Changing the Play

by Julia Blake

  “I’ll bet that drives your bartenders crazy.”

  “A date or two also. It’s good thing we’ll be drinking wine tonight,” he said.

  “Speaking of wine, let’s go over the interview logistics before it comes out,” she said.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Business it is.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Nick and Rachel negotiated every aspect of Kevin’s interview. It was quickly becoming evident that Nick didn’t just want a sit-down with the wide receiver. He wanted a full-on profile. That meant Kevin’s coaches, sister, parents, everyone who’d had an impact on his career to date. Much to Nick’s apparent surprise, she was receptive to the idea. All the better to diffuse Nick’s attention from what he really wanted—the money shot of Kevin walking through his old Mott Haven neighborhood recounting the day he was shot.

  The wine from a jug—just as Nick had promised—was poured and the lasagna served. Rachel had to admit it was some damn good pasta, earning her a smile of satisfaction from Nick. He wore that smug expression until a middle-aged woman with jet-black-dyed hair pushed out of the kitchen’s swinging door and made a beeline for them.

  “That wouldn’t happen to be Camilla, would it?” she asked, tipping her wineglass in the woman’s direction.

  Nick twisted and stifled a groan. “I apologize for everything that’s about to happen.”

  Rachel watched as he stood and let himself be swooped into a bear hug.

  “Nicky!” Camilla planted big, smacking kisses on both cheeks. “You’ve been away too long.”

  “You know I’ll always make it back to Santino’s.”

  The woman held him out at arm’s length. “You aren’t eating enough. What do they feed you when you’re traveling for work?”

  “You’re starting to sound like Mom,” he said.

  “She’s a smart woman. A lot smarter than you if you aren’t eating enough.”

  “You can tell her that next time she’s here,” he said. “She’ll love it.”

  “Your mother’s been here?” asked Rachel in amusement.

  “Only the best for Mom,” he said.

  “You just missed Andrea,” Camilla clucked.

  Nick pushed a hand through his hair, making it stand up a little at the back. “Sorry about that. Camilla, I haven’t introduced you to Rachel yet.”

  The older woman assessed her. “Are you his girlfriend?”

  Rachel choked on a mouthful of wine.

  “She will tell you emphatically that she is not my girlfriend,” said Nick as she coughed.

  “A date?” Camilla asked. “It’s been a while since you brought a date around here. Is Santino’s not good enough for you anymore?”

  Nick just sighed, looking more than a little tormented.

  “I’m an agent,” said Rachel. “Nick is trying to interview one of my clients.”

  “Trying?” the restaurant owner asked.

  “We were just working out the final details,” she said.

  Camilla gave her the once-over. “You be good to my Nicky. I’m still waiting for the day he realizes that my Andrea’s perfect for him, but he’s a good boy.”

  Rachel bit her lip. “I’ll try to be kind.”

  Nick snorted a laugh as he sank down into his chair and watched Camilla bustle off to the kitchen again.

  “I enjoyed that,” Rachel said.

  He took a long swig of wine. “Camilla’s a force to be reckoned with. She tells me she’s the Italian mother I never had.”

  “Looks like that’s not too far off base.”

  “She laid off tonight because I had company,” he said.

  She wanted to ask exactly how often he had company at Santino’s.

  “I found this place the first night I moved into my apartment,” Nick continued. “I was new to the city and wound up eating here every night that first week because I was too tired to cook and it seemed like too much effort to go anywhere else. I think I gained fifteen pounds in the first three months.”

  “As well as the love and affection of Camilla,” she reminded him.

  His mouth twisted up a little. “What can I say? I like women who know how to tell a man what to do.”

  She knew he was teasing, but still something about the way he said it shimmered through her like sunlight on water.

  “Nick,” she started, but then stopped herself, unsure of what to say next.

  “Let’s get the check. I’m sure you’ve got a busy day tomorrow,” he said.

  He flagged down their waiter and requested the bill while she wrestled with the disturbing realization that she’d actually enjoyed herself that evening. Nick had been relaxed around her, and she had to grudgingly admit that she liked that about him. He wasn’t worried about impressing her with his sports knowledge or trying to get her to dish the dirt about her players. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out to dinner with a man and it hadn’t turned into a chance to mine her for details about his Sunday-afternoon heroes.

  The bill came and Rachel reached for it. Nick was faster. He snatched it up and handed it back with his credit card to the waiter without even looking at the receipt.

  “Nick,” she said, her voice a low warning.

  “Rachel,” he teased, drawing out the last syllable of her name.

  “The agency will pick this up.”

  “Remember last time? No way you’re ninja’ing me on the bill twice in a row.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

  “Sure I do. Didn’t you know that plying an agent with food and drink is a surefire way to get them to give all the juicy details?”

  “I’m still not your source,” she said. But he was trying to cultivate her into one. It was the only reason he’d called, the only reason he wanted anything to do with her. If it wasn’t for her job, he’d still be a distant though not inconsequential part of her past.

  That’s a good thing, she reminded herself. She wanted him standing on one side of the big black line in the sand with reporter stamped on his forehead. Ambiguity would only add to the awkwardness of the whole situation.

  “Okay,” she said with a small nod, “you can pick up the check.”

  “Good. If you’d said no, I was prepared to bring out the big guns.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d remind you that you bought me lunch once.”

  She froze, immediately cast back to sophomore year of high school. Fall. Football season. Nick was standing with a clump of players, their pads all hanging from the ends of lanky arms. His hair was still wet, darkened by the shower he must’ve taken right after practice. She was with her friend Jessica, squeezed in right next to him at the window where customers would pick up their orders.

  “The pizza place just off campus?” he continued, not seeming to notice her discomfort. “Do you remember it?”

  Yes. “I bought you lunch at Tony’s?” she asked.

  “You were waiting for your order to come up while I was paying, but I’d forgotten my wallet in my car. You paid for my lunch. Well, my predinner. I used to grab food right after practice before I went home to Mom. I even remember what I had—two slices of pepperoni and a Coke.”

  She didn’t care about his order. What she wanted to know was how he’d remembered something so small. And why. He’d been so important in her high school life, but to him she must’ve been barely a blip on the radar.

  He picked up the pen to sign the bill and said casually, “I think I remember it so well because I thought you looked pretty that day.”

  No. She was not going to do this. Nostalgia contained too many tricky emotions—like a trap keeping her stuck in one place. She wasn’t that girl with a crush anymore. She couldn’t be.

  Get out. Get out. Get out.

  Rachel shot out of her chair and gra
bbed her short camel coat. “I have to go. Thanks for dinner.”

  She was halfway to the door before she heard Nick’s shoes clattering against the wood floor behind her. She didn’t turn around. Her cheeks burned at her overreaction, but she had to leave.

  The wind hit her square in the chest, stealing her breath. It had started drizzling since she’d walked into Santino’s, and the freezing rain stung like needles against her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to clear away the fog of the past Nick had stirred up.

  “Rachel,” Nick called from behind her.

  She rushed forward to the curb, her arm stuck out to hail one of the cabs roaring up Eighth Avenue.

  “Rachel,” he called again, closer this time.

  She spun on the heel of her boot. “What do you want, Nick?”

  “I want to know what I said wrong. Why are you storming out?”

  She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension coiled in her. “I’m not storming anywhere.”

  “You ran out of there so fast, I could barely keep up with you.”

  That’s the point, moron, she wanted to say. But she didn’t because she was an agent. One who is always calm in the face of chaos. One who knows what to do at all times.

  “I’m leaving a business meeting. We talked about the profile piece. We finished dinner. The night is done,” she said, her voice hard enough to cut glass.

  She didn’t even realize he’d reached for her until his fingers were on the bend of her elbow. Every nerve seemed to fire at once, lighting her up like the sky on the Fourth of July. Nick wasn’t for her, but she’d forgotten to tell that to whatever part of her body was in charge of holding back the need that surged up inside her whenever he was near.

  “So that’s it?” he asked, his voice a whisper above the cabs that raced by.

  “What else is there?”

  His eyes darkened. “Rachel.”

  “Good night, Nick,” she said, stepping away.

  But as she moved, his hand shot out, circling her wrist and pulling her against him. And then he must’ve lost his damn mind because all at once his fingers were framing her face and he was kissing her. His lips crushed hers—sucking, licking, biting as though he would never get enough.

  Hot and long and rough, the kiss stole thought from her, as though someone had turned down the volume on the world and let her free-fall into total indulgence.

  Nick drank her in, his lips pulling at hers with an urgency that seemed to promise only she could quench his thirst. His hands slid into the wide-open gap of her coat, skimming up over the curve of her hips and her waist. Like a teenager unable to control herself, she pushed into him as his hand cupped her breast. It did nothing to satiate the need for more of him.

  She barely noticed when he walked her back, her calves hitting the cold metal of a light pole. He dragged his lips from hers and kissed his way down her jaw to her neck. He must have left his coat back in the restaurant in his rush to follow her because her fingers clenched at the fabric of his sweater, testing the muscles underneath. He growled in response, spreading the sides of her coat wider and pressing the length of his erection up against her stomach to make her gasp. She would have climbed Nick and locked her legs around his waist if she thought the pole could support them, but still it wouldn’t be enough. What she really needed was him stretching her until she almost couldn’t stand—

  A wolf whistle split the air, snapping Rachel’s mind to attention. Oh God, she was making out on a Manhattan street corner like a twenty-year-old. What the actual fuck?

  She planted her palms against his chest and shoved hard, setting him stumbling back a couple of steps.

  “I don’t know what I did to make you angry, but I should do it more often,” he said, his expression a messy mix of amusement and raw desire.

  Damn. That had been stupid. Incredibly, spectacularly stupid. He’d kissed her, yes, but she’d liked it. Too much.

  “Good night, Nick.” She darted past him, again throwing her arm out to flag down a cab that—mercifully—was just driving by.

  “You’re leaving. After that kiss?” He stepped out into the street with her just as the cab rolled up, its hazard lights flashing.

  “Yes,” she said. Of that she was absolutely sure. She needed to put a lot of avenues between the two of them because her blood was raging, her panties were wet, and she’d burn up if he so much as licked his lips in her direction again.

  “Don’t you want to talk about what just happened?” he asked.

  Absolutely not. That would mean examining why it had felt so good to kiss him. It was more than a rush of adrenaline and dopamine that gave her that swooping sensation in her stomach. And it wasn’t the fact that it felt so good with his hands on her, his lips moving over hers. No. They weren’t going to talk about this because talking about it might make it real. And that would mean that, deep down inside, she might want to do it again.

  Rachel yanked open the cab door. “It’s been a long day, and I have to be up early tomorrow.”

  “Rachel—”

  “Kevin and I will see you at Xaverian on Monday.”

  She was already in the back seat when his hand fell on the door. “It was just a kiss. What are you so afraid of?”

  It was the second time that evening he’d accused her of being scared. Measuring her words as carefully as she’d draft a press release, she selected the exact message that would hit home. “It would take a lot more than you to scare me, Nick.”

  He let go of the door, and she slammed it shut with a dull thud, ending the night for good.

  Chapter 6

  A few days later, Emma pushed a menu toward Rachel, giving her the biggest puppy dog eyes she’d ever seen.

  “Stay for dessert,” said Emma.

  “I want to, trust me, but I don’t have time,” she said with a shake of her head.

  Under normal circumstances, she’d say yes. She deserved something a little sweet to reward a good run of days at the gym. But today was important. Today was Interview Day.

  “Fine,” said Emma with a fake sniff, “but know that you’re not just depriving me of chocolate torte. Louise is suffering too.”

  She pushed the menu back to Emma. “You should both order one.”

  Despite being solidly in the little group of “kick-ass Image women” as Emma liked to call it, Louise was still the quiet one, more comfortable letting the other two set the tone of a conversation than asserting herself. It was no big surprise, then, when the younger woman’s eyes widened a little bit. “Oh, I won’t order unless someone orders with me.”

  Rachel shot her best friend a “Come on” look. “Em’s just being a pain in the ass. No way she’s turning down chocolate.”

  Emma grinned. “She’s right. Louise, pick your poison.”

  Louise’s hand darted out, and she snatched up the dessert menu. “Since you insist.”

  Rachel glanced around the lunchtime crowd at Park Avenue Winter with a smile. If she had her way, she’d stay right there in her seat people watching over dessert and coffee. But that would only put off the inevitable. Today was Kevin’s first interview. It was also the first time she’d see or speak to Nick since that scorching kiss.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to stay?” Emma asked, reading into her hesitation.

  “More than you know, but I’m going to be late. Louise, I’ll ask Rob about letting you take on a couple of clients, and we’ll go from there.”

  The young woman slumped back against her chair, defeated despite their earlier attempts to strategize her career path. “I’m just so frustrated with Brad right now.”

  “Been there. Trust me,” she said. “You should absolutely be getting credit for your work. We’re not going to let this go.”

  Rachel had decided a long time ago that when she made her big break from Image, she’d
take Louise with her. During late nights at her desk when she was cleaning up a Rob mess, she liked to fantasize about the moment she’d quit. She’d march up, slam her letter of resignation down on his desk, and walk out with Emma and Louise in tow. She wouldn’t even have to ask Emma. Her friend would follow her because she was as loyal as she was brash.

  But first, certain things needed to fall into place. One of the biggest was a successful draft day for Kevin. To protect that she needed to head to Kevin’s former high school and fend off a reporter who’d kissed her only a few nights before.

  This is going to suck.

  She gestured to a passing waiter for the bill. When she turned around again, she found both women studying her. “What?”

  “There’s something . . .” Emma said.

  “Did you do something new with your hair?” Louise asked.

  Emma frowned. “She’s got more eyeliner on than usual, but it’s something else. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  She was thankful she’d worn her hair down that day because it covered the fierce blush that was no doubt mottling her chest and neck. “You guys are being ridiculous.”

  “No, there’s definitely something different about you today,” Emma decided with a sharp nod.

  When Louise picked up her water and smiled, Rachel knew she was busted.

  “She’s fidgeting and has been checking her watch all through lunch,” Louise said.

  “That’s it!” Emma nearly shouted.

  Rachel scowled. “I check my watch all the time.”

  “No,” her friend corrected. “You check your phone. But that’s not what you’re doing. You’re nervous.”

  “And there aren’t many people who intimidate you at work, so I’m guessing it’s personal,” Louise said.

  She shot a look at the brunette. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were sweet and silent. Emma’s been a bad influence.”

  A little smile crooked Louise’s mouth. “I pay attention.”

  “Louise is on my team,” said Emma. “You’re outnumbered. Now spill.”

  The waiter appeared with the bill, and she handed him her credit card before he could put it on the table. Once he was out of earshot, she leaned over and hissed, “I hate you both.”