by K. Bromberg
“She will. I know she will.”
I stare at my oldest friend and know he believes it.
I study him, identifying how fragile his recovery could be. Would he be able to stand up to the scrutiny I’m under right now with the press and the media and the bullshit of this story?
Or would he fall back under the veil of depression and despair he pulled me away from all those years ago? Because I know what it’s like to hit rock-bottom. I know how destitute you feel when your life falls apart and you wonder why you get up each morning. I know.
LENNOX
“DAD SAYS YOU’RE GOING AFTER Rush McKenzie.”
I stare at the face of my sister, Brexton, on the computer screen and don’t try to hide the surprise, although since when does anything ever stay a secret for long in our family?
“Well, I’m glad Dad’s telling everyone about something that may or may not happen.”
“If you’d bother filling out and replying to our internal status memos, you could tell us yourself,” she says.
“I see them but I don’t really think I need to respond, seeing as you already know who I’m recruiting. If you have any questions, ask Dad. I’m sure he’ll let you know.”
“Tell us yourself. When did you last attend our weekly meeting?”
“I’m in California,” I say drolly.
“No shit.” She laughs. “That’s why I FaceTimed you so you could see that we’re in the digital age and these big square things we work on all day long actually allow us to talk to each other like we’re in person.” She rolls her eyes. “Next excuse, please.”
“It’s not an excuse, I’m just busy.”
“As we all are.” She lifts her brows as if to ask me what else I’m going to say, but I know she’s the queen of back-and-forth, so it’s better if I just let it be.
“So which one of you groaned or snorted when Dad announced I was going after Rush?” I ask.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I know you guys, and I bet there was a discussion, a few snide comments, and a few hands raised to volunteer to try to recruit him yourselves.” I sit back in my chair at the kitchen table.
“Can you blame us?”
There’s honesty in her voice I want to ignore but can’t. How can I when I’m struggling with my own identity right now? I have preached for weeks that I won’t sleep with Rush, and then I all but ask for it in the sauna the other night.
And want him even more now.
How do I vow to my sisters that I’m not going to screw this up when I can’t even keep my own word to myself?
Talk about having an identity crisis. Who would have ever thought that having sex with Rush would be considered a downfall?
“Look, I’ve let you guys down in the past. I know I have. I’m trying to make this right by doing my part to gain a big-name client to the firm.”
“We don’t see what you see, Lenn. We don’t feel that way about you at all. Is this about Chicago?” she asks.
“This is about a lot of things,” I say without elaborating.
“Because Chicago is you making a mountain out of a molehill when you don’t even know the half of it.”
She stares at me through the connection, and even though she’s only two years older than me, I bristle at her I’m older, I can say what I want attitude.
Because Chicago is a big deal. It frustrates me that none of them can see things my way. They’re not on the same receiving end of altered assignments. I do try to hear what my dad said. That it’s not about talent but desire for the job. But old habits are hard to break . . . clearly. When did I lose my self-confidence? When did I feel so judged by my own family?
And yet here I am in Los Angeles, doing exactly what I’m not supposed to be doing—mixing business with pleasure.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” I mutter.
“Always. That’s what big sisters are for, right?”
This time I roll my eyes in response.
“He’s just your type, you know. How are you going to manage that when you’re working side by side with him? When you’re trying to tell—”
“What do you mean he’s just my type?” I laugh, thankful to have the house to myself right now. All I need is for her to know we’re sleeping in the same house on the heels of that question, and she’ll know the truth.
“He’s edgy, unapproachable, good-looking, and a little rebellious. Add to that the fact that he’s only here for a short while and that’s your dream.”
“That’s such bullshit.” I laugh, but she remains serious as she studies me. “What?”
“Name the last guy you dated who you knew would be around longer than a few months.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Bradly. That’s who I’m talking about. Remember the torrid affair you had with him when you knew you’d be trading him to the other side of the United States? Then there was Hiro, who was leaving to play baseball in Japan. All your men have time limits on them, Lenn. All of them. So see? Rush is the perfect plaything for you since he’ll have to return home soon.”
Jesus, am I really that predictable? Do I really actually do this?
“What’s your point, Brex?”
“My point is don’t fuck the clients.” She laughs. “And don’t fuck potential clients either.”
“Did you tell Dekker that when she was sleeping with and recruiting Hunter?” I ask like the impetuous, little sister that I am.
“Please tell me you’re not asking for justification?”
But there is no justification needed because the other night has replayed in my head like a fantasy over and over again. Rush. His dominance. The way he made me feel. The way I want to feel again.
“I can’t force him to switch to KSM,” I say.
“Agreed, but that doesn’t mean you can’t show him how his agent isn’t doing his job. I mean, Finn’s blatant incompetence might cost him his career. That should count for something.”
“Incompetence?” I ask.
“He’s a prick who’s out for himself and always has been. We both know that.” She takes a sip of her coffee and looks at me. “Vic was there, you know.”
“Where?” I ask, suddenly surprised at her change of topic and out-of-the-blue mention of her fellow agent-friend, Vicktor Malachi.
“At the conference in Vegas. He watched Finn’s whole made-for-movie show to humiliate you in front of the other agents.”
My shoulders sag and I hate that tears fill my eyes, but it’s almost as if it’s worse having someone I love know how I was humiliated.
“It’s no big deal,” I say, forcing a smile to pretend it didn’t cause the tears it did. The subsequent questions about my actual abilities. “I got the last laugh in the end though. I got the contract with MLS when he thought it was nonexistent.”
“He’s an asshole and we all know it. Just watch your back, because I don’t trust Cannon and Finn for a second.” When I don’t speak, she continues. “Rush would be a great add-on to the KSM team, but more than anything, we’d love to have him aboard simply to fuck with Finn.”
“Good to see you have an order of importance.”
“We may bicker like hell, but we always have each other’s backs.” And there’s something in the way she says it that makes me smile and miss them, when I didn’t think I did.
“I’ve heard he’s a real bastard, you know. Great to the fans but a prick to his agents, teammates, the like.”
“Who are we talking about?”
“McKenzie,” she says.
“Rush?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t say that I’ve seen that side of him yet,” I say.
“Are we talking about the same man, Lenn? The man slept with another man’s wife. His teammate’s no less. And then rather than face the music, he ran to LA where it’s sun, relaxation, and no doubt other brainless bimbos to screw.”
I bristle at the comment and hope it doesn’t show on my face. “Yes, I for
got. You’ve been perfect in all of your dating exploits, huh?” I say with a tinge of sarcasm and leave the comment hanging there as my sister shifts in her chair. She opens her mouth and then closes it.
“Don’t you dare explain away that it was different,” I say.
“It was. I mean—there were things people didn’t know about our situation.”
“Exactly,” I say pointing my finger at the screen. “And we don’t know the whole story about Rush and Esme’s either.”
“His silence is deafening, though.”
We stare at each for a beat as I nod in agreement. “Hey Brex?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I shake my head and play it off.
“No. Tell me.”
“It’s just . . . have you ever done something for all the wrong reasons only to wonder if they were right all along?”
“Should I ask you what in the hell you mean by that or should I just nod, tell you I love you, and that I’m sick of you being that far away from me?”
I smile. “The latter. Definitely the latter.”
“Have a good day, Lenn. I miss you regardless of what you think . . . and we love you.”
“Love you too.”
“And good luck.”
I stare at the darkened screen when the connection ends and think of everything she said to me. She’s right. Don’t fuck with the clients.
But what if I already have?
What if—
“She’s right, you know.”
I yelp and almost fall back in my chair when I hear Rush’s voice. “You’re here. You’re home. I didn’t hear you come in.” The words tumble out a million miles an hour.
“I am.” His grin is wide as he watches me fumble with the pen in my hand and wonder how much he heard.
“She’s right about what?” I ask as he moves into the kitchen, running shorts on and chest misted with sweat as it still labors for breath from his run. How stupid is it that the mere sight of him has that ache building between my thighs?
“All of it.” He leans his hips against the kitchen island. “That I’m a bastard. That I’m selfish. That I’m not an easy client to deal with.”
I angle my head and meet the truth in his eyes. “Nah. I think that’s what you want people to see, to believe, because that protects them from getting close to everything you hold dear.”
He looks out the window for a moment and I wonder if he’s going to refute me, but the fact that he doesn’t tells me I might be right in my assessment.
The man is an enigma. Every time you get too close, he shifts focus elsewhere. Normally I’m fine with this because the less I know, the better.
But there’s something about him that makes me want to know more. There’s been something about him from the first moment I laid eyes on him that won’t allow me to let it go.
“And how did you manage to skip out of today’s promotional extravaganza?” he asks with a flair of his hands and a roll of his eyes.
“You’re really not enjoying this whole thing, are you?”
He twists his lips for a beat before meeting my eyes. “I’m a football player. Being on the pitch is what I love, not talking about it.”
“Over the years I’ve learned that love of the game means different things to different athletes. What is it about socc—football that you love?” I ask as I turn and face him completely. That soft smile that ghosts his lips tells me everything I need to know. He’s not in it for money or fame.
It’s his one true love.
“It’s hard to put into words and when I do, I sound like an idiot.”
“Try me.”
And for the first time since I’ve known Rush McKenzie, he blushes. It’s adorable and sexy all in one confusing breath. Something I need to attempt to forget.
“It’s stupid really, but it’s what saved me.” He twirls the set of keys in his hand and focuses on them. “Times were tough when I was young and footie was the one thing I was good at. It was the only thing that made kids look at me admirably instead of with pity, or like I was the weird one.”
“Kids can be cruel. I wore glasses and had four years’ worth of braces, so I understand feeling like the weird one.”
“You? Ugly?” He laughs as he takes a seat opposite me and then pulls my chair so my knees slide between his spread ones. His hands are on my thighs. There’s something so very natural about the moment that I swear my stomach flips when he looks up from my legs to meet my eyes. “I love the game because it is who I am. I can transition to this figurehead that Cannon wants me to be later in my career, but not now. Not when the game is like a drug to me, sparking me to life, begging me to be better at everything I touch. A better footballer, a better teammate, a better idol for kids, a better everything.”
I stare at Rush and know with absolute certainty that this is not a man who would cheat with his captain’s wife. This is not a man who would throw away his career on a stupid move. This is not a man who should have been vilified so instantly without a defense. Surely his teammates, those he’s close to, can’t believe this lie either.
“There are moments on the field when the crowd is chanting, the air is thick with anticipation, and my blood is coursing with adrenaline that I just know I’m going to do something incredible. It’s almost as if the moment elevates my game.”
“The moment and all the hard work you put in,” I say. My research over the past few days has shown me that Rush is known for his endless dedication. He’s typically the first one on the pitch and the last one to leave. Impressive for a man who most would assume doesn’t care about a thing in the world other than himself.
“Perhaps. Then again, maybe I’m just one lucky bastard who has gotten a few breaks now and again.”
“You don’t need to play it down around me. I live in a world where I want athletes who are good to know it. That way they know their worth and will never sell themselves short.”
“And what about those who are awesome players but arsehole people?”
“I’ve come across those a time or two.”
“Do you represent them or do you out them for who they are?” His eyes turn serious, and for the first time, I’m not certain if we’re still speaking about him.
“It’s not my place to out them, but if they’re assholes, then their colors are true enough that the world will see in time.”
He falls quiet, his eyes dropping to stare at his thumbs moving back and forth on my knees. “They do always end up outing themselves over time, don’t they?”
When his eyes lift to meet mine, there’s a gravity in them that unexpectedly adds heaviness to the moment. “Rush?”
His smile is there, but more forced than sincere. “You never answered my question,” he says. “How were you able to get out of that boring shitshow today?”
“I had meetings.”
“With your sister?”
I shake my head. “That was just the last few minutes of my day.” I blow out a sigh. “I’ve been avoiding her.”
“Why?”
“Long story.”
“Do I have anything to do with that long story?” He angles his head to the side and waits for a response.
“Of course you do. We always talk about the athletes we’re recruiting or are on our radar to want to recruit.” It’s not the whole truth, but at least I’m not lying completely.
Our gazes hold as if he’s not sure he believes me or not, but then nods after a beat. “What else did you have to do that enabled you to escape Cannon—and his fifteen handlers—telling you what to do every five seconds? How did you avoid being stared at like you’re an alien?”
“Or maybe they’re staring because you’re incredibly handsome and talented?”
“That too.” He winks and we laugh.
“Let’s see. I negotiated a deal for a baseball player, worked on a trade for an NBA star, and then finalized some endorsements for one very overenthusiastic, Olympic gymnast. Oh, and how can I forget the two ho
urs on the phone stroking various athletes’ egos to make sure they know I love them and no, their careers are solid and they shouldn’t be worried.”
“Busy day.”
“Busy indeed.” He pulls my chair even closer. “But you missed one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s only one thing you should be stroking, Kincade,” he murmurs as his eyes darken with desire.
“Is that so?” I ask as he leans forward and captures my lips with his.
“Definitely.” A kiss. “You’re contractually obligated. Remember?” He quirks an eyebrow, a half-cocked smile on his lips.
“Then by all means, let me make sure I fulfill it.”
Our lips meet as our fingers entwine.
It’s crazy to me how easy it is to kiss him. To be kissed by him.
Rush McKenzie is doing things to me that I’m not used to. Random kisses in the kitchen. Distracting me when I’m working.
And strangest of all, I want to get to know him better.
But is that only because I know he’ll be going soon?
LENNOX
RUSH JINXED ME.
After I teased him about having to play the part for Cannon and the MLS, I’ve been dragged to each and every event over the past few days. A benefactor rah-rah session at the Santa Anita Raceway. An interactive fan experience at Banc of California Stadium, where Rush partook in running drills with youth players. A board meeting, where I discussed comprehensive compensation packages that might lure players away from other, more successful leagues. And on, and on.
That’s a lot of face-to-face and smiling with random people when I’m more used to the one-on-one aspect of negotiating and sealing deals.
The only upside to the exhaustion? Rush. Being with Rush. Laughing with Rush. Waiting for those few stolen moments where I look up and meet his eyes across the pitch or room or wherever and see that soft smile of his.
An even better upside? Knowing everyone in that room wanted to be the one going home with him, and technically, I was.
And now? Three glorious days off from the MLS grind. I have my own clients to tend to, but I can do that from Johnny’s little piece of heaven of a house and backyard.