by K. Bromberg
“He’s a loner, Lenn, always has been. The only thing that keeps him tethered is football and right now, he’s afraid he’s going to lose that.”
“He won’t lose that,” I say with an assertiveness I don’t know for certain. “Liverpool would be stupid to let him go.”
“Nothing’s set in stone. I don’t know much, but I do know this whole thing has been hard on him, even though he’s doing a good job hiding it.” He takes a sip of his drink and points at me. “Maybe you’ll be the one to help him get through it.”
His words feel like whiplash and I chuckle. “I thought you told me that first night I wasn’t what he needed. Remember how I was offended by that?”
“That’s because you were a woman on the prowl wanting to get laid.”
“Screw you.” I roll my eyes and then laugh, because it was so true.
“And now . . . I don’t know. You guys are just good together. Maybe . . . who knows?”
I stare at my oldest friend and hear his words. Words that reflect the same thing I feel, that Rush and I are just good together, and then groan in frustration. “He won’t talk about it with me.”
“Ahh,” Johnny hums, knowing I’m talking about Esme without saying her name. “Is that the cause of the sudden chill between you two?”
“It’s not a chill, it’s a . . . fuck if I know. How can I really “in like” a man who doesn’t trust me?”
“The question is, do you trust him?”
How stupid am I that I instinctively want to say yes?
But it’s true.
I do trust him. I trust in the things he’s said to me and the cryptic things he’s not said.
And I think that’s part of what’s giving me pause. I don’t trust freely and yet with Rush . . . I just do.
I tread carefully with my words, so I don’t betray what Rush confided in me the other night. But I also know that Johnny doesn’t suffer fools nor put up with assholes, so just the fact that he’s allowing Rush to stay here tells me he clearly believes Rush is innocent as well. “I think there’s more to the story. I think that sometimes it’s easier to fall back on a reputation or the image of yourself than to answer truthfully.”
“We think alike,” he says cryptically. “I know the owner of the magazine that first printed the picture. I offered to Rush to reach out to them and . . . I don’t know. Sue them. Get the rest of the pictures the magazine acquired if there were any. Something to defend his name.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to leave well enough alone.”
RUSH
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.
This quiet game she’s playing needs to be done and over with. It’s literally driving me mad.
To sleep in the same bed with a woman every night, but then wake up and have her act like you’re nonexistent is fucking insane.
Like ten minutes ago. She’s talking to some blokes about recruiting for individual teams and when I walk up, she smiles softly, and then introduces me into the conversation before quietly exiting.
What the fuck is up with that?
This is not the right time to do this. Talks are at a standstill between Finn and the club, and I’m in a shitty mood over it. And to make matters worse, the one person I want to turn to, isn’t exactly talking to me.
So yes, this has to end. Right here. Right now. She wants to be pissed at me because I can’t tell her about Rory and Esme, fine. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to live like this for the next month as we play out this bloody contract.
“Lennox?” I ask when I see Maggie, one of the assistants who is always wandering around doing a little bit of everything.
“I think she went out to get some air.”
I point down the hall to ask if it’s the right way and head in that direction when I get a nod. “Thanks.”
I push open the doors to the outside and stop. Lennox is standing there with her back to me, her hands braced on the railing, and her face lifted up to the sky. Fairy lights twinkle everywhere in the trees and reflect off her hair and dress.
Much like she was that night before she turned and seduced me in the sauna.
“You’re avoiding me.”
She turns to look over her shoulder, and I’m sucker-punched in a way that’s all new to me. She’s been right in front of me all this time, and yet somehow, I’ve missed her and how we were before we fought.
“Not avoiding,” she murmurs and turns to face me with that look in her eye that tells me she’s thinking too much. “How can you say I’m avoiding you when we sleep in the same bed every night?”
I take a step toward her. “That’s sleeping, Lenn, but when it comes to the talking part, the laughing part, where did you go?” She looks down, and I reach out and lift her chin so she’s forced to look me in the eyes. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
She forces a smile. “I’m just trying to figure shit out.”
“Like what?”
She chews on her bottom lip. “Let me start by first saying I’m not a needy woman. I don’t need affirmations or definitions or someone to stroke my ego to make me feel—”
“Anyone who knows you, already knows that.”
“What are we doing here, Rush? What is this?”
She’s spoken aloud the words I ask myself every night as I wrap my arms around her and pull her against me. The same question I’ve yet to answer myself.
“You say that like you want to be mad at me.” I chuckle at how adorable she looks right now with that pout on her face.
“I am mad at you.”
“Why?”
“Because this is all your fault.”
“You’re right. It is.” I hold my hand up. “It’s completely my fault.” I lean in closer. “You want to tell me what I did?”
“You made me like you.”
My laugh rings out and a smile tugs on the corner of her lips. Fucking adorable. “That’s a terrible crime,” I say and lean in to press my lips against hers and frame her face with my hands. “Horrible.” They soften with my coaxing and open up to me. “How will you ever forgive me?”
“Rush,” she murmurs as she rests her forehead against mine. Our breaths feather over each other’s lips. “This is . . .”
The unsteady inhale of her breath is exactly how I feel. On shaky ground, uncertain as fuck, but knowing there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.
“This is us. You. Me. It’s just us. And for the record, you made me like you too.” I lean back so I can meet her eyes and the emotion that’s welling in them. Despite how long I’ve known her, I’ve shared more with Lennox than any other person. I do consider her a friend. I hope she knows that, and doesn’t doubt our connection. “Does there have to be a definition? We both went into this knowing that I’ll be leaving to go back home to my life and my team and you’ll be leaving to go back home to your life and your family. We’re having fun, we’re making memories, and”—I press a tender kiss to her lips that feels like so much more than just having fun—“and that has to be enough for right now,” I say, my lips brushing against hers, not giving a fuck if anyone were to walk out and see us.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It was stupid to—”
I slant my lips over hers to shut her up. I don’t want an apology right now. There’s nothing to apologize for, I just want her.
I want this time we have left to be memorable.
Later, I can sort through the ache in my chest that burns from the thought of what it will be like when we do part ways.
LENNOX
“AT LEAST I FINALLY FOUND something that you’re horrible at,” I say as I pull my arms out of my wetsuit and sink down into the sand, its warmth welcome against the cool neoprene.
“Whose idea was it to take surfing lessons anyway?” he says as he collapses beside me, a little less gracefully and with a lot more sand all over him.
“I think my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.”
He eyes me as he shoves a lock of
hair off his forehead. “Whatever else you have up your Tour-de-America sleeve for me to do before this contract ends, can we make sure it involves something we can enjoy with less water going up my nose?”
I laugh and nod. “Tour-de-America?”
“Yes. We did Disneyland last weekend. The food truck place before that. It feels like you’re checking items off a Tour-de-America list for us to complete.”
“I thought it was part of my contract to make you happy,” I say sweetly and bat my eyelashes innocently.
“I know exactly what would make me happy,” he says and gives a slight tug on the tie of my bikini top, “but I think we’d get arrested for it.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. “Pretty please.”
“Lennox Kincade,” he all but growls, and right before he tugs me down to partially act on the threat, something over my shoulder catches his eye. “Hello there, mate.”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt your personal time,” a woman with strawberry-blonde-colored hair says, as she races up to her son who is standing staring at Rush as if he’s just seen a ghost. “Billy just adores you and—”
“Totally fine,” Rush says before turning to address the adorable little boy with curly hair and vibrant blue eyes. “Billy, is it?”
“Yes,” he stutters.
“Please tell me you’re a Liverpool fan because between you and me, there are not enough of them here in the States.”
“I am.”
“Whew.” Rush holds his hand out and shakes Billy’s. “Rush McKenzie, nice to meet you.”
They chat for a few minutes, and I watch the interaction, marveling at how very good Rush is at doing this—talking to fans, and kids especially. There’s an ease about him that can’t be taught. I’ve seen many athletes stumble or slip and crush a kid’s idyllic view of what their sports hero is like.
Not Rush.
Tour-de-America.
Rush’s term comes back at me as I watch the two interact and I wonder, is that what I’m doing? Am I trying to check one item off his list of American must-haves so that when he goes home he’ll never forget me? Am I trying to forge memories with someone because I know we have a finite amount of time, and I need them for myself to hold on to when my heart is broken?
“Are you staying, Rush?” Billy asks, glancing over to his mom and then back to Rush again. “Are you going to play for the MLS so we can see you all the time?”
“That’s a hard one, mate. I’d love to see you all the time too, but I do have a contract to fulfill with Liverpool. It’s important to stay true to the word you give.”
Billy’s face falls and it’s heartbreaking. “I understand.”
“But we are having an exhibition game next week if you want to come out and see me play in person,” Rush says. Billy’s eyes widen.
And just like that, Rush is the hero again as he gives Billy’s mom instructions before they say their goodbyes on how to make sure Billy sees him prior to the game.
“What?” Rush asks when he turns to find me studying him as they walk away.
“Nothing.”
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” he asks.
“You mean in admiration because of how incredible you are to each and every fan who comes up to you? It is your personal time, you didn’t have to—”
“Do you know how many players would kill to be in my shoes? To put on a kit and boots every day and play for a team you love in a game that gave you life? Why wouldn’t I be nice?”
And that’s the moment I feel Rush take ownership of a piece of my heart . . . forever.
“Don’t let the tattoos and rep fool you, folks, because Rush McKenzie is a softie at heart.”
He gives me a wink and presses his lips to mine. “Shh, don’t tell anyone.”
When he sits back on his elbows and holds his face up to the sun, I ask the question he answered to Billy. “So you’ve made up your mind? You’re going back home?”
He slides a glance my way before looking back out at the ocean and at kids in their surfing lessons who are twenty years younger than us and way more coordinated.
“There was never really a decision to be made in my eyes. I’m sure Finn has his ideas but it’s my life, my career . . . my say.”
“As it should be.” I nod several times as I consider his response. It’s the right one—hell, yes, it’s the right one—but hearing it said out loud means it’s real.
It means he’s really leaving.
“Why do you sound so disappointed then?”
I can’t help my smile. “Because that means I failed at my job, at what I was contracted for.”
“That’s the only reason?” he asks, fishing for me to tell him I’ll miss him.
I will miss him. In fact, I think it’s going to sting for some time, but hell if I’m going to admit that to him.
“No, that’s not the only reason. Of course not. Something has to put a stop to the horrible sex.”
He tackles me onto my back, our laughter ringing out as my shoulders press into the sand before his mouth finds mine again. This time the kiss is longer, a lot less playful, and feels quite different.
I can’t put my finger on it, but when it ends and he looks down on me, there’s intensity there, a gravity that tethers to the unnamed emotions causing a lump to form in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to hang you out to dry.”
“Cannon had to have known it was a long shot to keep you here, and that’s why the concept of hiring me rang hollow once I found out you were his target.” I reach up and brush some sand off his forehead, the need to touch him becoming stronger with each passing moment. “But I agree with your decision, Rush. What’s best for you is back home. Anyone who tells you otherwise is only looking out for their own interests and not yours. You definitely shouldn’t leave the Premier League. It’s where you belong.”
“Liverpool is where I belong.” I know in his heart of hearts that he believes what he’s saying. LFC is his future. It saddens my heart when I see his worried gaze. “Let’s hope they keep me.” His smile is quick but doesn’t reach his eyes, as he pushes off me and moves to sit beside me.
“Hey.” My hand moves to his back. “Are negotiations not going well?”
Rush is silent for a beat. “I don’t know whether you’re asking as a sympathetic friend wanting to lend me support or as an agent extraordinaire.”
I smile and shrug. “Can we go with both?”
“At least you’re honest.” He chuckles. “It does beg the question though: why haven’t you suggested I switch over to KSM? You said you were allowed to within your contract with Cannon, and not once have you made a push for it.”
My eyes find the ocean as I ask myself the same question. As I wonder the same thing. Rush McKenzie is a straight shooter, and therefore, he deserves an honest answer. I avoided it a few weeks ago, as I wasn’t ready to be completely transparent. But now? Now I trust him even more than I did before.
“I took the job with Cannon on a whim. I was pissed at my family for controlling my day-to-day, and angry at some shitty things I overheard fellow agents saying about me at a conference I attended.”
“What did your family do to make you mad?”
“They made me feel as if I’d lost their trust. As if they didn’t think I could do my job anymore.”
“So you took this job vowing to prove them wrong, by what? Succeeding at whatever Cannon wanted?”
“Something like that,” I murmur, not wanting to admit that I promised my dad I was going to land Rush as a client.
“Cannon gave you an unsurmountable task considering I never gave an inkling I wanted to stay in America,” he says. “What did the agents say that you overheard?”
I take a deep breath, resolved to blow it all off, but then realize that if I tell him, he’ll understand why I hesitated to start what is now us.
“They accused me of using sex as a way to lure new clients.”
“Did you?” he asks, unfazed and unapologetic.
“Not in the way they accused me of. I dated a player for a while, and he ended up switching over to me for representation. The rumor started there.” I draw my initials in the sand with my finger. “I won’t apologize for wearing high heels and the way I dress.”
“You mean professional?” He laughs. “No woman should ever have to apologize for the way she dresses. A man can think you’re sexy because of it, but that doesn’t give them the excuse to accuse you of using sex to sign a client.”
“Thank you.”
“No one should—oh.” He stretches the last sound out as it hits him. “And now you’re sleeping with me, a player you’re supposed to recruit. No wonder you were so adamant that we not—”
“That would be why.” I laugh and vacillate on whether or not to tell him that Finn was the miscreant who made the accusations and started the rumors.
But I decide not to.
If Rush ever came to KSM, I want it to be because I earned it, not because he’s pissed that his agent was an asshole to the woman he’s currently sleeping with.
If Rush were to become my client, I want it to be based on merit and not pity.
“I guess I threw a spanner in the works.”
“A what?” I laugh.
“What is it you guys call it?” Deep in thought, he twists his lips for a beat. “Wrench, I think?”
I stare and then chuckle when it hits me. “You mean a wrench in the plans.”
“Yes. Sure. A spanner in the works. I threw one in there.”
“You sure did, and it was definitely a welcome one.” I rest my head on his shoulder and loop my arm through his as we both watch the lessons in front of us.
“But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“Which was?”
“Why haven’t you actively recruited me when we’ve had all the time in the world?”
“I haven’t earned your complete trust yet, so there’s no way I can represent you.” I feel his body still beside me and know my comment hit home harder than I’d intended. “One of the most important aspects of a client-agent relationship is trust. After all, the decisions I make impact every part of that athlete’s life. Without that, it’s just empty words, and that’s not who I am. Never will be. And honestly, Rush, isn’t that what you deserve too?”