by Alexis Anne
“That was fantastic, Hope.”
“Thank you, Leo. I mean it.”
I touched her cheek with my thumb. “It was my pleasure, love. I mean it.”
She shook her head. “Well of course it was. You got fucked in a bathroom. What guy doesn’t like that?”
“I fuck who I want, where I want, when I want. There is no chart where this is getting a gold star for my manhood. It was a pleasure to enjoy this opportunity with you, Hope.”
She blinked at me. “You might be the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”
Wasn’t that a damn shame? “I sincerely hope that isn’t the case.”
Chapter 7
After the bathroom Hope and I enjoyed a nice night of conversation. I genuinely liked her and she had this wit I really appreciated. Despite the fact we were intimately known to one another I began to feel a kinship to her I could only describe as brotherly.
So I invited her over for football Sunday with Jeffry, Grant, Mary, and John.
“Do you guys do this every Sunday?” Hope sat cross-legged on the loveseat, two full plates of food on the coffee table in front of her. She looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
Grant and Jeffry looked on from my kitchen as they piled their own plates with food. Jeffry decided to explain with his mouth mostly full. “I’m here every weekend because Leo loves me.”
I shook my head at this lack of basic manners. “Football is my favorite weekend activity.” Aside from sex, of course. “It’s on all weekend. College on Saturday and the pros on Sunday. I usually work Saturday so I’m here alone, but on Sunday I have this oaf over and when I’m feeling social I have everyone.”
“And all this food?” She grabbed the plate on the left and dove into the loaded potato skins.
“I have a wonderful cafe at the end of the street. I always order food when I have guests, yes.”
“You can put me on the invite list any time.” She moved on to the tiny pork sandwich. “Any time.”
Jeffry plunked his plate down beside hers and sat on the couch as close as he could get to her. “The nachos are solid but they get soggy pretty fast, so eat those first. The wings are the best. All three flavors are worth dying for.”
“I’m saving those for last.” She nodded solemnly, as if food were the single most important thing in the world.
Jeffry seemed to agree with her because they moved on to a heated discussion on beer pairings. I swirled my Scotch and watched my phone as it lit up with a string of messages from Marie.
Semi-formal.
I want the team to arrive on time and as close together as possible.
She was so worked up over this it boggled my mind. I felt out of the loop. Behind the eight ball. In the dark. So I employed my best weapon: research. I’d spent the better part of the week reading old articles on the Nashville franchise—the rise and the fall. It was a bizarre moment in professional football history and somehow the details remained murky.
It set me off, honestly. Why were there so few details. Why did no one discuss it, even today? Why was no one reporting on the magnitude of the Renegades sale?
“Hey Hope?”
“Yeah?”
Lovely. Now she was speaking with a half-full mouth of food and a nearly drunken slur to her words. The food coma was already setting in and we were just starting the second quarter.
“You still do some producing?” Like her ex, Hope was deep in the sports news industry.
Her eyes sharpened suspiciously. “I do specials and films now, why?”
“This Renegades sale . . . you have any idea why no one’s talking about the ten year ban on the owner or the old Nashville franchise?”
She set her nearly empty plate down and wiped her fingers clean, straightening up and shaking off the food coma. “It’s a blackballed topic. You report on it, you’re done. It won’t even air so there’s no reason to risk it.”
Won’t even air? “What do you mean?” What she was saying was so far beyond anything I’d ever heard in the industry before.
“I mean the Nashville franchise and it’s owners are taboo. They aren’t even discussed in the newsrooms. If someone brings it up the room goes silent and management redirects immediately.” She cracked her neck as if just discussing this topic were giving her stress. “I mean, if you try to bring a piece like this to the table you’re tossed out on your backside before you even get the words out of your mouth. No two weeks notice. No warning. Just ‘goodbye, don’t let the door hit you on the way out, no one else will hire you.’”
That was stunning. “As in, they tell all the other station managers and that reporter is blackballed?”
“Bingo!”
“But why?”
“Because the first rule of Nashville is you don’t discuss Nashville.”
I had no response to that. In my years in the industry I’d encountered secrets and lies that everyone knew about. It was out in the open and clear as to why it was avoided at all costs. This was completely different because it was just one giant black hole. No information. No knowledge. Nothing at all.
“We’ve all been invited to dinner at the Brown’s this weekend. My boss is very upset about the sale.”
Hope nodded as if this made perfect sense. “Well good luck. Stay on the good side of that asshole. I hear the bad side is a cold and dark place to be.”
“But from who? If no one talks about it, no one reports on it, how does anyone know anything?”
She smirked a little. Probably finding me dense and ridiculous. “Because the people who do know, like your boss, smart people in powerful positions, they’re scared.”
I did not enjoy absence of information. I did not typically rely on other people’s authority or information. I made my own decisions and while I trusted Marie completely, it wasn’t going to stop me from looking for answers.
I let it go. The game was a good one and my friends much preferred to watch it than listen to me grump about a team owner. I noticed how seamlessly Hope folded into our group. She cracked jokes with Mary, but especially Jeffry, made a concoction of nachos, wings, and potatoes that nearly made John cry, kept up with the stream of stats that Grant always mumbled in the background.
In a way it was like she’d always been part of the group instead of a woman I’d just picked up at a bar. She was totally up front about that too.
“I was in a bad way and Leo here shagged it right out of me,” she said with a shrug and grateful smile.
John chuckled. “That’s our Leo. Glad to have you as part of the crew.”
And that was that.
Well other than some odd comments from Jeffry, but I assumed that was simply because after dinner with Esme last night he’d kissed her. The poor man was flustered and probably bluer than the shade of midnight.
“It was just . . . whoa. She’s made of electricity. I’m sure of it.”
I eyed him. “That’s simply not possible.” Except I knew it to be true.
“Yeah, well, it sure felt that way. It was just a peck, really. We talked all through dinner. We barely stopped to eat. She’s brilliant, man. Simply brilliant to talk to.”
Now that was something I wouldn’t know as well as Jeffry. We bantered over dinner. Flirted with words. Sparred with stubborn personality. But we didn’t really talk.
“So I walked her up to her door. You know, to be gentlemanly, and she turned back to say goodnight and I just knew if I didn’t do something I’d be friend-zoned for life. So I did that thing women like. I brushed some of her hair over her shoulder and kissed her.”
“Was it really a peck?” Hope asked, very invested in our conversation I didn’t even know she’d been listening to. “Or was it more of a long press?”
“Does it matter?” Jeffry asked.
“Well of course. A peck is unsatisfying. It’s brief and kind of, I don’t know,” she looked at the ceiling, searching for a word.
I supplied the correct answer. “Cowardly.”
“Yes!”
Her eyes locked with mine and sparkled, remembering our explosive and very un-peck-like bathroom kisses. “Pecks are cowardly. But a nice long, chaste press of the lips is intentional. It’s full of promise and leaves you wanting more.”
I shifted in my seat as I thought of all the long, electric times I’d pressed my lips to Esme’s skin.
“It was definitely a press of the lips then,” Jeffry nodded matter-of-factly.
“So next time—there is a next time right?” Hope leaned closer to Jeffry, taking over my job as counsel.
“Well yeah. I thought I’d ask her to lunch again this week.”
Hope frowned. “It has to be more intimate that grabbing a quick meal if you want to stay out of the friend-zone.”
“Like what?” Jeffry croaked, overwhelmed as always.
“You said you eat outside? Make a picnic, off from everyone else, just the two of you.”
She was good. Really good. “You can be my wingman any time.” I tilted my bottle of beer her way.
She clinked it with hers. “I was actually thinking about that just now. You ever need a partner? I’m here. Or if there’s a guy . . . I mean I know dudes don’t want help in this department, but I don’t see why I can’t offer up a dating option like you do.”
Jeffry seemed almost shocked by her offer. “But why?”
She shrugged. “It’s fun. And simple. And needed, you know? Sometimes it’s nice to just need some contact and not have to worry about the world ending.”
My entire life philosophy.
Hope chatted with Jeffry for the rest of the afternoon, giving him far more advice and encouragement than I ever could. Luckily John, Grant, and Mary were still interested in the game and we managed to spend a relaxing Sunday afternoon in front of my television.
Rest I was very grateful for come Saturday night.
Chapter 8
Davis Islands was a unique community in Tampa. For one it was a manmade island. Islands. This was one of those confusing things about Florida I often found difficult to explain. The water moved so much that islands formed and disappeared over and over again. So of course some businessman thought it would be a good idea to take two of those on-again, off-again islands and make them permanent, dredging up what they needed from the bay until there was enough land. Thus, the area was known as Davis Islands (with an “s”) because it was more than one.
For two, it had its own airport.
For three, it was nestled right up and cozy with downtown Tampa. You could live the quiet island life steps from the heart of Tampa.
And for four, it was a bizarre mix of happy normal residential homes, bungalows and apartments, but with million-dollar mansions as well. One could easily be Joe Nobody, walking the trails and kayaking with the most famous athletes in the world.
Which is where we found ourselves that Saturday night. Edmund Brown had purchased the most expensive home the islands currently had to offer. It sat right on the water with unencumbered views of the bay.
We stood as a group in the massive cobblestone driveway, looking up at the white two-story building.
“At least the views should be nice,” I offered a very nervous-looking Marie Hamilton.
She cracked her neck. By her side was her husband Greg, an intimidating brute of a man I often found a direct contradiction to the calm, refined beauty of my boss. But then again, perhaps that was why they worked so well.
Greg took her arm and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, his hand holding it in place. “It will be fine. We’ll make our appearances, we’ll say as little as possible, we’ll drink his expensive liquor, and we’ll leave. Easy.”
She turned to me and whispered, “My best friend lives just a few blocks away. She’s offered her house as an escape point if we need it.”
“Eve?” I’d met Marie’s friends several times over the years, especially because Eve Spencer was an executive with the Mantas baseball franchise.
Marie nodded and looked over our group of eleven. “Everyone ready?”
Based on the smiles on everyone’s faces I got the impression I was one of the only ones she’d confided her discomfort, which of course made my ego inflate.
Yes, I knew I was damn good at my job. And yes, I’d earned my corner office, but it was a brutal business and it was nice to get a little confirmation here and there from the owner of the company that she placed her trust in me.
“Follow me, then.”
We fell into line, walking up the drive, down the long corridor, and up to the enormous front doors. Greeters held the doors, directed us to the back of the house, and offered us champagne. The house was already packed, which I expected given the sheer number of cars parked outside. Some I recognized, some I didn’t. It was a mix of rich, famous, and powerful, but everyone I knew was definitely from the world of sports.
The home was decorated in gleaming white. It was a cold blank slate. Soaring ceilings, massive windows that looked out over the water, marble everywhere. It was a statement more than a place to live and it made me a little bit sad that such a prime property was being wasted on someone like Edmund Brown.
We scattered through the crowd, mingling and putting on a good show for our company.
“Leo, long time no see.” Kelly Halstead, agent with Prime Management Group smiled at me warmly.
We were about the same age and she was a pretty little thing with dark hair, big eyes, and perpetually red lips.
I kissed her cheek. “It has been quite some time. How is New York treating you?”
She shrugged. “Busy, loud, and I love it.”
I’d spent some time in our New York offices thinking that was exactly where I wanted to be. The big city. The heart of everything. But it turned out I kind of hated it there. It overloaded my circuits. Marie asked me to come down to Tampa and see if it was a better fit here and I never left.
Turns out warmth and palm trees are much more my speed.
“Since you went almost exclusively basketball I rarely see you anymore.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? It works for me.”
She’d picked up one basketball player after another until she was known as the agent with the magic touch when it came to contract renegotiations. I, on the other hand, found managing basketball players exhausting. Between the lengthy season and the drama . . . well, I preferred my football and baseball prima donnas.
“So what do you think tonight is all about?” Perhaps Kelly would have a different perspective.
She took a tentative breath as she surveyed the room with a cool expression. Apparently she wasn’t feeling the warm fuzzies either. “Showing off? Setting the record straight? I really don’t know but I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it either.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head a little. “It’s not exactly normal to gather up all the agents who work with your players and throw them a party with your rich and power friends, now is it? I get that he wants to introduce himself to everyone but this is odd.”
“I hear odd is the norm.”
She nodded slightly. “I hear the same thing.”
So Kelly knew as much as I did and her unease confirmed it was nothing good. “Tonight should be interesting.”
“To say the least.”
After nearly on hour of cocktails and mingling with no sight of our host, we were called into a massive dining room. I felt almost as if I’d stepped inside of some modern version of an Agatha Christie novel. No one really knew why we were all there, the host was mysteriously absent, and the setting was peculiarly ostentatious.
I didn’t think my instincts could peg any harder into the red zone.
Until everything changed. At least for me. As guests were guided to their assigned seats my eyes fell on the most beautiful woman in the room. Raven hair perfectly styled instead of down, dress much more sedated than I’d seen her before, but still unmistakable sexy.
It was my Esme.
Marie grabbed my elbow. “Come. I wa
nt to introduce you.” And to my confused horror she directed me toward the woman in question.
The head of the table sat open, but to the right hand of the host stood a man in a suit I longed for. Its clean lines were perfection. The shade of blue so unique.
“William. It’s been too long,” Marie said, stopping in front of him. “Welcome to Tampa.”
He nodded once. “I see now why you ran away. The weather is a nice change.” Then William reached out and put his hand on Esme—the woman I couldn’t stop staring at—he put his hand on her shoulder. “You remember my sister?”
It was like staring at a car accident on the side of the road. Technically I understood what was happening, but my mind simply wouldn’t accept the information.
Marie and Esme hugged. Warmly. Like old friends.
“Oh my. You’re not a teenager anymore,” Marie laughed.
“We really haven’t seen each other in a very long time,” Esme returned the laugh. She very carefully avoided looking my direction.
“I wanted you both to meet my right hand man. Anything you need from Bancroft Sports will come from me personally or Leo.” Then she turned to me. “Leo Hancock, this is William and Rosalind Brown.”
My confusion was complete.
Was she Esme or not?
“William. Rosalind. It’s very nice to meet you.” I shook his hand heartily but when I turned to Rosalind she hesitated. Avoided my gaze. Her breath hitched.
Dear god it was her.
I didn’t understand anything.
She slid her delicate hand into mine and electricity jolted up my arm and down my spine, triggering memories of holding her hands while I fucked her slow and deep.
She shivered, yanking her hand away. Remembering the same things?
“We should sit. You remember how father is about dinner?” Esme/Rosalind asked Marie with a cocked eyebrow. “Nothing has changed.”
“Then we should find our seats,” she said quickly.
My mind buzzed in a way that usually only happened if I were to drink too much, something I hadn’t done since college, so it was an even more disorienting experience. Marie slid into a seat beside William, Greg on her other side. Five seats further down the long table I finally found my name.