by Alie Garnett
“I quit,” Agatha said and looked at the platter again.
“No quitting; you’re family,” Lucy said from behind her. The two had started this business over two years before and were doing very well, which meant Agatha was forced to work these stupid events all the time.
“Today, a football player has been swapped by one NFL team for another,” Harper stated in her speech, something she always started these events with.
“Traded, not swapped,” Lucy corrected, causing Harper to glare at her.
“I said traded. Anyway, this is a press event to tell the city about their new player. Or something like that,” Harper explained. “And they have chosen Lovely Catering to supply the food.”
“Football?” Agatha groaned.
“This is big, Agatha, so big. Over a hundred people big, so many contacts and potential business. And TV stations will be here!” Lucy squealed, and Harper joined in. Maby and Agatha did not. Slave labor didn’t get excited about working, no matter how high-profile the event.
“Can you even believe it? And Christopher Lowell is the player. The Christopher Lowell,” Harper said, as if sports were something the sisters talked about, ever.
Agatha looked up from all the little cups on her tray at her sister. Could it be her Christopher Lowell? Big, tall, muscular, and mouth-wateringly handsome? She hadn’t heard anything about Chris since she last saw him in the hallway by their lockers, not that she had spent any time looking. Ending her school career that day, she never went back. Her diploma arrived in the mail a month later. Now after seven years, she was completely over him. It had to be a different guy anyway.
“I remember him at Harry Truman. He was a starter before we even graduated,” Lucy said. “Wasn’t he your age, Ag?”
Looking up at her sister in fake confusion, she said, “I don’t remember. My graduating class was big.”
Suddenly, she was glad she had never told anyone about it. Not even about having a crush on him.
“Yeah, I only remember him because he had a sister my age. Cara, I think that was her name. Do you remember, Lucy?” Maby asked her twin, who just shook her head.
“You don’t remember the sister, but the brother you can’t forget?” Harper teased her.
“Hey, they were part of the rich group. I was not part of that group,” Maby said.
“Probably why I don’t remember him either,” Agatha lied.
Lucy looked at her closely, too closely. What was she seeing? Lucy and Maby were only two years older than she was. Did Lucy remember the terrible crush she had had on Christopher?
“What?” Agatha demanded.
“You got your hair cut. Should that one part be standing up?” Lucy pointed to the side of her head.
“Yes, it’s edgy.” She tried not to touch her hair; she didn’t want to wash her hands again. But she wondered if it still looked like it had hours before or if it was droopy now. Not that she could do anything about it now. And besides, if it looked too bad, Harper would never allow her to work that night.
“I know that, but you should maybe rethink it,” Lucy said, reaching out to touch it.
“Hey, hands off, Luce.” Agatha dodged away from her sister.
This morning when she had sat in the salon chair, she had wanted edgy and different, but by lunch, she was no longer happy with her hair. Now she had to live with it until it grew out. Tomorrow she wouldn’t spike it, but since the stylist had that morning, she would leave it today. Agatha couldn’t pull off edgy but consoled herself that not everyone could.
“Okay, are we ready?” Harper asked as they all picked up a tray. It sounded like people were there. And if there were people, they would want tiny bites of food delivered to them one piece at a time.
Harper started out, followed by the twins, with Agatha bringing up the rear. Glancing at the clock before she left, she saw it was 5 p.m. The event was scheduled to last until 10 p.m., and then at midnight, she was off to her real job, bartending at the Sunrise Tavern. It was a shitty job, but at least it paid, and there were tips.
Tomorrow was Monday morning, and at 10 a.m. she was going to meet with an actual book publisher, Abbot & Merchant. It had taken her weeks to get this meeting to show them the illustrations and mock-ups for a book she had been working on. It was a children’s book she had originally drawn for Violet when she was a baby. But Agatha wanted more than her sister to see the books; she wanted to share them with the world. Tomorrow she would get her first chance to make that happen. Even right now, with hours before the meeting, she was nervous her work wouldn’t be enough.
Out in the crowded room, she traced circular path, avoiding her sisters so that they were not at the same place. It took coordination and strategy to make the food distribution seem flawless.
It was on her first circle of the room that she saw Christopher Lowell. He had filled out even more over the past five years, and he looked more grown up. No longer was he the young boy she had stared at every day. Now he was all man and all muscle. The blond, wavy hair was just short stubble now. He was in jeans and a thin T-shirt, and she could see the muscles in his legs, arms, and on his chest.
Agatha couldn’t take her eyes off him, at least until she ran into an old man and almost dropped her tray. She was so proud of herself for saving it. Agatha scored one in the “don’t drop food on people” game, which was important—she didn’t need to get in trouble with her sister today.
Christopher’s brown eyes never left the TV screen that was showing clips of him playing for his previous team and some of the team he was going to play for. He didn’t talk to anyone or eat anything. But he did drink, beer after beer all evening.
After only fifteen minutes, she had decided he was not going to recognize her, and she was able to relax. He didn’t remember her or care about her if he did. But of course, he was the big football star now, and she was a waiter. Somehow it seemed their lives hadn’t changed since high school; he was still the star, and she was still nothing. Seven years hadn’t been long enough to change that.
From talk around the room, she had found out he had been traded against his will. He had been happy about it, but it seemed the team he was now on was not. So, when they had the chance, they traded him. He didn’t seem afraid to show that he wasn’t happy either.
As the night came to an end, Agatha went back to the kitchen to find Harper packing her supplies and dishes into big totes. With a sigh, she went to help her oldest sister. The job usually wasn’t over until hours after the event due to the cleanup.
“You go, Ag. You have to work tonight.” Harper waved her off.
“Thanks, Harps. See you tomorrow.” She turned away from her sister. Though they lived in the same house, they would not see one another for the rest of the night. Harper and Lucy would stay and clean up until about the time Agatha needed to be at the bar.
Slipping through the event space, Agatha was excited to get an hour to herself before she had to be to work again. Maybe she would take a walk around the waterfront since she had already paid for parking.
She was out the door without anyone noticing, heading down the hallway toward the elevator. As she passed the restrooms, a very drunk Chris Lowell came out, slowly swaying.
His brown eyes looked at her and he grinned. “Hey, Chris.”
With effort, she hid the smile his words of recognition caused her, but she responded one more time for old times’ sake, “Hey, Chris,” and walked away from him. Being a big football star and all, he probably wouldn’t remember their meeting in the morning anyway. But now she would.
Pushing the down button at the elevator, she almost jumped out of her skin when he said from right behind her, “Nice hair.”
Touching it now, she had forgotten about the new cut. “Thanks.”
The doors swished open, and she walked into the elevator. He followed and said, “Fuck, you’re hot.”
“Thanks,” she replied, not really knowing how to answer. She leaned into the wall of the elevat
or, realizing she kind of liked drunk Chris. One well-directed smile still made it easy for her to forgive him of anything.
“I want to fuck you,” he whispered as he leaned into her, making her feel small and delicate.
“You don’t even know my name.” She let herself smell him again. He smelled the same as her jacket had all those years before.
Just being near him turned her mind to mush and smoothed the rough memories of the past. Knowing she should stop him and making it happen were two different things. She was with him right now, and he wanted to be with her again. What would be the harm in taking things further? After all, it was her choice. She knew better than to think it was more than right now. She wouldn’t let her heart get involved.
“We’re both Chrises.” His tongue ran over her ear, sliding over earring after earring.
When the door opened, she tried to move, she really did. But his tongue had left her ear and was running over her neck. His hand reached over and pushed a button, and suddenly, her attention left the elevator door and focused on where his tongue would go next.
Chapter Three
Fuck, he hated hangovers. Why did he have to drink so much that his head was throbbing? Rolling over, he wondered if he could even remember the press conference but realized he couldn’t. With a groan, he opened his eyes to the bright room, then shut them again.
Christopher Lowell was twenty-five and should have easily known how to hold his liquor, but smiling and trying to act happy about ending up with the wrong team had made him reach for drink after drink. Yes, he should be happy just to be on a team still, but it wasn’t the team he had loved playing for. They had decided they didn’t love him.
Opening his eyes again, he saw the back of her head. Short black hair standing on end, the strands all pointing in different directions. But the sides were very short. He couldn’t remember a thing about her. That should make him ashamed of what happened, but it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Women were easy when you played a sport like football at the level he did.
She was probably naked based on the creamy white shoulder that was peeking out from under the covers. He had a type, and short, black-haired chicks were not it. Weird hair usually did nothing for him either.
Chris had been dating tall blonds as long as he could remember. Never once had he strayed away from that mold, and he didn’t see himself starting now. But it seemed that while drunk, he had wanted a taste of something else. Something completely different.
Leaning up on an elbow, Chris leaned over, realizing he wanted to see what that something else looked like. Now he could see that she had a mohawk and more metal in her ears than he thought possible. Her nose oddly didn’t have anything pierced, but it was cute and buttony. Her pink lips were curved up in a light smile as she slept.
She stretched, and the cover slid down. Her breast came into view, nice sized with dark nipples that begged to be touched. So, he did, with a light caress.
The woman bolted upright and looked around the room. What she saw was enough to send her out from under the covers and running around the room naked, looking for her clothes. For such a little package, she was glorious to look at in the nude. Even though she was skin and bones, he enjoyed watching her search the room for whatever she had worn yesterday. He would be no help because he couldn’t remember how they got to the room, much less where she had lost her clothes. Or his, for that matter.
After two circles around the room, her brown eyes glared at him as she demanded, “Where the fuck are my clothes?”
“I don’t know. Bathroom?” He pointed to it, as if she hadn’t actually already looked there, but he was rewarded by another view of her bare ass. It was a very nice ass.
She stomped into the room and came out again, empty-handed and still naked. “Oh, fuck. Is it 9:45?”
Not looking away from her breasts, Chris said, “Yup.”
She rubbed her face with her hands and then over her pointy hair, swearing a lot. She stomped out of the bedroom of the suite and into the living room. She didn’t come back, and he missed her nakedness in his life.
After a few minutes, he heard the door open and close. Was she gone? Not that he cared; she was just a drunk fuck. She was nobody that meant anything to him … they never were.
Getting up, he walked into the living room of the suite in case she hadn’t left. He could use a hangover fuck if she was still around, but the room was empty. Walking back into the bedroom, he saw a piece of paper on the dresser and picked it up. All it said was his name on it: Chris. But it wasn’t his writing, it was fancy, girly writing. The dark-haired chick must have written it, though he couldn’t remember her doing it or even why she would have.
Sitting on the bed, he looked at the paper. Chris. Short, black-haired Chris. Flopping onto his back, he suddenly remembered her from the party. Chris Lovely, artsy Chris who he couldn’t ever remember not knowing.
Every day he was at school, she was there. In class, by their lockers, or even hanging out with her friends across the schoolyard. Then senior year and everything that happened, from getting to know her to letting her go. She had been there, a constant he had relied on until she was gone.
Yelling curse words to the ceiling in anger, he had just fucked up with Chris Lovely again. Drunk Chris had known it was her, but sober Chris had just let her walk away. Again. This time he hadn’t even been trying to impress his friends that led her to leaving; it had been his own stupidity.
And now, just like back then, he had no way to find her. He didn’t know where she lived then or now. He had fucked up again. Should he have his agent find her? He could, easily. So much easier than what a high school kid could do. Except he was leaving town and wouldn’t be back much anyway.
Closing his eyes, he wondered if he had been smart enough to have at least apologized to her for being a dick in high school. He hoped so.
It was better to just leave it as it was. A drunk fuck, because he was doing exactly what he had always dreamed: be a football star. She was nothing to him anyway, just some chick from his past.
Chapter Four
Eighteen months later
“So, your retirement plan is to flip houses?” Carter Lowell sat behind the desk their father had always sat at. At twenty-three, he shouldn’t look as comfortable behind the desk as he did. But then again, he had been there for a few years now. Chris’s brother had grown up while he had been away, and he was now more of an adult than Chris himself was.
“Yes, I just want to do something with my hands,” Chris tried to explain his plans for the future, plans he hadn’t thought he would have to worry about for decades. But a knee injury had changed that in an instant.
“Writing up insurance policies is using your hands.” Carter shot him a grin and lifted his hands from his desk. His younger brother was close to fifty pounds lighter and half a foot shorter than himself. Carter had never been athletic like Chris. What they did share was blond hair and a last name.
“Not what I was thinking. You’re doing great here; I would just mess it up.” His brother had taken over the insurance firm after their father’s sudden death three years before. Chris knew he should help his brother, but he had never wanted an office job. He never wanted to do what his father had done.
“I could always use help,” Carter admitted, though Chris couldn’t see himself trapped behind a desk.
“Maybe after I do this house. It’s amazing. Just wait until you see how great it will look once it is done.” Chris couldn’t hide his excitement. Though he had never actually done any construction, he knew it was going to be easy and fun. That and hopefully it would take his mind off the fact that he was done with the sport he loved.
“Are you sure you’re not getting in over year head?” Carter asked in concern.
Chris ran his hands through his blond, wavy hair, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “No, I can handle it.” No way was he going to admit he didn’t know what he was doing to his y
ounger brother.
“Can your body?” Carter asked the question Chris wasn’t sure of himself.
“The new knee shouldn’t be an issue.” Chris tapped the thing that had caused him so much pain over the last year. During the first game after being traded, he had torn his knee so bad he would never play again. It was supposed to be the season he proved himself, and one game in it was over. So much hard work for so little reward. Without football, he had no idea who he was.
Carter leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think that is how it works, but I won’t stop you, not that I could.” It was the truth.
“Thanks. I never wanted to be what Dad was,” Chris admitted. But to be honest, it wasn’t selling insurance that he didn’t want to do; it was the fear of turning into the same all-around dick that his father had been. They stopped getting along years before the man died. In fact, they never spoke after his parent’s divorce when he was eighteen. Not that his dad hadn’t reveled in Chris’s football career, taking credit for his son’s ability whenever possible.
“When do you start?” Carter wanted to know.
“I’m heading over there right now to take another look and figure out what I need.”
“Well, have fun, and come help me if you get bored.” Carter chuckled. They had never been the same type of person. Despite that, they always got along.
Walking out of his father’s insurance firm, Chris headed toward the pickup he had bought just so that he could work on the house. And every other house after it, because this was going to be his future. He wasn’t concerned that the house was old and would need a lot of work because he had time and money to spare. Between his one year in the NFL and everything his father had left him, he was doing okay.
The house renovation was mostly to take his mind off how his life was not going how he had ever wanted it to go. It was a five-bedroom, three-bathroom distraction.