By the time I head to New York for the prestigious Lawson Media World Sports Awards, my dominoes are lined up and I’m ready to tell key people so they don’t learn it from the news. So, feeling a little giddy, I shoot Crosby an oh-so-casual, I-have-bombshell-news-to-share text.
* * *
Nadia: Hey, you. At the ceremony in New York, do you think you might be able to steal some time for your favorite childhood friend?
* * *
Crosby: What? Your brother’s going to be there?
* * *
Nadia: Oh, stop. I know you like me best.
* * *
Crosby: Guilty. Just don’t tell Eric.
* * *
Nadia: I would never.
* * *
Crosby: You’re a better dancer. And you did, after all, get my giraffe socks back for me.
* * *
I laugh. In the middle of negotiations for the move, I never expected to be ransoming his lucky socks from the ex-girlfriend who took them hostage. He got his good-luck charm back, and I got the satisfaction of knowing the crazy woman was out of his life . . . and that I was solidly in it. That’s what I wanted. Dates would pass through, but friends stuck around for good.
I send another note.
* * *
Nadia: Are you going to wear them with one of your fabulous tuxedos at the Lawson Media World Sports Awards?
* * *
Crosby: I thought I might wear a Hawaiian shirt. Do you think I’ll make the best-dressed list?
* * *
Nadia: I could wear one too, and we could end up on Who Wore It Better?
* * *
Crosby: No, we wouldn’t, because there’s no contest there.
* * *
Nadia: You think you’d win?
* * *
Crosby: I think it would be a crime against fashion and humanity if you covered all that up with a baggy Hawaiian shirt.
* * *
Nadia: All that? Could you be more specific?
* * *
Crosby: You don’t need to fish for compliments, Wild Girl. You know you’re gorgeous.
* * *
Nadia: But it’s nice to hear that you think so.
* * *
Crosby: If you were in doubt, I have been seriously remiss. And also, I should visit Vegas again, because obviously I have a poker face to beat all.
* * *
Nadia: Whatever. I like your face just fine.
* * *
Crosby: Just fine? You’re killing me, Nadia.
* * *
Nadia: Please. You drive women to sock-stealing. You’re like Helen of Troy but for sock-nappers.
* * *
Crosby: This is why I need you around more—you don’t let me get away with anything.
* * *
Nadia: Well, we’ll both be at Eric’s wedding.
* * *
Crosby: You’re going to save a dance for me, right?
* * *
Nadia: Of course. I think it’s obligatory for the best man and bridesmaid to dance.
* * *
Crosby: If it’s not a rule, I’m making it one. Crosby Cash’s Book of Wedding Party Etiquette.
* * *
Nadia: But I’ll see you in New York before that for the awards ceremony.
* * *
Crosby: That’ll have to do . . . for now. But seriously, you need to come to San Francisco, and not just for the wedding.
* * *
Nadia: Be careful what you wish for, Crosby. You never know what could happen.
I’m thinking about those words as my flight touches down at LaGuardia a day ahead of the event. I’m considering them as my car pulls up at the awards venue and I slide out of the back seat, shimmying my slinky crimson dress into place. I’m simmering with excitement as I make my way toward the venue, watching for Crosby among the honorees and press on the red carpet.
I spot him, and our eyes connect. He gives me that devil-may-care smile, and my heart hammers harder. He watches me weave through the crowd, and my skin sizzles hotter.
More than ever, I wonder if he feels anything like these occasional pangs of attraction, or if this is entirely a one-way street. I wonder idly what he would do if I walked up to him, slid my hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss that would set social media on fire.
Just to satisfy my curiosity.
That’s all.
Because one-way street, two-way street, it doesn’t matter.
Dad would have told me that negotiating a deal requires knowing what you want and what you’re willing to give up to get it.
I know what I want in regard to Crosby. I want him in my life. I want him in Eric’s life. I want this companionship with him, this friendship. And to hold on to it always, I’m willing to give up ever knowing if there could be more than that between us.
The other thing I want is to enjoy his company more often, and since that aligns with the other things I’ve been missing, I have news for him. It’s a miracle the story hasn’t broken in the press, and I’m delighted I get to tell him first.
“Guess what?” I say when I reach him, giddy with excitement. “I convinced the NFL.”
His grin widens, and his eyes narrow, teasing and bemused at the same time. “Convinced them to what? Let you play?”
“Funny, but no. I got the go ahead to . . . wait for it . . .” I take a dramatic pause to enjoy the reveal. “Relocate the team.”
His shock does not disappoint. “Holy shit,” he says when he picks up his jaw. “Are you serious?”
“As serious as a shark.”
He shakes his head as if shaking off a daze. “So where’s it going to be? Miami? DC? Buffalo?”
“San Francisco.” I grin until my face hurts. “I’m bringing the team back home, Crosby.”
He smiles wide enough to bridge the Hudson. It dazzles brighter than the event spotlights and electrifies me from head to toe. “That’s incredible, Nadia. You look happy. Are you happy?”
“Elated.” I press my hand over the butterflies in my stomach. “I mean, it’s a risk, but I think it’s right for the team. And for me. That’s where my heart is.”
“Yeah, I hear people leave those in San Francisco all the time.”
I smack his arm. “Smarty-pants.”
But I’m glad for the joke, the teasing glint in his eye. I’m sure he knows that by heart, I mean my family. But I could do with the reminder.
After the event, we go to Gin Joint, our favorite bar in New York City, where we grab a drink to celebrate—not any awards, but the move.
Crosby raises his glass in a toast. “To being in the same city again.”
“To hanging out until we get sick of each other,” I say.
“Then we’ll be hanging out forever, because I’ll never get sick of you,” says Crosby.
“Whew, that’s a relief,” I say, as I sip my drink to hide a smile. “I’m the same. I just didn’t want to presume.”
“Wild Girl, I am here on earth to be presumed upon by beautiful women.” He winks over the rim of his cocktail. “You have a fast pass to the front of the line.”
“What a charming thought.” I roll my eyes, but they come back to find his locked on me.
“I’m full of charm, haven’t you noticed?”
We’re seated at the bar, gazes snagged on each other, knees brushing, something like a static charge jumping from him to me and racing up my leg.
I let myself enjoy the tingles that spread to the most sensitive parts of me. Because, oh yes, I’ve noticed his charms and their effect on me.
Living in the same town for the first time since we were young . . . will it change things? Already my memories of back then are closer to the surface. There was a night—I was eighteen, he was twenty—when I thought the scales would tip to romantic. I was sure something was about to happen with us.
A kiss.
Deep and passionate.
Tender and gentle.
A first kiss, swoon-worthy and life-altering.
And, it turns out, imaginary.
I’m unquestionably relieved about that. I’m not sure Crosby and I would be where we are now, friendship-wise, if we’d kissed back then.
But still. The spark wasn’t imaginary. It was there. And the more often we connect, the more I’m sure it still is.
7
Nadia
Early Next Year
* * *
On my list of people I don’t see often enough is my good friend Scarlett, though she lives not just in another state, but on another continent. She’s in Vegas to negotiate some hotel acquisitions but taking the evening off from World Hospitality Industry Domination to take in a show.
Since I last saw her, a lot has happened, including the love-of-her-life thing. I’d been in Paris, where she lives, for my own business trip, and we spent an afternoon wandering Le Marais, ostensibly shopping for shoes, but mostly catching up. She’d been about to leave for a week of scouting boutique hotels with her business partner Daniel, and I can see how “I’m not going to mix business with pleasure” worked out for her. So well that Daniel, aka the love of Scarlett’s life, is coming with us to Stone’s concert.
I smother a smile as Scarlett and I saunter down to the theater of The Extravagant. When she gives me a questioning look, I tip my head to indicate Daniel, who’s fallen back to take in some hotel detail only noticeable to someone in the business.
“Props to your man for giving us a privacy bubble so we can catch up.”
“He’s considerate that way.” She smirks like I don’t need to tell her she’s got a good one, and I laugh, delighted for her. She redirects with “So, spill. You know what’s up with me, so you must have something to dish.”
Well, she’s not wrong. “I’ve been dying to catch up with you. You’re never going to believe who called me.”
Her expression goes intensely serious. “Chris Hemsworth?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Even better. Crosby Cash.”
She arches a brow. “Your brother’s best friend? The guy you’ve crushed on forever? The baseball player for the San Francisco Cougars?”
“That’s who. He’s the best man at my brother’s wedding.”
“Ooh la la. What did he call you for?” She makes her question a loaded one, and my cheeks heat.
“He wanted to make sure I’d save a dance for him at the wedding in a few weeks.”
“Someone wants to dance with you.”
I scoff. “He’s just being friendly,” I tell her and me both.
She grins. “Friendly or not so friendly, sounds like the start of a good story,” she says, trailing off subjectively.
I shrug, carefully noncommittal. “You never know.”
“You never do.” We reached the theater, and she throws me a smug look. “But I’d be willing to bet on it.”
“Bet on what?” Daniel asks as he catches up to us, reaching past Scarlett to open the door in that way some guys can do without being awkward and some absolutely cannot.
“That it’s going to be a great show,” she says smoothly, kissing him warmly before we head inside.
Soon we’re watching the rock star as Stone launches into his show, and I sing along, getting lost in the music. It’s loud enough to drown out everything else, and it’s not until I’m lying in bed with ringing ears that I think about what Scarlett said.
Would I bet that this is the start of a new story with Crosby Cash?
If it were only money, then maybe. Problem is, what I’d be laying on the line is my friendship with Crosby. And that, I’m not willing to risk.
8
Crosby
A little later
* * *
I close the lid of my laptop, and hopefully, please, God, on a painful chapter of the Crosby Cash story.
This is why I should never gamble.
My judgment is shit, and I don’t know a good bet from a terrible, awful, and costly one.
Never again.
I’m giving up on women for life.
Okay, not for life.
But for a long time.
Okay, probably not a very long time.
Then my thoughts drift to Nadia. That keeps happening, and there’s no rhyme or reason. But in this case, it’s not hard to connect the dots. When I think of why I’ll never give up on women entirely, I think of Nadia.
Nadia, moving back to San Francisco.
Nadia, being amazing and fun and comfortable and trustworthy and sexy as hell all the times I’ve seen her over the last two years.
Do I wonder if something more could have come of those times together?
Hell yes.
But right this minute, I choose to focus on the sure thing— I’m damn happy that she’s my friend.
That’s not a judgment call. No intuition needed. It’s a fact.
I’ll see her soon at Eric’s wedding, just after she’s moved here officially. I’m happy to see my pal getting married, but I’ve been dreading the reception, navigating that sea of bad dating decisions waiting to happen. Nadia will be the bright spot there.
Bottom line is I’m damn happy to have her as a friend.
Lord knows I don’t want to go to the wedding and run into other women.
She’s the one I want to talk to at the wedding. The one I want to spend time with. So much more than on a phone call.
Though I do enjoy chatting with her when she calls me that afternoon as I’m heading to the gym.
“Don’t make me wait. What lucky socks are you wearing today?”
“The luckiest ones,” I say. “The giraffe socks you retrieved.”
“Then maybe today is another lucky day,” she says.
“Of course it is. In a few more days, you’ll be here, and soon we’ll be dancing the tango, the polka, and the macarena at your brother’s wedding.”
“Or maybe just the wedding pretend-we-can-dance-well dance.”
“I can dance well, and I bet you can too,” I say.
As we chat longer, I picture dancing with her, bringing her in close, feeling her lush body against me.
And I like that idea.
I like that idea a lot. It’s not the first time I’ve thought it. Doubt it’ll be the last.
I wonder if there are rules for being friends with benefits.
That is, if that’s what I want to be.
Friends with benefits? Or more?
But for the first time, it seems riskier than it ever has before.
There are a ton of reasons why it would be dangerous to act on these feelings. Reasons that should keep me in place.
But maybe it’s the kind of risk that I want to take.
A few weeks later at the wedding, I roll the dice, and I take it. Oh hell, do I ever take it, when I walk her back to her room at the end of the night…
***
* * *
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The Rules of Friends with Benefits Page 4