by Pamela Yaye
“Were you raised in Atlanta, or did you relocate like everyone else in this fine city?”
Struggling to keep a straight face, Sharleen raised her right hand, as if she were pledging allegiance to the flag, and said, “I’m a native. Scout’s honor.”
“Great. The next time I need a tour guide I know just who to call.”
A witty retort tickled her tongue, but Sharleen slammed her mouth shut. She was supposed to be evaluating Emilio, not flirting with him.
The second floor was filled with flat-screen TVs, pool tables and leather couches, but only a handful of people were relaxing in the lounge. Sharleen preferred the intimate setting, liked that they were far away from the crowd. She didn’t want to share Emilio with anyone, especially not the British bombshell in the eye-catching pink number downstairs. I wish I could wear dresses, too, but I can’t. Not with my—
“How long have you been a life coach?” Emilio asked.
Sharleen dismissed her thoughts and put her utensils down on her empty plate. “Five years. I got hired at Pathways Center right out of college, and I’ve been there ever since.”
“Have you always dreamed of being a life coach?”
“No, actually. When I was a kid I wanted to be a mechanic—”
“A mechanic?” he repeated, a bewildered look on his face. “Why?”
“My dad owned a repair shop, and by the time I was ten I was answering phones, making coffee for the staff and tinkering on old cars.” Sadness overwhelmed her, but she pushed past her feelings and spoke in a clear, strong voice. “My aunties were up in arms when I started trade school, but my parents told me to ignore them. They encouraged me to follow my heart, and that’s exactly what I did.”
Emilio frowned. “If your dream was to follow in your father’s footsteps, then why are you a life coach and not a mechanic?”
Sharleen opened her mouth, but her throat ached, and it hurt to swallow. She’d told her story hundreds of times over the years, everywhere from churches to schools and youth centers, but when she remembered that cold winter night, her vision blurred with unshed tears, and the room spun. She sipped water to help steady her nerves and focus her thoughts. “My parents died in a house fire when I was seventeen,” she said. “I gave up on life and quit school.”
“I am sorry for your loss.” Emilio placed a hand on hers and held it tight. His touch was welcome, and his eyes were full of sympathy. “Unfortunately, I know how you feel. After my nephew died, I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed, let alone go out in public.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, alone with their thoughts. The waitress arrived, cleared their empty dinner plates without saying a word and sped off.
“I never would have guessed you experienced such a devastating loss,” Emilio said quietly. “You’re so bright and bubbly and passionate about life.”
It wasn’t always that way. I wanted to die when I woke up in the hospital.
“How did you survive losing your parents? How did you overcome your grief?”
“In the most unlikely way.” Dropping her hands in her lap, she fiddled with her silver gemstone bracelet. It had belonged to her mother, and although it was nicked and scratched, Sharleen wore it every day. It was her good-luck charm, the only piece of jewelry she owned, and her most valuable possession. “I moved in with my aunt Phyllis, and after months of me moping around the house, complaining about how unfair life was, she let me have it—”
“That’s terrible.” Emilio’s face darkened, and there was a bitter edge to his voice. “How could she turn on you in your time of need? You were grieving the loss of your parents—”
“And squandering my life away,” Sharleen explained, feeling compelled to defend her favorite aunt. “I stormed out of the apartment in a huff, but deep down I knew my aunt Phyllis was right. My parents wouldn’t want me wasting away to nothing. They’d want me to make something of myself, and that’s what I’m striving to do.”
His gaze bored into her, zeroing in with acute precision. Sharleen never imagined their lighthearted conversation would turn into a serious, soul-baring discussion. She took a moment to catch her breath. Antwan’s words came back to her. Treat Emilio like a friend, not a patient. Be his confidante. Someone he can trust. This was her moment to get through to him, to use her personal story to reach him, and she wasn’t going to squander the opportunity. “The way I see it, you have two choices. You can either heal or allow grief to consume you. It’s as simple as that.”
He lowered his head, dropped his gaze to his lap.
“If I can overcome the pain of my past, then you can, too. I promise to be there to help you every step of the way, Emilio. You can do this.” Sharleen raised an index finger. “Give me a month. If after thirty days, you still think I’m full of it, I’ll give Antwan a refund.”
“That won’t be necessary. Antwan says you’re worth every penny, and I believe him. We’ve only been talking for a few hours, but I’m already impressed.”
So am I. You’re kind and sweet and fine as hell!
“I’m not averse to counseling, but I can’t come to your office.” He shrugged and gave a small smile. “I can’t risk the paparazzi or my family finding out that I’m in therapy. My cousins and brothers would tease me mercilessly.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Hell if I know,” he said, with a wry laugh. “My father’s been married four times, and I lost count of how many siblings I had years ago!”
Emilio chuckled, and Sharleen did, too.
“I’m kidding. I have six brothers and two sisters. My old man loves kids and thinks having them around keeps him young, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to have more children!”
The waitress, who was clearly a college student trying to pay her way through school, arrived with the bill.
Emilio took out his wallet, slid his platinum card through the portable debit machine and punched in his PIN. “Thanks for everything, miss. The food was great.”
The waitress retrieved the machine and cupped a hand over her mouth. “A thousand-dollar tip?” she shrieked. “This is awesome. Thank you so much!”
Sharleen was impressed by Emilio’s generosity, but she wondered if it was all for show. Did he give the waitress a huge tip just to impress her? Or was this just another day in the life of a superstar athlete worth millions? Watching him with growing interest, she felt enthralled by him—and aroused, too. It wasn’t every day she met a sensitive, thoughtful guy with a big heart. No wonder I’m hot for him. Who wouldn’t be? He’s every woman’s dream man!
“It’s time to switch gears.”
Emilio stood, came around the table and helped Sharleen out of her chair.
“Let’s have another round of drinks and play pool.”
“I hate to brag, but I won several pool tournaments in college.”
“Famous last words...”
“Want to bet?” An idea came to mind and a smile filled her lips. “If I win, you’re going to be my guest at the Mind, Body & Soul Conference this weekend—”
“And if I win you’re going to be my live-in chef for the rest of the month.”
As if! Sharleen made her eyes wide, as if she were shocked, but she was secretly amused.
“I love Southern cuisine, and the pictures of your bayou fried shrimp and coconut cream pie look delicious.” He moved closer, swallowed the space between them. “Can I get a taste?”
Anytime, anyplace. His voice tickled the tips of her ears. His gaze held her captive, awakened every cell in her body. Sharleen stood as still as stone, but her heart was pounding inside her chest, racing erratically. “What were you doing poking around my Instagram page?”
“Just doing my research.”
Sharleen felt a glimmer of pride when she caught Emilio steal a
peek at her butt, but she pretended not to notice. In the arcade, she selected a cue stick, gripped it in a loose, relaxed manner and hit the cue ball so hard it shot down the pool table at lightning-fast speed.
Ten minutes into the game, Sharleen realized Emilio had no hope of beating her. He was more interested in shooting the breeze with her than playing the game. He asked dozens of questions about her family and career life, and the more they talked, the less tense he seemed, the more relaxed. He was lowering his guard, finally opening up to her, and she was thrilled they were finally getting along. They chatted effortlessly about current topics, their favorite hobbies and activities, and swapped hilarious stories about their childhoods.
“Tell me something about you that no one else knows.”
Sharleen shook her head. “You first.”
“That’s easy. I’m addicted to golf, ESPN and the video game ‘Need for Speed,’ of course.” He reached out and touched a hand to her cheek. “And I have a weakness for women who wear red glasses.”
“Sure you do. And I love men with long, curly chest hair!”
Emilio laughed, and her heart soared. Sharleen didn’t know if he was flirting with her just for the hell of it or because he was genuinely attracted to her, but she enjoyed his attention. Although, she wasn’t a gullible fool—she knew better than to take him seriously.
Relationships didn’t work, and love didn’t last. Screw their attraction and mind-blowing chemistry. A superstar athlete with legions of female fans couldn’t be trusted, so falling for Emilio was out of the question.
“If I score here the game is over.”
Emilio cocked an eyebrow and held up his palms. “What, no trick shot?”
“If you insist.” Sharleen slid her pool stick behind her back and lowered her hips as if she were doing the limbo. “Nine ball, corner pocket.”
Holding her breath, Sharleen watched as the cue ball bounced off the rails, sped down the table and dropped into the corner pocket. Thrilled about her win, she danced around the pool table and laughed when the other patrons on the second floor broke into applause.
“Congratulations.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Morretti.”
The epitome of cool, he leaned against the table and crossed his legs at the ankles. “You’re a great player, Ms. Nichols. And beautiful, too.”
Scared she was going to fall victim to her desire, Sharleen tore her gaze away from his mouth and sipped her drink.
“I thought the World Series Racing fans were zealous, but they’ve got nothing on you!” he said.
“Do you miss racing?”
“Promise you won’t tell Antwan?”
Sharleen nodded, instinctively moving toward him. She narrowed her eyes, locked in on him, and everyone else in the room faded to the background. “You have my word.”
“Racing is in my blood. It’s what I was born to do. And I feel incomplete without it.”
“Then why don’t you enter the All-Star Race?”
His tone was filled with skepticism. “What do you know about the All-Star Race?”
“I know you won the event three consecutive times, and that your last record-breaking win cemented your place in the Hall of Fame,” Sharleen said, glad she’d done her research. “You’re a global icon, with legions of fans, and the league just isn’t the same without you.”
Smiling politely, he bowed his head. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
“I think you’re being modest.”
“A lot of people had a hand in my professional accomplishments. I had an awesome run and incredible success, but none of it would have happened without the support of my family, my sponsors and my loyal, hardworking pit crew...”
Having coached high-profile clients with monster-size egos before, Sharleen was surprised by Emilio’s humility. He wasn’t trying to impress her or putting on airs; he was speaking from the heart, and it was obvious he meant every word he said.
“I dream about returning to the sport almost every day,” he confessed. “I miss the competition, traveling to exotic locales and most importantly—”
“The groupies at every pit stop?”
Sharleen regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. His furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw told her he was put off by her joke. “I’m sorry,” she said, smiling apologetically. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Please continue.”
“I miss my crew. Those guys are my brothers, and I think about them all the time.”
“You should give them a call.”
“I can’t. After my nephew died, I pushed them away...” Emilio sighed then shrugged. “I want to reach out, but I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Hello. How are you?’ is a pretty good place to start.”
A grin dimpled his cheek. “You have all the answers, don’t you?”
To keep the mood light and playful, Sharleen joked, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do!”
“I’m glad we met.” He tipped his head toward her and dropped his voice to a low, throaty pitch. “You’re the kind of woman I need in my life.”
Your professional life or your personal life?
Sharleen didn’t know how it happened, but they were side by side. Their arms were touching, their legs, too, and they were so close she could see the rise and fall of his chest. “Can I give you a piece of advice? Something my father used to tell me?”
He nodded his head and stared at her.
Her body was trembling, but she conquered her nerves and spoke in a clear, confident voice. “It doesn’t matter what people say or think about you. Do what brings you joy, and always be your true, authentic self. At the end of the day, that is really all that matters.”
“Your father was a wise man, and it’s obvious you inherited his remarkable insight.”
His words were kind, and his eyes were full of sympathy, but she became flustered nonetheless. He was out-and-out flirting with her, and it felt great! Her emotions seesawed between excitement and trepidation. Emilio was a good guy, an honest-to-goodness gentleman, and the more they talked, the more Sharleen desired him. I am in way over my head. Maybe I should refer Emilio to Brad—
“Do you like live music?” he asked, giving her forearm an affectionate squeeze. “There’s a jazz café a few blocks from here, and the house band is one of the best I’ve ever heard.”
“I’d better not. It’s almost midnight, and tomorrow’s going to be a long, busy day.” Remembering their bet, Sharleen picked up her purse and took out a glossy white brochure. “There are tons of free workshops offered at the conference, but I highly recommend Stress Less, Live More; Life Plans for Dummies, and Reclaim Your Life Today.”
“You’re going to hold me to our bet, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely!”
Emilio took the brochure and looked it over. “Interesting.”
Sharleen expected him to make excuses for why he couldn’t attend the event, but to her surprise he said, “I’ll be there. When and where should we meet?”
“I’ll meet you at the front entrance of the convention center at one o’clock.”
“Don’t make any plans for dinner, because after the conference I’m taking you to Dolce Vita Atlanta for the culinary experience of a lifetime.”
“I love that restaurant. It’s a date.”
Sharleen finally felt confident that she could help Emilio overcome the pain of his past—but she just had to do it without losing her dignity and self-respect. Just because I’m attracted to Emilio doesn’t mean I can’t effectively do my job. Besides, if Brad can socialize with clients after dark, so can I!
“I had a great time tonight. This was fun,” Emilio said.
“This was nothing,” she quipped, dismissing his words with a wave of her hand. “You’re going to have even
more fun at the Mind, Body & Soul Conference tomorrow.”
Emilio gave a hearty laugh. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
He took her hand, led her down the staircase and through the empty lounge. Outside, the streets were loud and crowded. The moon hung high in the sky, the air smelled sweet and the wind whistled through the trees. It was the perfect night for stargazing, for cuddling with that special someone in bed, and Sharleen secretly wished she had someone special in her life, a man who would love her in spite of her—
“Thanks for dinner and that nail-biting pool game.”
Sharleen playfully poked his shoulder. “Don’t hate ’cause I’m fabulous!”
“That you are.” Emilio dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Drive home safe.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You can count on it.”
He opened the driver’s-side door for her and stepped aside. “Good night.”
Sharleen started the engine, waved and drove slowly through the parking lot. In the rearview mirror, she watched Emilio hop into the gleaming white sports car parked in front of the bar. Her temperature rose, and desire burned hot inside her. She needed a stiff drink and a cold shower, or it was going to be a very long night.
Chapter 6
“Sweetie, open up. It’s me.” Sharleen pressed her palms against the window, stood on her tiptoes and peered inside the quaint brick house. Spotting a figure curled up on the couch, she banged on the glass until her hands throbbed with pain. “Jocelyn, I know you’re home, and I’m not leaving until we talk, so get up and open the door!”
Remembering where she was, Sharleen straightened and smoothed a hand over her ivory blouse. Faking a smile, she waved at the elderly woman walking her poodles. Jocelyn lived in Grant Park, a working-class neighborhood filled with professionals, families and retirees, and Sharleen feared if she continued banging on the window, one of Jocelyn’s neighbors would call the cops, and she’d be arrested for trespassing.