by Kendall Ryan
He gives me one firm nod. “Understood.” He drums his fingers one last time on the chair and I glance at my watch again, silently ushering him out the door and ending this father-daughter moment.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to scale your mountain of paperwork,” he teases, gesturing to the chaos that is my desk.
I mentally thank my busy schedule for providing me with a good distraction from this Weston stuff.
“Thanks, Dad. Love you,” I say, wiggling one hand in a wave as the other reaches for my to-do list.
Just as Dad twists the doorknob, he pivots and adds one final thought. “This might turn out to be a good thing, sweetheart. You never know.”
I fake an enthusiastic smile, then grab a pen and scrawl one final item onto my to-do list.
Stay far, far away from Weston Chase.
• • •
One of the best things about being the executive assistant to the Hawks’ general manager is that the spotlight is never on me. I have no interest in being the center of attention, so I’m happy to slip out of the shot when the cameras flash on Mr. Flores. And with the announcement of our last-minute roster addition, every reporter, blogger, and talk-show host in the country is clamoring to get a quote from him. Probably for the best that no one cares to hear my opinion on the matter, because I’d have a few choice words on our new player if any news outlet gave me the mic.
After our usual pre-press-conference routine of running a few practice questions in his office, Mr. Flores pulls two ties out of his lower desk drawer, holding each one up to his chest so I can get the full image.
“I know I’m being ridiculous,” he admits. “But you know that place is going to be packed with every major news outlet.”
I smirk, pointing to the navy tie in Flores’s right hand. I’m glad I’m not the only one dressing to impress today.
I’ve got on my personal brand of battle gear—high-rise black skinny jeans with an army-green blazer, dark red lipstick, and the sexiest underwear I own. Not that anyone is going to see this little lacy black number, but just knowing I have it on is a major confidence boost.
And this press conference is going to take every ounce of confidence I can dredge up. I have half a mind to throw on a football helmet too, so maybe I can get through this press conference without Weston noticing or recognizing me, but I know I can’t hide from him forever. If I don’t face him now, I’ll just have to do it tomorrow or the next day. No use putting it off.
And the last thing I want him thinking is that I’m cowering in the corner, fearful of him.
Mr. Flores gets one last look at himself in the reflection of his window, smoothing out his suit jacket and giving himself a nod of approval. “Ready?” he asks, tightening the knot of his tie.
“As I’ll ever be.”
I follow Mr. Flores down the hall to the elevator, which takes us straight to the media room. As soon as the elevator doors slide open, the familiar flash of cameras greets us. I recognize all the usual photographers, but see at least a dozen unfamiliar faces. I guess bringing on Weston really is a big deal. A fifty-million-dollar big deal, if the rumors are true.
As Mr. Flores heads to the table to take his seat next to my dad, I slip to the back of the room. There’s one empty chair onstage, but I know it won’t stay empty for long. As if on cue, the locker-room door swings open and in comes my own personal blast from the past.
It pains me to say it, but Weston Chase looks damn good. Tall. Insanely fit. Cocky swagger.
But this isn’t the high school heartthrob I fell for anymore. Ten years of weightlifting and endurance training have done him quite a few favors. He still has the same short brown hair, which is styled with gel, and his tight smile is as familiar as ever. All the things I loved about him haven’t changed, and I’m sure that means all the things I’ve hated are the same too.
I inhale sharply and watch as he stalks toward his spot between my father and Mr. Flores. He holds up one hand to greet the crowd before taking his seat. Dad gives him a friendly slap on one broad, sculpted shoulder, which makes me twitch a little. It feels like a high school football game all over again with Weston in his jersey and me in the crowd.
And then it happens. He sees me. I should have blended in with the reporters, or at least kept from staring at him for so long, but it’s too late. He spotted me, and he’s not looking away.
Shit. Fixing my focus on Dad, I force myself to do my best impression of someone who gives zero fucks about his presence in this room, nodding along with my dad’s answers as if I’m catching more than every third word. I sure as hell can’t focus with Weston Chase’s stare burning a hole in my cheek.
Even as the press turns their attention to Weston, I never once feel his eyes drift away from me. He answers in that same low, maple-syrup voice that I used to love. That same deep voice that used to whisper against my neck how beautiful I was, how good I felt. It makes every hair on my body stand at attention.
Don’t. You. Dare. Look. At. Him.
I force another breath into my oxygen-deprived lungs, and try not to act like my whole world wasn’t just shaken.
What I’m sure is a twenty-minute press conference feels like a century, but things finally come to a close. As the room clears out, Weston disappears into the locker room in the blink of an eye. Finally.
I take a much-needed pull of oxygen. I did it. I survived.
“Jane! Over here!”
I scan the room for the source of the request—it’s Mr. Flores. He waves me over as he chats one-on-one with a perky blond reporter.
“Jane, can you do me a huge favor? This woman from the Times wants to chat with Colin Crosley, number forty-one. He was Weston’s roommate in college, and she’s looking for a quote. Could you pull him out of the locker room for me?”
I gulp down the enormous lump in my throat. The locker room? You mean the place Weston just walked into?
I rack my brain for any excuse not to go in there, but I’ve got nothing that Flores would buy. He sends me in there to give messages to the players at least once a week. As the coach’s daughter, I’m practically a sister to those guys, and half of them have underwear sponsorships anyway, so all of America has seen them almost naked. It’s never been a big deal.
Until now.
“I’ve got it,” I manage to say through a forced smile.
I square my shoulders, preparing myself for whatever I’m about to walk into. Just get in there, be professional, and get out. Nothing you can’t handle. Maybe you won’t even run into he who shall not be named.
I push open the heavy steel door and wander through the short hallway to the locker-room door. The double doors mean that no one can accidentally steal a peek of a player indisposed, but they also mean you can’t see who’s coming around the corner.
I must have pushed a little too hard on the locker-room door, because it swings all the way open, thwacking a nearby player. “Oops, sorry!”
And by a nearby player, I mean Weston Chase. And by Weston Chase, I mean Weston Chase wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts slung low on his trim hips. Just my luck.
I can’t stop my mouth from falling open a little. I thought he looked good up there in his jersey, but that was nothing compared to the Greek god standing in front of me.
My gaze wanders from his broad shoulders to his smooth, defined pecs and perfectly carved abs. It’s like all the air’s been sucked from the room, and I can’t even speak. Definitely can’t raise my head and look at his eyes. I don’t want to know what I’d find there. Amusement maybe? Curiosity about me, about the woman I’ve grown into? Or worse, indifference?
I swivel on the heels of my leather pumps, desperately looking for someone else, anyone else, I can talk to.
“What’s up, Jane?” It’s Alex, our best linebacker, one of my closest friends on the team.
Thank God.
“Hi, Alex.” I sigh, my voice dripping with relief. “Could you send Colin out? The press wants a
quote from him about . . .” I swallow the rest of the sentence, clenching my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
Alex looks around the locker room, scratching at the scruff on his cheek. “Weston, have you seen Colin?”
Really, Alex? Really? Give me a fricking break. I don’t dare stick around to catch Weston’s response. I’ve got to get out of here.
“Just find him and send him out ASAP,” I rattle off in my sternest assistant-to-the-manager voice.
Alex shoots me a concerned look, his eyebrows knitting together. “You okay, Jane?”
I don’t bother answering, too worried that I might tell the truth. Instead, I push the locker-room door back open and strut out with whatever pride I have remaining.
One press conference down, an entire season to go.
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Acknowledgments
Thank you so very much to my wonderful readers! You make all of this possible, and even though some days are stressful, I don’t take a single minute of that for granted.
I’m so grateful to my amazing team . . . you guys are incredible. Pam Berehulke, Alyssa Garcia, Danielle Sanchez, Flavia Viotti, Becca Mysoor, Anthony Colletti, and Elaine York. I hate the thought of forgetting someone, but man, it takes a village, and I’m so glad you guys are part of mine.
Big squeezes to my husband, John, for the unending support he provides. I would thank my children, but let’s be honest, they’re four years old, and it’s a wonder my books get written at all.
Biggest praise of all—thank you, God, for blessing me so richly, for letting me share my God-given talent of storytelling with the world and providing me with such opportunity. I pray that each and every one of my readers will find his or her own happily-ever-after.
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About the Author
A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over two million books, and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller list more than three dozen times. Kendall has been featured in publications such as USA TODAY, Newsweek, and In Touch Magazine. She lives in Texas with her husband and two sons.
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Other Books by Kendall Ryan
Unravel Me
Make Me Yours
Working It
Craving Him
All or Nothing
When I Break Series
Filthy Beautiful Lies Series
The Gentleman Mentor
Sinfully Mine
Bait & Switch
Slow & Steady
The Room Mate
The Play Mate
The House Mate
The Bed Mate
The Soul Mate
Hard to Love
Reckless Love
Resisting Her
The Impact of You
Screwed
Monster Prick
The Fix Up
Sexy Stranger
Dirty Little Secret
Dirty Little Promise
Torrid Little Affair
xo, Zach
Baby Daddy
Tempting Little Tease
Bro Code
Love Machine
Flirting with Forever
For a complete list of Kendall’s books, visit:
www.kendallryanbooks.com/all-books