Saylor

by Kelsie Rae

  “What is it?” he murmurs, his voice laced with concern.

  I wiggle out of his grip and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Principal Wells.”

  Scanning the parking lot, Owen’s jaw tightens. “It’s fine. I took care of it.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I should probably let him know that we’re dating.”

  “He already does.”

  “Then, why the crusty?” I ask, my attention split between our conversation and Wells’ retreating back side as he heads into the brick building.

  Owen shrugs. “No idea. But we better get inside. Just let me know what you decide, and we’ll go from there, okay? No pressure, though. Seriously, whatever you want, Say. I don’t want any of this to scare you off––”

  “It hasn’t,” I tell him, though I’m not one hundred percent sure who I’m trying to convince. “I promise. And I’d, uh,” I gulp. “I’d love to go.”

  His eyes widen. “You sure?”

  I nod, then raise myself onto my tiptoes and brush my lips against his. “Yeah. And even though it’s super tempting to stay here with Grady, you had me at ‘hotel room.’”

  His joy is contagious as he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my forehead. “I love you, Say. Even after all this time, I love you.”

  My smile is shaky before I close my eyes and kiss him again. “I love you too.”

  24

  Saylor

  “You’re fidgeting,” Owen points out with a smirk.

  Forcing myself to stop wringing my hands in my lap, I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear and glare at him. “Can you blame me? I’ve never been to one of these things before, remember?”

  He gives me the side-eye from behind the wheel of the rental car as we fly toward the banquet hall before dragging his fingertips along the hem of my sparkly, black dress. It’s the fanciest thing I’ve ever worn, but next to the sexy guy in a tux beside me, I think I’ll blend in. Maybe.

  “You look gorgeous, Say,” Owen murmurs before he turns on his blinker and pulls up to the entrance of the banquet hall.

  “Can I ask you something?” I blurt out, my nerves getting the best of me.

  He quirks his brow. “Yeah, of course.”

  “Do you think people will notice that I’m not Grady’s mom? You know, since she used to always come to these things, and Grady’s birth made all the newspapers, and….” I gulp, then look down at my hands and wring them together again.

  “Say….” His voice sounds tortured.

  I look back up at him and hold my breath, wishing these stupid insecurities would leave me alone. I’d give anything for them to leave me alone.

  “Is that what you’ve been stressing over?” he rasps, his eyes shining with remorse.

  “I saw the pictures of her at these parties, Owen––”

  “You saw a bunch of bullshit, Saylor,” he corrects me, rubbing his hand across his face. “She and I were never a thing. She asked to come as my date because she liked being arm candy and said I owed it to her. The only reason I played nice was because she was going to be the mother of my child, and I didn’t exactly feel like having casual sex after I knocked someone up at a frat party.”

  I lick my lips and prod, “Did she know that?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I made it clear that I didn’t want a relationship with her, and she was cool with it as long as I paid the bills and wound up on an NFL team.”

  “Then, why would she want to come to these banquets?” I motion to the giant building glowing with lights on my right.

  “Like I said, she liked the attention. She liked seeing her face on TV and in the sports section. But as soon as we’d walk into the building and the reporters were out of sight, she’d disappear for a few hours, and then I’d drive her home. That’s it. And everyone at these gatherings knew it too.”

  “You promise?” I whisper.

  He exhales and looks over at me. “Yeah, Say. I promise. Please trust me.”

  “Okay,” I whisper. “I trust you.”

  The silence is torture as I stare up at the gorgeous glass building that looms in front of us like it could swallow me whole. But Owen waits patiently for me to really be okay, not just say it. He squeezes my knee to let me know that I’m not alone. That I can take my time. That he’s here for me. And I appreciate it more than anything else in the world.

  With a deep breath, I force myself to blink and focus on the man beside me instead of the butterflies assaulting my stomach. “I love you, Owen Daniels.”

  The car idles as he lifts my hand and kisses the back of it with a gentleness that seems to settle my nerves.

  “Love you, too, Saylor. Thanks for coming with me.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I know it’s scary.”

  “Yup.”

  “And that there are a lot of places you’d rather be,” he continues.

  I shake my head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I want to be wherever you are, even when it’s scary. Come on. Let’s get inside.”

  His grip tightens on my hand before he lets go and cups the side of my face. I can feel the valet watching our exchange, but I don’t even care. I’m too distracted by those same cool blue eyes and the way they manage to warm anytime they’re directed at me. With a soft, sweet kiss to my lips, his mouth curves upward.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask though I can’t find the discipline to pull away as I let the mint from his breath tease me from our close proximity.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar. Tell me.”

  He smirks. “I was just thinking about when I got hurt, and I had to announce my early retirement from the game. Afterward, I hated attending these kinds of things because everyone would look at me with pity. Like they felt sorry for me.” He shakes his head. “I hated those looks of pity.”

  “And that’s amusing?” I ask, noting the mischievous smile still etched into his handsome features.

  “Yeah.”

  “And why is that?”

  His grin widens. “Because I can guarantee that I won’t get a single look like that tonight.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “Because they’ll all be staring at you. Wishing they were the one to bring you here.” He kisses my nose, then adds, “I’m the lucky one tonight. I get to call you mine. And those sorry bastards might have football, but they’ll never have you. And that makes all the shit worth it.”

  My mouth is on his in an instant, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure we could hear it if it weren’t for our heavy breathing. The kiss is laced with a desperation that makes me dizzy as I push my tongue between his lips and claim him the same way he claimed me all those years ago in high school.

  A brash knock echoes from the passenger window, making me jerk away from Owen like a girl who just got caught making out with her boyfriend.

  Oh, wait. That’s exactly what just happened. Apparently, we’re still getting cockblocked.

  Great.

  I glare over my shoulder and find a huge black guy with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. My eyes narrow as I try to place him.

  “Daniels! You’re holding up the line!” the stranger yells, his deep, baritone voice slightly muffled from the glass. “You can make out later.”

  With a dry laugh, Owen nods and calls back, “Save us a seat, Johnson. We’ll be right in.”

  Johnson. That’s right. Jalen Johnson. The burly football player was a lineman on Owen’s college team and seemed to be his wingman too. They were inseparable in college.

  Satisfied with Owen’s response, Johnson gives us a tiny salute, then saunters into the building like he owns the place.

  Owen grimaces. “Sorry about that, Say. But he’s right. We should probably head inside.”

  “Fiiine.” Clutch in hand, I reach for the passenger door when Owen stops me.

  “You. Stay.”

  Then, he dashes out of the driver’s side, tosses the keys t
o the valet, and rounds the front of the car before tugging my door open.

  “Such a gentleman,” I compliment.

  “Mama raised me right.”

  “She sure did.”

  “And it helps that my first, and only,” he clarifies, “girlfriend used to always reward me with a kiss anytime I’d open the door for her.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Mm-hmm,” he hums, his tone low and husky. “Positive reinforcement works wonders.”

  Unfolding myself from my seat, I take his offered hand, then press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Sounds like your old girlfriend was quite the catch.”

  His eyes heat. “You have no idea. Come on. Let’s get inside.”

  Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, along with sleek, black marble floors and giant white pillars that remind me of the pantheon. But it’s the tuxedos and shimmery dresses that really sell the place.

  I gulp, fighting off the urge to fangirl over all of these very famous football players.

  With his hand on my lower back, Owen leans down and murmurs, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar,” he teases. Again. “Ya know, I always took you for an honest girl, but this is the second time I’ve had to call you out tonight.”

  I roll my eyes. “Gee. Thanks.”

  “Stop stressing.”

  “I can’t help it. This is crazy, Owen.” I motion to the onslaught of fanciness that surrounds us.

  He shrugs. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “I recognize half of these guys from ESPN,” I argue with a smirk. “Only this time, they’re all spiffed up, and they’re staring at you.”

  He scoffs. “I’m a nobody, Say––”

  “Bullshit. You were the prodigy who fell before his time, and I’m not the only one who knows it. Why else do you think they invited you to do the whole”––I wave my hand around again––“interview thing for the conference championships?”

  “They invited me to analyze the game because I was the pretty boy football player who, for some reason, the media enjoyed following. It doesn’t hurt that I’m an alumni for the home team, either.”

  Eyebrow arching, I twist myself in his arms. “You were more than the pretty boy football player.”

  “Yeah, I was the guy who busted up his knee beyond repair.” He twists me back around and pushes me toward an archway in the back of the giant room still littered with people in fancy clothes. “Come on. You’re going to love Johnson.”

  He guides me to a room on the right where circular tables are scattered among the fancy football people. There’s also a long, black platform tucked near the back wall with a podium set up in the center of it.

  A hand waving back and forth grabs my attention from the sea of people.

  “Yo, Daniels! Over here!” Johnson calls. He’s either oblivious to all the eyes watching him, or he just doesn’t care.

  Regardless, my face heats on his behalf while Owen chuckles under his breath and mutters, “I should warn you. Johnson isn’t shy.”

  “Noted,” I choke out.

  As we weave through the crowd, my heart rate thumps like a jackrabbit before Jalen Johnson stands up and tugs Owen into a brotherly man hug, slapping his hand against Owen’s back.

  “Hey, man. Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you too, Johnson. This is Saylor Swenson.”

  Johnson’s brows almost reach his hairline as he looks me up and down. “The Saylor Swenson?”

  “The one and only.” Owen pulls out my chair, then sits beside me and squeezes my knee beneath the black table cloth.

  Plopping down into his seat, Johnson rests his elbows on the surface, his expression painted with intrigue as he studies me carefully. With a nod, he decides, “You were right.”

  I glance over at Owen to find him staring back at me with a shit-eating grin.

  “R-right about what?” I ask.

  “The guys always gave him shit for never getting over you. Hell, you were practically a unicorn in the locker room anytime someone brought you up. A mythical creature who managed to consume a guy for years while being a thousand miles away. Impressive, Saylor Swenson. That’s quite the feat.”

  “Oh.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and study the silver spoon in front of me. “Owen was just being stubborn.”

  “Nah,” Johnson argues, leaning back in his chair. “He used to say that a girl like you was hard to come by. I’ve only known you for two minutes, and I can already confirm that he’s right.” Then, he turns to Owen. “So what’d you do to win her back?”

  “Pretty sure it was Grady who won her over,” Owen answers.

  Laughing, I don’t deny it. Grady was a great icebreaker. Without him, I’m not sure I would’ve ever had the courage to talk to Owen again.

  “Aw, man. I miss that kid,” Johnson says. “I haven’t seen him since last summer when you came to a game.”

  “Yeah, he was sad he couldn’t come,” Owen tells him. “But they didn’t want kids attending this, and I wasn’t going to let a stranger watch him at the hotel, ya know?”

  “I get it. You’ll have to move back down here so we can hang out again.”

  Owen laughs but doesn’t argue as a deep voice interrupts, “Hey, Daniels. These seats taken?” A silver fox in a light gray suit with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen motions to the set of chairs on Owen’s left.

  Standing, Owen offers his hand. “Not at all, Mr. Steele.”

  Mr. Steele shakes it. “Good to see you again.”

  “You too. This is Saylor Swenson,” Owen introduces me.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Lucian Steele.”

  I smile tightly, wishing I’d brushed up on my football flashcards so I could’ve placed the stranger in front of me, but it’s no use. I don’t know who he is. However, the power exuding from every single one of his pores is more telling than any thirty-minute episode on ESPN. The guy’s rich. He has connections. And, for some reason, he wants to sit by the infamous Owen Daniels, aka the football prince who was dethroned before he had the chance to reign.

  The question is, why?

  “Heard you’re coaching football,” Lucian Steele mentions as he pulls out his seat.

  Owen sits back in his chair and laughs. “I was a gym teacher at an elementary school. I wouldn’t exactly call it coaching football.”

  “Was?” I ask under my breath, but Owen hears me and squeezes my knee.

  “We’ll, uh, we’ll talk about it later, okay?” he mutters to me.

  “Heard you might be looking for a new job,” Lucian Steele continues.

  Another laugh escapes Owen as his reassuring touch disappears. He squeezes the back of his neck and shifts in his chair. “Oh, I dunno about––”

  “I think we should have a chat after this. Maybe tomorrow before the game? There’s an opportunity that I think you’d be interested in.”

  Owen’s gaze flicks toward me before he nods. “An opportunity?”

  “Yeah. I think you’d be perfect for it. You interested?”

  “Possibly. Depends on the details.”

  “Then, I guess we’ll have to discuss them tomorrow,” Lucian returns. His arrogance radiates off him in waves. I’m afraid I might choke on it.

  Owen’s warm hand returns to my knee before he squeezes it. “Sure thing.”

  The blood drains from my face.

  “Perfect,” Lucian replies as the speaker system crackles. Everyone turns to the podium, and the lights dim as an older man with little hair and a bulging belly steps up to the microphone.

  “Ladies, and gentlemen, we’d like to thank you for….”

  The ringing in my ears drowns out his voice, making it impossible for me to register a single word.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  25

  Saylor

  “Where’s the restroom?” I whisper to Owen.

  “What?”

  “The restroom. I need to use it.”

&nbs
p; “Oh.” Owen turns in his chair to scan the space behind us, then points to a long hallway. “Probably back there. Do you want me to go with you?”

  “I think I can use a restroom on my own. Thanks, though.” My legs feel like rubber as I stand up with my clutch in hand.

  Owen grabs my wrist and prevents my escape. “You okay?”

  I lick my lips and nod, afraid my voice will crack if I try to use it.

  “You sure?”

  Another nod.

  “Say––”

  “I’m fine,” I mouth, my gaze darting over to the speaker.

  His grip disappears. “I love you.”

  Digging my fingernails into my clutch, I choke back my tears and nod before heading to the hallway. Owen turns back to the podium, and I stare at the back of his head for a few seconds, then beeline it to the exit.

  This––all of this––is just too much right now. I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I can’t see straight. Like I’m drunk on Owen, and my world is spinning out of control faster than I can handle it.

  What does sure thing even mean? Is he really going to talk to Lucian about a job when I just barely got him back? Is he going to leave again? And what about him not being a freaking gym teacher anymore? What the hell is happening right now?

  The handle is cold against my palm as I grasp it and yank the heavy door open before the cool air hits my cheeks. Where the hell am I going to go now? The hotel?

  Gee, no thanks.

  I just want to go home. Where there’s snow on the ground, and I have a job, and my family, and my life––all of it.

  “Can I help you, miss?” the valet asks.

  I wipe my nose and take a deep breath. “Yes, please. I need a ride to the airport. Any chance you could set that up for me?”

  His gaze bounces around my face as if he can sense that I’m close to having a breakdown at the entrance of a fancy building with celebrities galore surrounding me. “Sure thing, miss. We have a shuttle right here.” He motions to a black SUV. “Do you have any luggage with you?”

  I shrug one shoulder and showcase my almost-empty hands. “Just me.”

  “Alright, here you go.” He opens the back door and guides me inside before relaying my destination to the driver.