She’s late. It’s six-thirty and she’s not here with my suit. I need her to be here. And I need that suit. Actually, I don’t need the suit, because like she said, I have plenty of suits to wear. But how can I annoy the shit out of her if she’s not here? She’s supposed to be here.
I pace by my front door.
Back and forth, back and forth with my phone pressed to my ear. The call rings repetitively but never connects. Now I’m not just pissed, I’m concerned. Nora’s been answering my calls and texts promptly every day for the last two weeks. What if something happened to her? What if she got in an accident on the way here? On the way to bring me a suit that I don’t even need.
I run a hand through my hair, considering calling the hospitals, but just as I think it, I hear the sound of a car coming up my driveway. I look through the window just long enough to confirm that it’s her, and then without thinking, I charge out the front door and meet her in the driveway.
She steps out of her car and a breeze whips her hair into her face. Even though she has no reason to, she smiles when she spots me barreling toward her. She is sunshine parting the clouds in my miserable day, and it makes me angrier.
It’s how I’ve felt the entire two weeks working with her. I’m supposed to hate her. I’m supposed to find her smile irritating. And those weird quirky catchphrases? Really supposed to hate those. But do I? No way. If
anything, I have to fight with everything in me to not smile when she banters at me. To not wrap her in my arms every time she’s within reach.
Which leads to the familiar anger—but not with Nora, with myself.
Irritated that I’m once again having a positive reaction to the sight of her, I put my hands in my pockets. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
Her smile widens and she steps past me with a suit bag draped over her shoulder. “Sorry, Dere-Bear. My phone died about an hour ago. And I forgot that I took my charger into the office.” She peeks at me over her shoulder. “You weren’t worried, were you?” There’s a teasing spark in her green-gold eyes and I have to turn away, so I don’t kiss it off.
“No. Just need my suit.” Jeez, I’m tired of acting like an overbearing dick. I really thought she’d have quit by now. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Her smile falters a smidge, but she recovers it quickly. “Well, here it is!
The suit of your dreams.”
Something about the way she says this sounds suspicious. It’s then that I really notice the garment bag. It’s not the usual clear one from my dry cleaner—this one is sleek and black and opaque. This one is from a designer.
“What the hell is that?” I ask her, even though I know what it is. She has the look of a person who just bested me.
“This is your requested suit.”
“Not my suit from the dry cleaners.” I don’t phrase it like a question because it’s not one.
She grins and taps my chest once—sensation zipping right through to my spine. “Astute. You’re not going to be needing that one—or any of your old suits anymore either,” she says in a little too chipper a tone before carrying it into my house toward the stairs. The stairs that go up to my room. Why is she going up to my room?
And why am I now following her like a lamb to the slaughter?
“Nora…please tell me that you did not take the endorsement deal with the suit designer?”
“I could tell you that, but since I subscribe to the idea that honesty is the best policy, I better just tell you that I did agree to it, and you are now the front man for one of the most popular American suit makers in the biz. I only need you to sign on the dotted line tonight.”
I stop in the middle of the stairs and watch as her sassy bubble butt sways up ahead of me, and against all reason, I’m not thinking about the suit deal. My thoughts dive to wondering if Nora still wears days-of-the- week underwear. At first, I thought it was just a cute fluke in college. But then I started noticing that every day she wore the correct day. I asked her about it once and she said she liked the habit of it. Her beautiful ass became my calendar, and—yeah, that’s not something I should be thinking about anymore.
“You did that without my consent. I could fire you on the spot,” I say, jogging the last few stairs to catch her.
She turns into my bedroom. “You could. But you’re really going to need an agent in a few days while you’re on set. And I doubt you’d be able to find someone to fill the position before your flight out on Friday morning.”
I’m sorry, my what? And what set? “I don’t have a flight on Friday morning,” I say with a measured calm that should alert her to how frustrated I am in this moment.
She lays the garment bag across my bed, and I try very hard not to stare as she leans over to unzip it. Those overall shorts she’s wearing should be unattractive. They’re not. Nora pulls my suit from the bag and holds it up, assessing it for any damages, and then carries it primly into my closet like she owns it.
I stand in the middle of my bedroom, arms crossed, feet firmly planted because there’s something going on here and I have a feeling I’m going to need all my willpower to withstand it. There’s a new energy humming around Nora. Don’t let her smile fool you, she’s covered in yellow daisies but she’s dangerous as hell.
The woman emerges from my closet, still not making eye contact, arms loaded down with clothes. I watch with narrowed eyes as she dumps them on my bed mumbling something about socks and how many pairs I’ll need.
Next, she drags out my suitcase. The big one. She heaves it up on the bed, making a squeak of effort before it lands.
“Do you have any packing preferences? I like to do socks and underwear in a neat little corner and then build a fortress of rolled shirts around them. But I’m open to suggestions…to a certain degree.” She starts loading my clothes in.
“Stop,” I command, but she doesn’t. “Nora, stop packing.”
“Sorry, can’t do that! We’re on a tight schedule here. I need to start your packing tonight so I can do my laundry and packing tomorrow. Because as of now, my favorite leggings are dirty and there’s no way I’m sitting in a plane all day in jeans.”
I cross the floor in two strides, and once her fingers are clear, I close the lid of the suitcase. “Explain what is going on.”
She squares her shoulders at me like she’s been hoping it would come to this. The blaze in her eyes swarms through my veins. She’s so close to me I could take one step forward and we’d be pressed together. The no-touching rule hums between us. Taunting me. “We have a flight Friday morning. Bright and early. First flight out in fact, so we’re going to get to the airport around five-thirty A.M.”
“Like hell we are.”
I don’t mean to, but my eyes drop to her mouth. This is the first time she’s really fought back against me at all since we started working together, and it reminds me so much of how we used to play-fight just for the fun of it back when we were together. And when my gaze drops to her arms, I find chillbumps lining her skin. She’s not unaffected by this moment either.
She clears her throat and turns away, rushing off to the closet again while I’m back here losing my mind. I shove my hands into my hair and tug just to relieve some frustration. But it’s not about this damn job. I’m angry that I want her. And frustrated that I can’t have her.
And I really can’t.
Even if Nora wanted me back, I won’t ever let myself trust her again. Not after loving her so thoroughly and then having her back out on us with zero warning or hints. Not even a week of fading us out. One day she loved
me and dreamed of a future with me while ditching her public speaking class so we could go on a hike to a waterfall, and the next, she sent our relationship to the guillotine.
“Where is this flight going that I won’t be on?” I ask, meeting her at the closet and leaning my hands on either side of the doorjamb, blocking her in there until she gives me a straight answer.
She grins. “Las Vegas.” And then she and her arms full of socks and underwear easily dart under my blockade.
A boulder drops into the pit of my stomach. She’s serious. She really booked us plane tickets to Vegas.
“I am not going to Vegas. And I’m not participating in this endorsement deal. End of story.”
She’s a little bee buzzing around my room, still gathering everything she needs for a trip I am not taking. “Oh, I think you are. Because number one, I already booked the flights and confirmed with Dapper that you’ll be on set Friday, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to star in their main commercial spot of the year.”
My nostrils flare. “You didn’t.”
“And number two, I’ve been instructed to tell you by the guys that if you resist, they will tell me about the thing they found in your bedside table a few months ago.”
My smirk drops.
They wouldn’t.
“I had a group call with them earlier to explain the situation and get their input. Turns out they side with me and think it’s time you get back to work. So Jamal instructed I read you this note from him if you resist.” She pulls a piece of paper from her back pocket and shakes it out like it’s an old- fashioned newspaper. “Derek, you’re the biggest dipshit I’ve ever met if you thought we wouldn’t use this against you. Get your ass on that plane or I’ll tell her what we found.”
I groan because that’s all the response I can manage right now. Needing space, I pace the floor once and turn back sharply to Nora. “Did they already tell you what it was they found?”
“No. Although—I’m very intrigued. It must be really embarrassing to get a reaction like this. I think as your agent I should know—”
“Absolutely not.”
She licks her lips on a smile and steps even closer, tilting her chin up and angling those perfect lips at me. “Does that mean you’re coming with me to Vegas?”
Nora is chipper and basking in the glow of a solid win. But I’m not.
I push my hand through my hair and pace away from her. “You shouldn’t have done this, Nora. This was too far.”
Her gaze cuts through me. “Is it really? You’ve been hazing me for two weeks, and you just expect me to sit back and let you miss out on huge career opportunities because of something that happened between us in college? No more. From now on, we’re taking the deals. You’re giving the interviews.”
I should keep my mouth shut. Should let her think that all of this avoidance is only because of her. But suddenly I feel like I’m in a runaway car I can’t get control of. Panic wells in my chest at the thought of putting myself out there with so much on the line. Without permission, my mind replays the announcers on sport talk radio and ESPN saying there’s no way I’ll bounce back. That they’ve seen plenty of athletes fall to this sort of injury and it’s going to be sad to watch it happen to me. I’ll be a spectacle.
Everything swirls endlessly around me. My breathing goes shallow. Sweat gathers on my neck. And suddenly, I’m back in elementary school standing in the front of the class watching them all laugh mercilessly at me when I couldn’t get through the passage I was asked to read.
And that’s when I snap. “It’s not about you, Nora!”
She doesn’t flinch at my raised voice. She looks relieved. “Then what is it about? Tell me, Derek, or I can’t fix it.”
My hands clench at my sides. “I don’t want to go off and act like some hotshot for a designer when there’s a big chance I’m going to get cut before the season even starts! Everyone—and I do mean everyone, thinks that the Sharks are going to give my position to Abbot, and when that happens, I’ll look like the idiot who didn’t realize he had egg on his face. Dapper—and
anyone else you’ve made deals with—will come back and dissolve our contract. So no thank you. I prefer to keep laying low and focusing on my game and nothing else. I won’t get distracted, and I won’t preen around in a suit when I might not even have a job this year!”
Nora blinks, the energy my outburst shot into the room fading. And then she frowns. “So…all the hazing…all the keeping me from doing any real work…it was because of this? Because you’re scared you’re going to fail and look silly trying?”
I sigh, finding it impossible to fully explain how I never again want to feel like the kid whose supposed failure was everyone else’s entertainment, without telling her the truth of my past and my recent diagnosis. “Yes and no. I guess…you were a good excuse to put a pause on all the outside stuff so I could just lay low and train. So please…call and cancel the deal. I don’t want to do it.”
Silence blankets the room for a minute, and I really think I’ve gotten through to Nora. But then her eyes flash. If I thought she looked determined before…
“You know what, Derek? That makes me angrier than a hornet stuck in a sweaty person’s shirt. I wish it had been that you just wanted to make me miserable. But throwing your career away because you’re afraid of what people might think if you try really hard and still fail?” She walks closer and pokes me in the chest like she’s someone my size rather than almost a foot shorter. “That breaks my heart, and I’m not going to allow it. You deserve good things no matter the outcome of your injury. You’ve worked hard your entire career and earned it. And you know what else? Not everyone thinks your position is going to go to Abbot. I believe in you. I do, Derek.” She presses a hand firmly to her chest.
Intensity rolls off her in waves. “I know what you are like when you put your mind to something—evidence being the way you’ve committed fully to my misery. And beyond that, I’ve been the one sitting in on all of your workouts these weeks. You’re not washed up. You’re not rusty. You’re a freaking ox, Derek, but you have to believe in yourself too or no one else is going to.”
She pauses long enough to take a breath. “Get your muscled ass out there and bet on yourself. Take the endorsement deals. Do some interviews. Post your training content that shows you working hard and crushing it. Don’t give up just because a few narrow-minded people say you should! And stop using my career that I’ve worked my ass off for as a play toy. It’s not fair to me and frankly it’s beneath you.”
I can hardly breathe my chest is so tight. I can’t decide if I’m pissed, sad, embarrassed, or encouraged. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” She pokes me again, but this time in the center of my chin. “You don’t smile enough anymore.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” she says like a bite, but there’s no teeth to it. Her eyes soften. “You used to smile all the time—and you never do now. I thought in the beginning it was because you hated me, but you don’t smile at anyone else either. I miss it, that smile. It was so warm I would feel it all the way in my toes.”
I stare down at Nora—a million questions and apologies swirling in my head, but I can’t pick a single one over the big one I’ve avoided for so long. “I’m ready to know what happened,” I say quietly—no fire left in my veins. I’ve spent long enough telling myself that I didn’t care. That she broke it off and she didn’t love me anymore and that’s all there was to it. I didn’t need details or even want them. Because any explanation she would give me would hurt too much, and I was already hurting so much I thought I’d
break.
But now, I have to know. Because something about how she just described the way I’ve basically given up on my career out of fear resonated with another area of my life too. Nora might have been the one who walked away from us, but I let her. I didn’t fight for her even once because I was afraid I genuinely wasn’t enough for her.
Nora stares at me in shock. “Wh—what?”
