9
Graham
“Thanks for cockblocking me the other night.”
I snap back from my daydream and try to focus. “What? When did I cock block you?”
“At the bar. Don’t act like you don’t remember. Even Calvin and Andre thought I had a shot with that redhead. What’s her name again? Karen or something? Your friend.” The way Dave emphasizes friend makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I know none of the guys saw anything that would make them think Cassie and I are anything more than friends. If you don’t count our pornographic dancing, that is. Or the kiss I gave her on the very public dance floor. It doesn’t help that instead of listening to what Dave was saying I was actually running through all the sordid details from my trip to the ladies’ room with Cassie. I’m lucky the stack of papers Dave’s given me is covering my crotch.
“She’s out of your league, bro,” I tell him, trying to act like it doesn’t bother me to talk about Cassie with some other guy, especially a jerk like my agent. Dave Preston may be good at what he does, but he’s not anyone I want near Cassie in any capacity. “Calvin and Andre were blowing smoke up your ass.” Those guys will say anything to try to get Dave to try his luck at picking someone up. Plenty of times his big shot bullshit works on women, but when it doesn’t, he can really go down in flames. It’s become one of our favorite things to do when we all go out. But having to watch him try that routine out on Cassie? I can’t even bring myself to think about it.
“Well, she didn’t seem too happy about you groping her either, so I guess she’s even out of your league, bro. I was almost hoping to see a photo of you getting rejected on social media. Guess no one had their phones out, lucky for you.” I let that slide with a shrug. No use giving Dave any ideas about what may or may not have happened after that. Once we put ourselves back together and agreed to put yet another “mistake” in the vault, I had come back into the bar like nothing had happened. I watched Cassie like a hawk, of course, giving my meanest stare to any guy who came near her. Either it was effective or Cassie had already gotten what she came for because she went home solo. And I know this because even though Cassie’d kill me if she found out, I followed her home. I told myself I’d done it because I was worried about her safety. It had nothing to do with the weird feeling developing in my chest, the same feeling that’s coming back again as Dave waxes poetic about Cassie’s ass.
“Can we get back to business?” I ask, desperate to steer this meeting back on track. I’m here to talk about my options, not punch my agent in the mouth because he can’t stop talking about the girl I can’t stop thinking about. “Have you got something for me or not?” I shouldn’t snap at Dave, he’s just the messenger. It isn’t his fault that since my football career is effectively over there aren’t a ton of offers rolling in. It’s time for my second act and I need Dave to help me figure out what that might be. Biting his head off is counterproductive.
I stare at the life-sized photo of me that hangs behind Dave’s desk. It’s me in beast mode, arms spread wide after a tackle, head thrown back. Even though my helmet’s on, the number on the jersey is clearly mine—until they eventually give that number to some new guy. The rest of the office is covered in framed magazine covers and ad copy. It’s the only thing to look at against the stark white walls and black furniture. Dave thinks this minimalistic vibe forces everyone to see the fruits of his labor. He’s probably right, but now all it’s doing is making me wonder how long I have before my photo moves from the prime position. How long before someone else becomes his star client and takes my place over the desk?
“Did you see that Bleacher Report article on Jacobs?” Dave asks, technically moving back to business but not giving me the information I came here for. “He’s looking good. An up-and-comer. Not as photogenic as you, maybe, but the pictures still looked good.”
“Yeah, I saw it. He looked good.” I shift in my seat, making the leather of the couch creak under me. “If he can keep working like he has been he should have a break out season.” I don’t tell Dave that when I saw the article it took everything in me not to throw my laptop through the window. Not that I begrudge a new guy getting the chance to make his way in the league. That’s not it at all. When I saw the article I wasn’t seeing anything about football. With its glowing description of Jacobs’ life, all I could see was the part about his family. His college sweetheart wife and their infant son mocked me in vibrant color. The fact that after football for him there’ll be family only reinforced the fact that for me now there’s nothing.
“Let’s hope so.” Dave sits back down at the chair behind his desk. “It’d be nice to have another Graham Stevens around here.”
I try to smile at what I think was intended as a compliment but my face refuses to cooperate. Dave clears his throat and barrels on. “Since we’re sure now that you won’t be back on the field as a player, we need to map out a strategy here.” I nod and wait to hear Dave’s plan, hopeful he’s got a good one. “There’s probably going to be a phasing out of some of the apparel endorsements we’ve got going right now. If you aren’t on the field those companies are going to start to get less interested. You could go to lesser known products, pull a Brett Favre with the toothpaste and stuff.”
I know this already but still hate to be reminded of it. “Okay, so fewer endorsements. Got it. What’s next, then?”
“Well, there’s some interest in seeing what you can do as an announcer. You have the right look for it and when you open your mouth you don’t sound like an idiot.” Dave smirks. “Most of the time at least. I’ve got you a screen test that could line you up for a slot for one of the games over Thanksgiving. We won’t know until closer to the time which one the network wants you for. Or we could try to get you settled on a college game. Either one would be a good start to see how you feel about it. If the network likes what they see there’d be a good possibility of more.”
“So, it’d be like an audition?”
“Of sorts, I guess. Something that you and the network would be trying out. They love your face already and so do the fans, obviously. That’s why the team’s been keeping you on the sidelines this season instead of putting you out to pasture right away. They’ve been hinting that there might be something in the front office, if you’re interested.”
I frown. I’ve hated being in limbo with the team for the past year. They’ve had me working with the defense, coaching my teammates in a capacity I’d never felt comfortable with. But there hasn’t been much else to focus on if I wasn’t able to play. And to hear Dave tell it, they’ve kept me visible not because they thought I’d ever come back, but because fans like seeing my face. I try to shake it off and move forward, but I never imagined myself wearing a suit and talking about football. I’ve only ever thought about being on the field. I make the plays; I don’t comment on them.
“Think of it like a long interview after the game. You like doing those, right?”
“I don’t know if ‘like’ is the right word for that.”
“But you don’t hate it. And you’re good at it. Reporters have always eaten you up. Try to think of this as an opportunity. If you hate it then we try something else. There are still companies wanting to use you for all sorts of ads and promotions and we need to get those organized soon. You need to be thinking long term here, Graham. The announcer gig would be a step toward that. Plenty of other guys would jump at this.”
I give in. “I’ll try it. Send me the details for the other things and I’ll see what I can stomach.”
“I know it isn’t what we’d planned, G, but we can make things work. You’ve got a career; it just has to be different now. You can still be in football if that’s what you want.” Dave gives me his best pitying look. “On the up side, you’ve gotten out before too much of your brain got scrambled, hopefully. And you’re still knee deep in pussy so there’s that.” So much for the pep talk.
“And on that note, I’m out of here.” I rise from the sofa and
let Dave come over to walk me out. He claps me on the back but has trouble reaching higher than my shoulder blades.
“I’m on it, G. No worries.”
But I’m not convinced. The anxiety I’d been feeling coming into this meeting is still churning in my belly, threatening to make my breakfast a repeat visitor. I need a good workout to get rid of some of this negative energy but heading to the weight room with the team isn’t a possibility, at least not one that will do anything to relieve this stress. So I do the one thing guaranteed to fix my problem in the short term—I text Cassie.
Me: U home or at work?
C: Home. Why?
Me: Want to go lift?
C: Weights?
Me: You lifting anything else?
C: 8 oz curls?
Me: I need a motivating workout partner. Meet me at the gym?
C: To work out? Together? I feel like that’s a bad idea.
She’s right. It is a terrible idea, but it’s the only thing I can think of that will make me feel even marginally better. Instead of continuing our text battle I go for the big guns. Cassie answers on the second ring.
“Hello?” she asks, pretending she doesn’t know it’s me. “No matter what you’re selling, I’m not buying.”
“Not even the chance to spend an hour with me? You’re totally interested in buying that.” I hope that’s clever enough to keep her on the line until I can charm her into meeting me.
“I’ve been getting that for free. Why would I start paying?” Cassie isn’t hanging up.
“Hmmm. Good point. I guess I could give you another free sample before I start charging.” I immediately cringe. Too flirty. Especially if I’m not trying to get in her pants again. Which I’m totally not trying to do. Though, I admit if Cassie was offering, I’d have a hard time saying no.
“As tempting as that sounds, you and I both know there’s no way I’m meeting you at the gym. And there’s no way I’d ever pay you.” Cassie pauses a little too long. “To hang out. I’d never pay you to hang out.” She’s flustered. I can almost hear the blush through the static of our connection.
“I’m not kidding about working out. I really need to sweat out some of the bullshit from the meeting I just had.”
“You had a bad meeting? About what?” Cassie’s voice actually softens a little. I take advantage of her momentary weakness to beg a little.
“A terrible meeting,” I confess knowing full well I’ll never tell her what it was about. “With my douchey agent. Do you feel sorry enough for me now to meet up? No shenanigans. I promise. Nothing vault worthy.”
“I don’t know…” Cassie hesitates.
“Have you lifted today?” I ask because this call is all about exercise. It isn’t in any way about needing Cassie to soothe my irritated nerves with her pretty face and her sassy mouth. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
“No.”
“Great. I’ll meet you at your gym in ten minutes.”
“Wait, hold up. Don’t you have teammates to work out with?” Cassie asks and I can almost hear her slap her forehead. Of course I don’t have teammates. Not anymore. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” I swallow the lump of regret that’s threatening to form in my throat. “Ten minutes?”
“Fine,” Cassie sighs into the phone. “But we’re working out. Nothing extracurricular. I’m serious.”
“I can keep my hands to myself if you can,” I tell her, sliding behind the wheel of my car and putting the key in the ignition. “I know it’ll be difficult for you…”
“I’ll be difficult for me?” Cassie sputters. “You’re such an ass.”
“What was that about my ass? That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. Off limits, Cass. Off limits.”
She nearly growls into the phone. “I’ll see you in ten minutes, dickhead.” And then hangs up on me.
Immediately my shoulders loosen up. I know seeing Cassie isn’t a long-term fix, but even just the twinge of excitement I’m feeling is worth the risk. With nothing else to look forward to, the promise of Cassie in her workout tights gives me a glimmer of something positive in an otherwise shitty day. I ease my car into traffic, humming to myself in a way that should have me questioning just what I’m expecting from Cassie today. I can keep my hands to myself. Probably.
10
Cassie
“Do you like Chinese food?”
“Do I like Chinese food? Why do I get the feeling this is about to turn into some offensive joke or something?” I work to pull the corner of the fitted sheet tight on the edge of the bed. “Don’t you ever just say ‘hello’?” I never should have answered the phone, but that little tingle that keeps reappearing when I see Graham’s name flicker on the screen convinced me not to let it go to voicemail. I’ve been chalking it up to animosity, ignoring any other pesky feelings that might creep in.
“I wouldn’t tell an offensive joke, Firecracker. I’m upset you’d even think that.” Graham’s mock indignation does nothing to convince me that this call is anything but trouble.
“You can’t keep calling me Firecracker.” I’m already blushing.
“No? I need a new nickname for you since the old one is out. No one has to know where it came from.”
“It’s a sex nickname. You can’t call me that in front of other people.” I sigh and position the flat sheet, tucking the corners.
“People will think it’s because of the red hair, Cassie. It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone it’s because you explode like a firecracker whenever I put my dick in you.”
“God, Graham!” The heat moves higher on my cheekbones. I’m lucky no one else is here to see me turn into a flaming hot tomato.
“Okay, it happens when I use my mouth, too. And my hands. Maybe just when I look at you.” He’s teasing, but other parts of my body start to feel uncomfortably warm. “You can give me a sex nickname. To make it even.”
“I’m not giving you a sex nickname. Especially since we’re not having sex again.” I don’t sound very convinced. So far, Graham and I are exceptionally bad at not having sex with each other. It’s like after that first time we broke the seal and now we can’t stop. Every time we both agree it can’t happen again and that we’ll never tell a soul and then we end up together and we forget all those promises. There was the bar. The car after the gym. And some not quite sex in the alleyway outside Mamacita’s when we “accidentally” ran into each other.
“I can give you some suggestions, if you want, but we’re getting off track. You never answered my original question about Chinese food.”
“You’re seriously asking if I like Chinese food? You called to ask me that?” I finish making the bed and walk back out to the living room. I’ve spent all day cleaning after neglecting my apartment for far too long. I’ve got another shift bright and early tomorrow morning but I couldn’t let the laundry fester for another day. I flop down on the sofa and unscrew the cap on my bottle of water. “Are you taking a poll or something?”
Graham laughs in his deep throaty way and I can almost picture his chest moving up and down. Thinking about Graham’s chest brings about an unfortunate wave of tingles that I suppress with a swallow of water.
“I’m not taking a poll. Look out your window.”
I turn to find Graham standing down on the lawn holding a giant paper bag. He manages a wave with the fingers holding his phone. He’s wearing one of those tight athletic T-shirts and I can almost see his abs from here. I consider pulling the curtains shut, but he knows I’m home. There’s no hiding from him now.
“You cannot come up,” I tell him, trying hard to stand my ground even as my feet itch to run and open the door.
“Not even if I have dinner?”
My stomach growls. “You cannot come into my apartment.”
“Do you want me to leave?” His face clouds. “I’m going to take the food with me.”
I don’t want him to leave. I want to be able to invite him up and have dinner like two norm
al people. But I know if Graham’s here we won’t be just having dinner. We’ve already proven we can’t be trusted and alone in my apartment will provide the kind of opportunity I’ve been trying to avoid.
“I have an early shift in the morning.” I let the cautiousness I feel seep into my voice. “And you do realize that a booty call requires an actual call. A call you make before you come over, not one you make from the front door.”
“This isn’t a booty call,” Graham tells me, still juggling the bag and the phone outside my window. “This is dinner. I get bored eating alone.” He pauses. “Do you want this to be a booty call?” He’s as unsure as I am.
“No. Never mind. Come up. I’ll let you in.”
“Great!” Graham nearly sprints to the stairs and I hear him barrel up them. Hopefully my neighbors won’t decide they need to see what the commotion is. I don’t need witnesses to my lack of self-control. He’s at the door before I can scoot across the living room. “Come on, food’s getting cold!”
I unbolt the door and turn the knob. Graham’s eager face greets me once the door swings open. “What if it turns out I don’t like Chinese food?”
His face falls a little.
“I can go and get something else,” he suggests. “We can order in or I can make something.” He’s not going to be deterred, I guess.
“No, I’m just messing with you. I like Chinese. What’d you get?” I take the bag from him and turn toward the kitchen. Graham follows behind, looking the place over.
“I’ve never been inside your apartment.” He swivels a bit, taking in the framed photos on the walls and nearly tripping over the coffee table. “It’s nice. It smells like you.” Graham pulls a big hand behind his neck and squeezes. “Sorry.”
Forget About It Page 7