecting me to say, it wasn’t that. When her coughing is under control, she yanks her folded cloth napkin from the table to wipe her mouth but doesn’t see that the fold is caught on the corner of the menu. Next thing we know, the menu is launched like a Frisbee across the restaurant. It sails to the table closest to ours, where it knocks over their glass of wine.
Before the waitstaff can blink, Nora is up and rushing to their table. She moves their dishes aside and soaks up the liquid with her rogue napkin, all while murmuring a wholehearted apology. She’s blending into the restaurant as much as a pink flamingo would blend into Wall Street.
A waitress comes to her side with fresh linens and is so stunned to see Nora there helping that she silently extends the cloths as Nora asks for them. I go help too, shifting plates of food so Nora can catch the wine trying to roll off the table before it makes more of a mess. No one around us seems to know what to do but Nora—who is on a mission to single-handedly salvage their table.
“Holy shit,” the man sitting at the table says when he tilts his head up and sees me hovering over him. “You’re…you’re Derek Pender, right?”
“He is!” Nora says cheerfully. “Would you like to see his ID? It’s an unfairly good picture, to be honest.”
I give her a flat look.
“No, I—I believe you. I mean…damn…you are a big dude.” He then grimaces. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. I’m a little tipsy because I was nervous about…” He glances at the table and our gazes all fall on a little red velvet box sitting to the side of the table.
Nora gasps with delight. “Did you two just get engaged?”
“Yes, we did,” says the woman with a fond smile at her drunk fiancé.
Nora launches into a series of congratulations, complimenting the woman on how beautiful she looks in her dress. She can tell immediately that it’s an antique engagement ring and asks if there is a story behind it. Five minutes later, the man has wrapped up an entire story about how the ring came from his grandmother and that his grandfather purchased it during the war and mailed it to her, asking her to save it for when he returned. He did return, and they had a beautiful family of five. Nora is crying. The woman is crying. The dude is crying. I’m…misty…but that’s all I’ll admit to.
“But you two just got married, didn’t you? I’ve seen the story of your secret elopement all over social media!” says the woman. “Can I see your ring? I bet it’s…” At this moment her eyes drop to Nora’s finger, and she sees that it’s empty except for the discreet little black line.
Nora’s smile doesn’t fade a bit, but I do notice that she grazes the inside of the tattoo with her thumb—like she’s tracing the line to feel something. Proof that it’s there. “We thought a tattoo would be a fun way to commemorate the spontaneous event.”
She looks up at me, and the gold in her eyes burns brighter than the green in this light. Even though she’s smiling, I see what she doesn’t want me to. The creeping reminder that this isn’t truly real. That whatever we are now started on a lie. That I never gave her a ring out of love. This was all to keep her job, and yes, a new relationship has bloomed out of it, but how will it withstand real life at home? Do we even have a chance when a lie was our beginning?
I pick up her left hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her tattoo ring and hoping Nora feels what I can’t say: It doesn’t matter how this started, it’s real for me.
My gaze moves behind Nora and I realize most of the restaurant is watching us. Not just with their eyes—their phones too. Our time here is up.
After giving my autograph and taking a picture with the couple, Nora asks the waiters to bring the couple any dessert and bottle of wine they want as a congratulations (and apology). Even when she’s not trying to, Nora is in agent mode, and it looks damn good on her.
When we’re back at the table, she smiles as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. “I’ve been thinking, Dere-Bear. Will you go to a club with me after this?”
“A club?” I ask—hesitancy tugging me. I haven’t done anything remotely close to partying ever since my injury. (1) Because I haven’t felt like it. Anxiety and stress over recovering to my fullest have been my guiding factors since the day I woke up from surgery. (2) I don’t want to appear flippant in the media. No one likes to see a guy with his career hanging in the balance out getting drunk in a club. (3) Because I haven’t missed it.
This time, Nora is the one to read my thoughts. She stares at me and tilts her head. “You’re allowed to be dedicated to your career, drink chamomile tea, and have fun too.”
I extend my hand to her. “Hello, pot? Kettle.”
“Exactly. Takes one to know one.” Her pink lips curve into a smile as she slaps my hand away. “Come with me. Let’s have fun together tonight.” Her words seep into my chest and pump like blood through my heart.
“Which version of us is going? Agent and client? Husband and wife? Or friends?”
Her face blooms. “All of them.”
