I look over at him as he shrugs. “Lots of reasons, really. I knew I could play baseball anywhere I wanted, but football was my passion and something I had done all my life. Growing up, I expected I’d have offers from every college out there, but only a few came in, and they weren’t schools I wanted to play for. I took a chance at Notre Dame because their program was something I believed in. However, being a walk-on affords you nothing. I was a practice player until I got my shot, and once I did, I didn’t let the coach down. So, no, I’m not good at everything and have often thought about giving up on football and going back to baseball.”
Noah’s confession causes me to hit the brake on the cart. We lurch forward, and I mutter a weak apology. I don’t know what I’d do without Noah and know that we won’t be on the same team forever. Trades happen, or contracts don’t get renewed, whether we like them or not.
“Are you planning on leaving the Pioneers?”
He looks at me quickly and then back at the green. “I think about leaving all the time. I’m not sure if I’m good enough for the Pioneers or able to get them to the next level. Every draft, I’m on pins and needles, waiting to see what management will do with their picks. If they take a QB, I feel like that’s my sign to go.”
I put the cart in park and wait a moment before exiting. Noah follows me to the back, where we each take an iron out of our bags. Noah walks with me to my ball and waits for me to set up my shot. You never realize that most of the time it takes to golf is because you have to look down the fairway, test each angle, practice your shot and imagine the ball landing somewhere near the pin. If you’re really good at the game, you’re checking the wind speed and direction and mentally calculating the trajectory.
My second hit barely escapes the sand trap and rolls to the edge of the green. “Better, but that’ll be a long putt.”
Noah laughs and walks toward his ball. I head back to the cart and don’t bother to put my iron away so I can catch up with him. Noah walks through almost the same motions as I had and finally sends his ball through the air, landing not far from mine.
“I’m about to say something, but it has to stay between us. This means no going home to tell Peyton.”
Noah looks at me warily. “I don’t like to keep secrets from my wife.”
“I know, but this one is important, and I don’t want her to know anything, at least not yet.”
“Okay...” he says hesitantly.
I motion for us to get back in the cart, and as soon as we do, I inhale deeply and ready myself for what I’m about to say. “I think I may have misjudged Autumn.”
Noah lets out a strangled laugh and then coughs. He apologizes, but I know he’s done it on purpose. “Why’s that?”
“Well, I saw her a little over a week ago at the park by my house. Roxy ran right up to her, like she’s known her for years, and had a conversation. Autumn didn’t care that a toddler took up any of her time, and then more kids came over, and she just sat there, entertaining all of them. Ever since, Roxy insists on watching the weather every evening, and naturally, I watch with her because I’m her dad.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” he asks. “Or is there another reason?”
“Another reason entirely,” I tell him. “Why didn’t you slap me in the head when I first met her? She’s so freaking beautiful.”
Noah sighs and then chuckles. “You were drunk when you met her, and I think deep down you remember being angry when all of this happened, so you manifested this issue between the two of you into something that it isn’t. I know you’re worried about Peyton and thinking Autumn is using her, but she’s not. You gotta remember, Peyton is an excellent judge of character, and if she felt Autumn had ulterior motives, she’d keep her at bay.”
“Yeah, Peyton said something similar to me when we had our last session.”
“At what point do you admit you like Autumn?”
I don’t normally blush, but there is definitely a temperature influx happening on my face. “I . . . uh . . .” Noah shows his phone to me. On it is my Twitter feed. Instantly, the heating of the cheeks I thought I might have felt moments ago is back with a vengeance.
“I,” I pause because I don’t have a decent excuse as to why I started sending tweets to Autumn. When I glance at Noah, it’s clear he’s waiting for me to start talking. I sigh heavily and say, “This all started a few nights after I saw her in the park. I’m lying in bed one night, and I hear her voice on the television, so I sort of watch her segment, while I’m scrolling through my Twitter feed, and I happen upon a tweet she reshared from Marchetti. I clicked on her profile and accidentally hit follow.”
“And you can’t unfollow after that?” Noah interjects.
I shake my head slowly. “Nope. I do what any guy who has nothing to lose would do: I start tweeting her about her segment, and man, I’m a fool because I have no idea what I’m saying, but she reshares each one and sends laughing or smiling emojis back.”
“Sounds like you’ve made a connection.”
This time I eye him. “I’m pretty sure she hates me and is just saving face on social media.”
“Why do you think this?”
It takes me a moment to respond. I’m not proud of what I’m about to say, but if he’s asking, maybe that means Autumn hasn’t complained to him or Peyton. “Because when I first met her, I called her weather girl. I know she’s insulted by it, but I haven’t stopped because I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah, you are.” Noah sighs and then starts laughing. “If you weren’t going through everything you are, I’d suggest you talk to Autumn. You might find that you like her.”
“I do like her,” I tell him. “That’s the problem. I’ve made such an ass out of myself over the past few weeks, I’ll be lucky if she gives me the time of day. If I were her, I’d hate me.”
“Autumn doesn’t strike me as the type of person to hate anyone.” Noah pauses for a moment and then says, “What about Elena?”
I grimace at the mention of her name. “We haven’t spoken much since my trip to L.A. and when she randomly showed up at the game, but it’s clear she’s moved on. I have it on my to-do list to call the lawyer and get the paperwork finalized. We’ll end up fighting over the kids and alimony, which she’s not entitled to, so it’ll come down to child support. We both want full custody, but I feel like her real motivation is to get more money. The whole thing is very uncomfortable.”
“I can imagine.”
I chuckle at his statement. “No, you can’t. You and Peyton are perfect. You’re like the spec model for marriages.”
Noah doesn’t say anything in return but does crack a smile as he steps up to his ball. He swings through, and that stupid white plastic thing lands right on the green and rolls toward the pin.
“I give up.” I hang my head and walk toward the cart, all while my best friend is laughing behind me.
Noah and I finish our round of golf and head back to our training facility where I make the mistake of going inside to grab a few things from my locker.
“Julius, I’m so happy I’ve caught you. I was about to email you,” Maggie, the general manager’s secretary, says.
“What’s up?” Maggie is one of those people you either love to run into or dread. Sometimes, she’s the bearer of bad news, and you never know what she’s going to say.
“Autumn LaRosa emailed. Your date has been set.”
Part of me is excited by the word date, but the other half of me is dreading what’s coming my way. “And when is it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
Maggie nods. “There was a little back and forth about your schedule, but tomorrow seems to work.”
“And what if I have plans?” I ask.
“Change them. I’ll forward Ms. LaRosa’s contact information but expect to meet her outside her apartment in the morning.”
“I don’t even know where she lives,” I state.
“It’ll be in the email,” she
says as she walks off.
I stand there, speechless and groaning on the inside. I’m equal parts pissed because I don’t have a say and excited because I like a woman who takes charge of a situation. However, I’m leery because Autumn could make me do anything she wants and there isn’t shit I can say or do about it. I’m at her mercy. The only thing I’m sure of is I won’t have to mow someone’s lawn or pick up anyone’s leaves—unless she has decided to farm my services out.
On my drive home, I think about what I’m going to say to Autumn when I see her. I should apologize for being a complete d-bag when we first met, and I should definitely tell her I’m sorry for calling her weather girl. Although, I do think the nickname is cute.
Every thought I have right now is about Autumn as I head toward the elevator with a smile on my face. I’m curious what she’s going to have me do on our date, and I’ve concluded that I don’t care as long as she’s with me. Of course, the likelihood is I’ll have to do some menial tasks while she sits back and laughs at me. It’s okay. I deserve it.
I’m lost in thought when the elevator door opens back up and someone steps in. The only reason I look up is that there’s a very audible gasp. I glance at the person in front of me, and my smile fades because the first thing that comes to mind is that Autumn is stalking me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
I let out a small chuckle, mostly to curb my impending ire. “I live here, so what’s your excuse?”
Autumn’s mouth drops open and then closes quickly. “I live here as well. The fifth floor.”
Unbelievable.
“Penthouse.”
“I guess this makes us neighbors?” Before I can respond, the chime dings, and the number five illuminates. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Autumn says as she starts to step out. She pauses and looks over her shoulder.
“I’ll see you downstairs in the morning, Weather Girl,” I say with a wink.
Thirteen
Autumn
I’m trying not to focus on what my head is screaming while I get ready for my date with Julius. It took me a bit to come up with something I felt would be appropriate for him while getting some humor out of it. I thought about having him stand on the street corner, directing traffic with one of those signs for insurance, or having him dress up as a chicken and dance around Pioneer Square. Neither seemed clever enough for Mr. Cunningham. One thing I knew when I started planning was I wanted him to see me in a different light. He has such a preconceived notion about me that I’m hoping to change his mind.
Of course, there is the slight issue of him winking at me yesterday when I stepped off the elevator. I have no idea what possessed me to turn and look at him, but I did, and wow! Just freaking wow. There is no mistaking the fact that Julius Cunningham is a fine-looking man. No, he’s better than fine. Some would say he’s handsome or good-looking, while others—me being in the “others” group—would say he’s smoking hot with a side of gorgeous. As much as I hate to admit this, I find the man incredibly attractive. More so since I met his daughter. The way he was with her, I never expected the man I met weeks ago could be so gentle. It was like he was a completely different person with her. But then again, he called me weather girl, so his use of this nickname negates any personality change.
I stand in front of the mirror, turning from side to side. I opted for the casual look today, with jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. I never gave the Pioneers office any instructions on what Julius should wear, just that he needs to meet me in front of my . . . our apartment complex. I step closer to the mirror and shake my head. What are the chances that the man who had been a thorn in my side since I moved to Portland would live above me? Granted, he’s way above me, but that’s to be expected. With one last look in the mirror, I grab my things and head toward the elevator. As soon as I step out into the hallway, I find myself looking in both directions, half expecting Julius to be coming toward me or even lurking around the corner. Would he do something like this? It’s unlikely, although he does seem a bit childish at times.
My nerves are on edge by the time I step out of the elevator. I scan the lobby and even peek inside the restaurant for any sign of Julius. I requested he meet me outside, but again, I find myself second-guessing whether he will follow the rules or not. And even though he said he’d see me today doesn’t mean he will show up. He was pretty adamant about paying me back for the money I spent on winning him.
When I step outside, I use my hand to shield the sun. Across from the entrance to my building, a man stands. He’s dressed in khaki pants, a white dress shirt, and has a dark-colored jacket or sweater in his hand. I swallow hard at the hulking form coming toward me. It doesn’t take long for me to recognize Julius, and with each step he takes, I start to see him in a different light.
“Good morning,” he says when he stops in front of me.
“Morning,” I somehow choke out even though my tongue feels four inches thick. There’s a slight breeze, and I get a good whiff of his cologne. My knees go weak. It’s woodsy with hints of spice. Very masculine and very sexy.
“I didn’t know what you meant by casual,” he says as he looks himself over. “If this isn’t okay, I can run up and change.”
“No, it’s fine, you’re perfect. I mean—” I cover my face with my hand and shake my head. I inhale deeply to center my thoughts. “What you’re wearing is fine for what I have planned. Are you ready?”
Julius holds his arm out and tells me to lead the way. I point back to the door. “We need to go get my car.”
“Do you want me to drive?” he asks, and I shake my head. I don’t bother to check and see if he’s following me. I can sense him . . . or rather smell him. He’s close, right on my heels. Instead of going to the elevator, I head for the stairs. I don’t want to be trapped in a small box with him right now because my mind is in the gutter, counting the ways I could climb him like a tree.
When we get to the garage floor, Julius steps in front of me and opens the door. “Thank you.” I know chivalry isn’t a lost art, but it’s becoming harder and harder to find someone who still wants to open doors for women. “My car is over there,” I say, pointing to my black Tucson.
“Do you like this car?” he asks.
“I do. It gets great gas mileage.” I hit the fob and unlock the doors. I’m sort of expecting Julius to open the driver’s side to let me in, but he doesn’t. What he does do, is wait until I’m inside before getting in. “How’s Roxy?” I ask as I start my car and back out of my space.
“Roxy’s great. She’s a handful but worth it.”
“She’s a cutie. I enjoyed meeting her.” I exit the garage and head toward work. It’s a short drive, which works out well since neither of us is talking. When I pull into the station's garage, Julius asks what we’re doing.
“Well,” I start by saying, “Since I live in an apartment, I’m sort of limited on what I can have you do. I don’t have a yard to maintain, and washing the windows is probably against the ordinance. Not to mention dangerous. The Pioneers made me sign a form saying I wouldn’t do any bodily harm to you, so putting you on a street corner in a chicken suit is out as well.”
“You were going to make me wear a chicken suit?” he asks in a voice that borders on panic.
We get out of the car, and I glance over at him. He seems genuinely concerned. To put his mind at ease, I tell him, “It was an idea. Believe me, what I came up with is much, much better.” I give him a soft smile and motion for him to follow me. He’s next to me in a flash and stepping ahead of me to get to the door.
“I’ve never been here.”
“I’ll give you the tour.”
I like that Julius is nervous and doesn’t know what to expect. His punishment, for lack of a better word, will be much more appreciated this way. Once again, I opt for the stairs. The drive over was torture with him sitting so close. Until now, I never spent longer than a few minutes wit
h him, and the conversation centered around him telling me what he thought of me. And those thoughts haven’t been very nice. Plus, I don’t trust myself not to drool in front of him. Julius is hot, sexy, desirable, and completely off limits.
When we reach my floor, I open the door this time. I’m confident he would’ve done it had he known where we were going, but I’m also okay with it. There is nothing written in arbitrary rules saying I can’t hold the door for him.
Julius follows behind me. We walk down the hall, passing a couple of the offices. I hear a few chairs scrape against the floor after we go by and a sure sign of someone rushing to the door. I have no doubt tomorrow it’ll be the Spanish Inquisition when I come to work. We walk by the reception desk, where I give the new girl a little wave. Her mouth drops open, and it makes me wonder if she knows who Julius is or if she’s just a fan of how good-looking he is right now.
“Everyone is staring,” he mumbles into my ear. For him to be this close, he has to press against my back, which means I can feel his hard chest against me. I’m angry at myself for wearing my sweater and wish I had half the sense Julius did and just carried it.
“You’re famous,” I remind him. “Aren’t you used to this?”
“Yes, but most people just approach me, ask for an autograph and a picture and then go on their way. These people are staring.”
“Huh,” I say as I open the door to the stage.
“Whoa.” Julius walks past me and takes in the set. “This looks nothing like what we see on TV.”
“I know, it’s crazy.”
“Where do you stand?” he asks. His question gives me pause. Up until now, he’s never asked a single thing about my work. He’s only berated me and called me weather girl. I point to where I stand, and he looks confused.
“Wait, where’s your map?”
“In here.” I tap my temple and smile. I don’t explain anymore and ask him to follow me again. We leave the set and head back toward the office. I take him to meet my assistant Lisette, who does ask for his autograph, and they pose for many pictures. She even makes him pick her up. Julius does everything she asks and does it all with a smile.
Fourth Down: A Beaumont Series Next Generation Spin-off Page 9