"Hello, Hailey," Terry says, striding up to the table like we're the best of friends and sliding his newly purchased copy of Game of Love toward me to sign.
Terry hasn't been seen publicly since the Kings' loss, and it was widely reported that Arthur Heimlich, the team's owner, made his displeasure known. The morning after the season-ending loss to Detroit, Mr. Heimlich held a closed-door meeting at the stadium with all of his decision makers. By lunchtime, Randy Gilecki, the pitcher filling in for Jilly, who gave up the home run that cost them their chance to repeat as world champions, was designated for assignment and his erstwhile teammate, Jason Trubelow, was let go the following day. The Kings sent the resounding message that Jilly's their guy, quickly meeting his agent's salary demands for a new contract, clearly demonstrating that they expected him to make a full recovery.
Jilly's absence down the stretch made Terry realize how truly valuable he is to the team, the kind of player who cannot easily be replaced, the kind that's worth every penny—with or without having to contend with his troublesome ex-girlfriend.
"Mr. Bloom," I respond formally. "How would you like me to sign this for you?" I ask, parroting the line the store manager told me to say.
He smiles at me condescendingly. "How about, 'Thanks for the inspiration.'"
I grin, complying with his request, because I don't know what else to do. This guy was going to take me to the cleaners. I guess I should be a good sport about it and not step on his toes. I sign it and hand it back to him, but he pauses with both of our hands still on the book as the photographers converge, snapping the two of us burying the hatchet.
"Word of advice." Terry leans in to give me an air kiss on the cheek. "Don't screw up Drake's book." Then he backs away, the crisp, expensive scent of his cologne lingering even after he turns on his heel and struts out the door.
That was intense. So much went down, but there's no time to stop and reflect because the floodgates open and the fans start streaming in, screaming and shouting, pointing at me and jumping up and down—grown women wearing the same Jilly shirt I'm in, teenage girls with the number twenty-four painted on their faces, a lone guy here and there trying to blend in. Now I have a true taste of how Jilly feels on a daily basis, dealing with the fans. Yep, I'm afraid—very afraid.
But as the night goes on, I realize that there was nothing to be nervous about. For the most part, everyone is sweet and polite. Sure, there are a few who ask some inappropriate questions about my relationship with Jilly, but the bookstore's staff does a good job in hustling them away and bringing up the next person in line. The awkwardness is kept to a minimum until about an hour into the event, when the superintendent of my old building walks in.
I feel like a puppet and someone just jerked my strings. I gaze worriedly over at Gayle, but she's already intercepting him, heading him off before he can approach me. I breathe a bit easier until I see her bring him to the front of the line, bypassing protocol and marching him right up to my table.
"Hailey, Mr. Young has something he'd like to say, something important he feels he needs to share with you," Gayle prompts, instructing everyone that I'm taking a five-minute break to catch up with an old friend.
I know I must look frightened when I see the cocky glint in his eyes. He's sucking on a lollipop and he doesn't even bother to take it out of his mouth. I never wanted to see him again, and I don't know why Gayle ushered him over here like he's some kind of VIP.
"Aight, I don't got much time, so to make a long story short, my gamin' you wasn't just because you were an easy mark. Someone hired me to do it." I hear his voice, but all I see is the crooked tilt of his Kings cap. "I can't name names because I don't wanna get involved. All I can say is, that dude who was in here earlier was the one who contracted my services."
My mind flies wildly through all of the male faces I encountered during the evening, but none of them seem to fit. "You're gonna have to give me more than that," I protest. "I must've spoken to dozens of men tonight. It could've been any one of them. How am I supposed to know which one you're referring to?"
He rolls his eyes, shoving the lollipop against the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "The first one," he mutters. "The very first one."
Holy shit! Terry?
My eyes go wide, and he chuckles. "He wants to know who all his boys are stickin' it to. One of my dawgs did surveillance for him before, and he hooked me up with the gig when he found out you were living in my building. After that, it was the easiest $5K I ever made, hands down."
My mind goes numb. Terry spies on his players, using scumbags like my super and his friends to do it? A chill runs through me when I realize the lengths Terry is willing to go to secure his investments. He invades his players' private lives, learning everything he can about them, gathering all the dirt he finds along the way to use against them, obtaining any sort of leverage he can.
Only this time, it didn't work. Jilly got every cent he was asking for.
"Why are you telling me this?" I lock on to his shifty eyes, needing the truth.
"Your boy just wrapped up his mega-millions deal, and that broad with the website's been onto me for a while now. She said she wouldn't expose me if I came clean with you, so here I am." The light hits the gold chains around his neck as he shifts impatiently from foot to foot. "So I got nuthin' to lose letting you in on the situation. She said she'd rather go after the big fish when the time was right. Whatever that means."
So Gayle has some serious evidence to rock Terry's world. She could inform Arthur Heimlich at any time about what he's been up to. Or maybe he already knows. Maybe he's in on it too. My stomach turns over at the thought of how high up the food chain this goes. Is that why Gayle's not blowing the whistle on them? Because of what they could do to her?
"We cool? 'Cause I'm out." He doesn't even have a book for me to sign. He cracks his knuckles, looking out of place in such a tame environment, and shuffles to the door, his jeans dragging on the ground. The people waiting in line let him through, knowing he's not someone they want to mess with.
I stand up, determined to talk to Gayle and find out what the heck is going on, when the manager motions to me to sit down and keep going, pointing at her watch. That's about all the breaks I'm going to get. The store closes at ten, and they plan on letting as many customers in to see me as possible.
I block out the mental image of Jilly standing at the end of the line, unable to get in. He wouldn't do that, would he? I know he used to disguise himself when he'd go to the library, but I hope he'd put his notoriety to good use in order to see me. If I can combat my shyness for one night, so can he.
The signing flies by, and I smile on cue for photo after photo, drawing hearts next to my name in book after book, engaging readers, and trying to keep sane even though I'm on sensory overload. I don't think I've ever talked to so many people in such a short span of time. It's like I'm on an assembly line, greeting one after the other.
The event even runs over by a half hour and the store still has to turn people away. The manager collects the email addresses of those remaining, promising to notify them when they can pick up their signed copies at a later date. I hate disappointing anyone, but it can't be helped or we'd be here until morning.
And still, Jilly doesn't show.
He must not have heard that I was in town. Maybe he's down in Florida. Wherever he is, I miss him…a lot. I can't believe this grand scheme of mine was a total bust.
I reach for my phone and turn it back on. No texts. No voicemails. Nothing.
With a sigh, I open my Twitter app and go to the Kings' page. Terry's pic with me has already been posted, and I feel sick now that I know what he's truly capable of. He made it sound like I'm the one using the team when he's using me just as much, if not more so. There's even a link to buy my books on the Kings' website through the stadium gift shop. What a hypocrite.
Gayle swoops in from behind. "Now that went well, don't you think?"
"Yeah. It was going grea
t until the guy who ransacked my apartment showed up." I glare at her. "How long have you known?"
"I was chasing a few leads, but I wasn't sure until the night of the library date. Rhonda, Terry's secretary, gave me a tip about what was going on, and I followed up on it." Gayle sighs, removing her stylish glasses from her face and rubbing her eyes. "I wanted to give you and Jilly one more night if I could, hoping that maybe you'd find the courage to tell him yourself, but Terry had to go and blow it all to hell."
"So, it's true then," I grumble. "If I hadn't signed up to win that dream date, none of this would've happened."
"I wouldn't say that," Gayle remarks, propping her hip against the side of the table. "Sure, your popularity as R.D. Bukater exploded once people found out you were the contest winner, and maybe neither Terry or I would've looked into your background so closely if you hadn't entered and won, but I think, contest or no contest, you would've told Jilly eventually. It's why you wrote the books in the first place—because you wanted to reconnect with him."
"And now he's nowhere to be found." I gaze out the window at the taxis whizzing by, wishing that Jilly were in one of them, racing to see me.
"C'mon. It's been a long night, and you have to sign the rest of the books that were sold before you can leave. Then you can go back to your five-star hotel room, take a bubble bath, and relax!" She smiles at me encouragingly, guiding me through the bookshelves to a door behind the coffee bar.
"They're in there?" I raise an eyebrow at her.
"Yeah. I guess it's easier than dragging them out front. I told them you wouldn't mind," Gayle reassures me, pushing open the door.
"Looks like we're talking a lot boxes then." I gulp.
"Go on," Gayle laughs. "I'll be waiting right out here if you need me."
"What? You're not gonna keep me company?" I panic, suddenly feeling claustrophobic among the cramped storeroom shelves.
"You'll be fine," Gayle says, closing the door behind her.
I step forward tentatively, not sure where I'm supposed to go.
Someone coughs in the far corner of the room, so I proceed cautiously in that direction.
"Hello?" I call out, wondering if a staff member is waiting for me back here to show me where the books are.
I really wish I could do this another time, but I made a commitment to Gayle and I intend to see it through. New York is full of wealthy eccentrics. These copies could be for someone who purchased a luxury box at Kings Stadium for the season and couldn't make it tonight, for one of Gayle's advertisers that she needs to kiss up to but she's too embarrassed to say, or for a well-esteemed literary author who doesn't want it known that he or she actually reads the New York Warriors series.
I pull at the hem of my Jilly T-shirt. Gayle told me to dress up for the occasion, but I wanted Jilly to see from the get-go that I was doing this for him. Now, I wish I had taken her advice. Or had at least brought a sweater with me. I rub my arms to get warm since it's so chilly back here.
I'm at the rack in the very back of the room, about to turn the corner. I pause with my hand on the shelf, willing myself to calm down. I've met a lot of people tonight. I can handle one more.
I take another step, and I'm immediately enveloped in a familiar set of strong arms, my face pressed against his chest. It's not until I breathe in his woodsy scent that I let myself believe that this is really happening, and I wrap my arms around him and hold on for dear life.
"You came," I whisper against his shirt, feeling his heartbeat next to my ear.
"I did," he whispers back, stroking the top of my head and making me look up.
"Your brace?" I question, losing myself in the glow of his brown eyes staring down at me. "It's gone?"
He smiles at the look of wonderment on my face. "It has been for a while now."
I pull his injured arm toward me, rolling up his sleeve to examine every inch of it, my fingers gliding over the scar his surgery left behind. "Your elbow," I say, in disbelief. "You can move it! It's working again!"
"Yep. Almost as good as new," he jokes, shivering slightly when my fingers move across his scar. "I'm not there yet, but I will be."
"Where have you—" I blurt out, but I stop myself, not wanting to ruin the moment.
"Been?" he finishes, his mouth turning up. "Back and forth between the complex in Florida and my place here, trying to sort things out."
"And did you…sort things out?" I inquire, almost too afraid to ask.
"I'm not sure yet." He draws it out, not giving anything away.
"Oh." I release his arm and take a step back, scared of what he's going to say.
"I've read your book over and over." He swallows, moving toward me and closing the space between us, his hand fingering my curls. "All of it…too many times to count, I'm afraid."
"And…?" I ask shyly, leaning into touch.
"The more I let it sink in," he replies huskily, "the more I've come to appreciate it."
"What made you change your mind?" I ask, holding my breath.
"Knowing that you're no longer afraid to embrace who you are," he says, stroking the side of my cheek. "And not seeing your smile for two months"—he pauses, choking up—"made me realize that there's no way I could spend the rest of my life without you, even if I have to work at replacing every memory you have of Kurt Nelson with one of my own."
"Oh, Bruce—" I sigh, running my hands up his chest and feeling the hard planes of solid muscle ripple beneath my fingertips. "Whatever you saw between Kurt and me…it was nothing. He initiated it. He—"
But my words are stifled as his lips land on mine and kiss my fears away.
My hands rise up to his neck, pulling him to me, as he lifts me off my feet, standing up straight and taking me with him. He tastes like cinnamon and spices and the crispness of fall. He's strong, so strong, and he makes me feel like I can do anything, be the person I want to be, vanquishing the fears that have been holding me back for so long. Now we can step into the light together, hand in hand. There's no need to run and hide anymore. We can be together the way we were meant to be.
No more pseudonyms.
No more fake boyfriends.
No more rigged contests.
I'm finally ready to face my future with him head on, showing this wonderful, tenderhearted man just how much I love him.
"Take me back to your place." I break away, letting him know how much I want him.
He looks down at me with passion building in his eyes.
"Now," I say more urgently, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.
"Don't you have more books to sign?" he asks teasingly.
But when I brush against the front of his jeans as he lowers me to the ground, I know he's feeling it, too. I smile, extending my hand behind me, laughing when he takes it.
"Right now, it's all about you," I reply. "I'm ready to start making some of those memories you were talking about. C'mon, let's make this a night we'll never forget."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jilly
"Hailey…?" I whisper huskily, my hands spanning her waist underneath the T-shirt bearing my name.
"Hmmm…" she asks distractedly, too busy kissing my neck.
We haven't been able to keep our hands off each other since we left the bookstore and entered my apartment, stumbling and groping our way back to my bedroom.
"I wanna recreate a scene from one of your books." My thumbs brush against the underwire of her bra, and her tiny ribs fill my palms when she sighs deeply, the moisture from her tongue still wet along my jaw.
"Oh yeah? Which one?" she asks, pausing to humor me but not wanting to stop what she's doing.
We're both kneeling in the center of my huge-ass bed. Our shoes are off, but not much else. The lamp is on in the corner because I'm not doing this in the dark. I don't intend to miss a thing. I want to see every freckle, every dimple, every curve of her body.
But I have to get her naked first.
And I know just where I want to start.
<
br /> I let my fingers dip beneath the rise of her jeans and watch her eyes flutter at the sensation. I ease off the bed and tear off my shirt in one swift motion. She eyes me hungrily when I unsnap the button on my jeans and quickly step out of them, kicking them aside. Her gaze immediately drops down, and she emits a soft gasp, seeing how ready I am for her, the bulge in my boxers giving me away.
"C'mere. Let me show you how to bat." My eyes never leave her face, her surprise at my statement letting me know I hit the mark. It wasn't what she was expecting, but when she licks her lips, I know she's well aware of where I'm going with this.
When she crawls toward me on the bed, it's hotter than any girl in a music video ever could be. I like how she can be so damn sexy, her knees skimming across my sheets, making a rumpled mess out of my bed. I gulp, watching her wiggle out of her jeans, unable to restrain myself from moving toward her.
"Let me," I groan near her ear, making her shiver.
I reach down and slide her shirt up and over her head until she's before me in nothing but her bra and panties, evening the score. Now, we're both stripped down to our underwear—exactly where I need us to be.
"Where do you want me?" She glances up at me thorough her eyelashes, her voice low and seductive.
"In the middle of the room," I respond, extending my hand and helping her down.
She waltzes by me, swinging her hips for my benefit, making me even harder than I already was. "Right here?" she asks suggestively, looking over her shoulder and extending that sexy dip in her back.
I stride up behind her, placing my hands on her hips and nuzzling her hair. "Batter up," I instruct, hearing her breathing become erratic. "And just so you know, I might've pitched to Sasha, but I never helped her with her swing. Nothing like what I intend to do to you."
Her goose bumps rise beneath my fingertips, and I press myself against the thin strip of satin, the only thing preventing me from entering her right now. She moans, shifting back, her skin hot against my chest.
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