by Kennedy Ryan
The emotion hardens like cement on his face.
“If I can’t trust you to keep your legs closed,” he says, deliberately coarse in a way he has never been with me, “I certainly can’t trust you with my career.”
I anticipated that, of course, but to hear him voice it . . . the dissolution of a years-long partnership breaks my heart. Not because I’ll lose his business, but because no one else will take better care of his career than I will. He won’t be in better hands. He can’t be. No one else will care about, not just the player or the bottom line, but about the man, the way I do.
He strides back to the door, grabs the bag he dropped what seems like hours ago but was only a few minutes, and turns to give me one more disparaging look.
“I’ll send for my things,” he spits. “And start looking for a new agent.”
“But your contract,” I protest. “I’m so close to getting you the supermax deal you deserve. If you’d let me—”
“You think I care about that when you’ve . . .” He shakes his head and adjusts the bag on his shoulder. “Once I put my career in the hands of an inexperienced girl who knew next to nothing, and I’ve made millions. I thought it was because you were special, but you’re not. So I’m sure someone else can do just as good.”
I nod, biting my lip to choke back another sob. Losing my best friend, the man who has been with me—and I have been with him—through ten years of triumph and pain and success and failure feels like I’m losing a part of me.
“Zo, you have to know I’m so very ashamed of myself,” I tell him, not bothering to dry the tears coursing down my cheeks.
He doesn’t look back when he jerks the door open but tosses his final words over his shoulder.
“Yo tambien.”
So am I.
24
Banner
I’ve been sitting here in the dark, pickling in my own tears and staring at Gino’s take out menu. Only fifteen minutes away lies the best pepperoni pizza I’ve ever tasted. Usually I pick off the pepperoni, blot most of the grease away with a paper towel, peel off the doughy crust and restrict myself to one slice. If I’m splurging, maybe two.
But tonight, with Zo’s disappointment heavy on my shoulders and his shouted recriminations trapped in my walls, echoing in my mind even after he’s gone, I want to eat the whole pizza. I imagine how good it would feel to tear my teeth into something soft and carby, not crunchy salads or strips of lean meat. Something puffy as a marshmallow. Something gooey that feels like a pillow in my mouth.
Comforting.
I’m reminding myself of all the things I learned in counseling, but it wouldn’t kill me to eat pizza. My body wouldn’t balloon overnight. I indulge every once in a while. It would be why I’m eating it: the fact that there’s a deep crater in my chest hollowed out by how I’ve let myself down and let Zo down, how I’ve hurt the kindest man I’ve ever met. I want to stuff food in that hole, and I want to believe, even if it’s only as long as it takes me to finish the meal, that pepperoni makes it better. Giving in to that feels like tossing a sobriety coin in a wishing well and hoping for the best. But right now I don’t care how I feel better. I just need to.
Fuck it.
I pick up my cell to select Gino’s contact when the phone rings in my hand. And, of course, it’s Quinn. For two rings, I consider not picking up, but I know she’ll just keep calling. I cancelled our workout this morning. I haven’t been answering my phone. If she tried the office, Maali will have told her I called in sick. If I don’t answer, she’ll be at my door.
That’s what I would do for her.
“Hey.” I lovingly caress the takeout menu and try to sound normal. “What’s up, chica?”
“What’s up?” Quinn asks, her voice tight. “What’s up is you blowing off this morning’s workout, calling in sick, and missing our appointment tonight.”
“Appointment?” I sit up straight on my couch, suddenly alert. “What appointment?”
“Remember we had the AesThetics pitch tonight?”
I’m sinking through my living room floor with embarrassment.
“Shit,” I mutter and cover my face with one hand. “I can’t believe I . . . Maali would have—”
“Called?” Quinn interjects. “Yeah, she did. A few times, but you weren’t answering.”
I close my eyes and push the hair, tangled from the abuse my fingers have given it all day, out of my face.
“I’m so sorry.” I swallow fresh tears. Not only have I ruined things with Zo, but I may have jeopardized an opportunity I’ve been cultivating for Quinn for months. “I’ll call them and re-schedule.”
“Oh, I still met with them.” A smile enters her voice. “You’d already sent the ideas you wanted to discuss, and you and I had gone over them. It was easy to listen to what they had to say and tell them what we were thinking.”
“And?” I ask hopefully.
“Well, I didn’t do anything.” Quinn offers a teasing laugh. “You have to earn your keep. I told them you’d follow up tomorrow since you were sick tonight.”
A pause redolent with questions.
“Are you sick?” Quinn asks. “None of this is like you. All us mere mortals take a day or so to play hooky, but you never have. So what’s going on?”
And I can’t even say. Shame, hurt, and frustration roll into a gag shoved in my mouth. They stop the words for how royally I’ve messed up. My best friend hurt and gone. One of my firm’s biggest clients leaving. Not to mention the censure I will inevitably receive from my family. Mama would be hard-pressed to choose between her natural daughter and Alonzo Vidale. How many rosaries have there been for his big games or when he was injured? I can already see her glaring at the empty seat where he should be this Christmas.
“Banner?” Quinn prompts.
And the crying starts again. Not the racking sobs of the last few hours, but a trickle of hurt and disappointment that I’m too tired to wipe away. Just sniffling and my helpless silence.
“Oh, God,” Quinn says, her voice sinking to a horrified whisper. “Is it Zo? Did he cheat? Some ho on the road? Because I have just the thing for when a guy cheats.”
“What do you have for when a girl does?” I ask, hush-voiced.
Shock waves blast me from the other end.
“I’m on my way.”
Thirty minutes later, I haven’t moved from my spot on the couch, still reviewing how things got so messed-up. One glance at my phone confirms that Maali left several voice mails, as did Quinn. I don’t have the kind of life you can just drop out of for a day. My life is a train at full-speed. Try just “hopping” off for a minute without a scheduled stop, and things get run over.
One person I don’t have any missed calls from is Jared. Something burns in my chest. Hurt or disappointment. I feel like Buffy after Angel finally got into her pants and then became a cool aloof demon who never called and then tried to kill her. Of course, that’s extreme. For one, Jared has been a devil all along. I knew that. Two, I don’t think he’ll come after my heart with a stake. He’d be more subtle than that. I could be reading too much into it. Before we so fucktastically wrecked my desk . . . and my life . . . he was giving me space. Maybe this is more space while I sort through things with Zo. Or maybe he’s done? I should be grateful, but I think I feel bereft.
I know exactly how I feel about what I’ve done to Zo. I know how I feel about the violent betrayal of my own code of values and principles. But I don’t know how to feel about Jared giving up on me. And I should. I should know this. Moral clarity, based on what I embrace as true for my life, has always been my guide. Right now I feel murkier than ever, stuck in this morass. Unsure.
The door opening shakes me from my philosophical musings on the couch. Quinn has a key. She appears, still dressed from her AesThetics meeting, I assume, because she’s very smartly turned out. In contrast I look . . .
“You look like shit,” she confirms what was heretofore only a suspicion.
“I f
igured as much.” I touch my swollen eyelids and cheeks still hot from crying.
“I brought reinforcements.” She holds up a plastic bag. “Vodka popsicles. Only a hundred calories, and it’s like alcohol and ice cream!”
I smile for the first time in what feels like years.
“That’s better than the pepperoni pizza I was contemplating.” I hold up the Gino’s menu.
She looks from my blotchy, swollen face to the menu.
“Some days call for pizza, honey.” She snatches the menu from me. “Don’t overthink it and don’t overdo it. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
She dials the number on the menu.
“Yes, do you have personal size? How many slices?” She beams at me. “We’ll take one of those.”
One hour and four miniature slices of pepperoni pizza later, two for each of us, she’s drawn the whole gory tale out of me, fully loaded with additional tears and self-recriminations. I hope I’d be as compassionate as she is listening to me. There’s no judgment in her kind eyes.
“I can’t believe I did this,” I gasp, fighting back more tears. “And all this damn crying. I don’t cry like this. I’m sorry.”
I blink back tears and stare at my hands tremoring in my lap.
“I hurt him so badly, Quinn. If you could have seen, have heard how crushed he was. Zo, the sweetest man on the planet, and I do this to him. I’m such a—”
“Ah, ah, ah . . .” Quinn slices in with a wagging finger. “Watch what you say about the woman who literally saved my life.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I shake my head and shake off the praise.
“I’m not.” Quinn puts her hands over mine. “I had one leg and a death wish when you came for me, lady. I’d already tried to kill myself twice, if you remember.”
Quinn’s normally cheery gaze goes solemn with the memories.
“You saw something in me no one else did, Banner,” she says softly. “And you wouldn’t stop, you stubborn bitch, until I saw it, too. And it made me want to live again.”
She blinks back tears of her own.
“Do you realize how many people you’ve done that for?” she asks. “How many guys are still in the NBA because of how you fight for them? Protect them? Smacked them on the head when they needed it? Everyone’s not like you. The way you care for people, how you fight for them, it’s extraordinary. Your loyalty is extraordinary.”
A humorless laugh huffs past my lips.
“I think Zo would probably question my loyalty right about now,” I say, glancing back down at my lap.
“You’re a good person who did something out of character. You can’t beat yourself up forever. Banging your head against the wall burns a hundred and fifty calories, but is that good for you?”
“What?” I laugh, even though I’m not sure when I’ll be rid of this guilt. “Oh my God.”
“I’m just saying I know it will take time, but you’ll have to forgive yourself,” she says, sharing a smile with me. “And the connection you describe with Jared, what I saw for myself between the two of you, it’s hard to ignore—to walk away from—especially if your relationship is . . .”
Quinn squints, searching for the right word.
“Unsatisfying,” she settles on. “You probably knew before Jared even came back into your life that things were not quite what they should be with Zo. It’s painful now, but maybe in the long run . . .”
I process that, not sure I’m ready to let myself off the hook that easily.
“And Jared Foster?” Quinn asks tentatively. “May I ask a highly inappropriate and insensitive question?”
My lips quirk into another smile. “Those are your specialty, aren’t they?”
Her eyes are avid, and she’s practically licking her lips. “Was it good?”
Good would be an understatement. I’m forming words for what sex with Jared was like when the doorbell rings. I glance down at my grimy appearance and grimace.
“Yeah, I’ll get it,” Quinn says, standing and patting my shoulder reassuringly on her way to the door. “And get rid of whoever it is. Have one of those Popsicles!”
I’m giving the frozen alcoholic treat a nice long lick when she reappears, eyes bright and cheeks rosy. Or what I like to call the Jared Foster effect. He walks in right behind her.
God, why does he have to look like that?
Jared’s appeal has never been wholly physical. I’ve seen lots of beautiful men in my line of work. True specimens of manhood. There’s more to my connection with Jared than how gorgeous he is.
But it certainly doesn’t hurt.
“Hey,” he says, filling the arched entrance to my living room. His hands are shoved into dark-wash jeans and a white Kerrington T-shirt stretches across the width of his chest. His hair is wildly tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it.
Or like I have.
“Hey.” I look at Quinn and then at the Popsicle in my hand. Anywhere but at him. It’s the first time we’ve been in the same room since what I’ve come to term as Deskageddon, where the world as I knew it ended.
An awkward silence encircles the three of us, and I’m not sure how to break it. Quinn knows what we did. Jared probably suspects I told her. Meanwhile I’m wrestling with a cacophony of emotions and sensations, ranging from guilt to turned on. I’ve never been an oversexed person. I enjoy sex but can always back burner it. It was one of the reasons a long-distance relationship worked so well for me and Zo. But Jared unleashes something wild inside of me. Something I’m not sure how to tame.
“Um, I should go,” Quinn says after a few seconds. She grabs her purse and clears her throat. “Good seeing you again, Jared.”
Peripherally I see him nod, but I feel him looking at me unwaveringly.
“We’ll touch base tomorrow, then, Banner.” Quinn sounds unnaturally bright. I look up and she widens her eyes meaningfully—her sign for OMG.
“Okay,” I say, rediscovering my vocal cords. “I’ll call AesThetics first thing in the morning. Thanks for coming by.”
The soft click of her leaving through the front door doesn’t mobilize me. I stare at the liquored ice in my hand, heedless of it melting and dripping between my fingers. I’m not sure what should happen next. My principles, my convictions, have always anchored me, made me certain of every step. They prescribed every step. Now that I’ve violated them so egregiously, I’m in a minefield, and any step I take may explode under my feet.
“You’re making a mess,” Jared says, walking over to take what’s left of the Popsicle and tosses it into the trash.
He takes my hand and slowly licks the icy, flavored vodka from my fingers. His tongue is like warm velvet making love to the delicate webbing between each digit. All the muscles below the belt clench. I’ll never see that tongue again without remembering how he lapped at what my body poured out for him. In the moment, it felt like perfection. But confessing it to Zo, it felt like sin. I snatch my hand away and finally look up at him. Concern crinkles the smooth lines of his face.
“What have you done to yourself?” He traces around my puffy eyes. “You’ve burst the blood vessels.”
I should have known. That happens whenever I cry too hard, but I haven’t cried this hard in a very long time. Maybe since the last time I cried over him. I pull back from his touch, and he drops his hand to his side. His concerned expression hardens like cement.
“So you told him?” he asks. “What happened?”
I walk away, needing space, and sit in the sleek leather recliner closest to the fireplace. I avoid the couch where I’ve perched all day because when Jared sits down, I don’t want it to be next to me. The man should come with a highly flammable tag, preferably near his cock.
“I told him, yeah.” I fiddle with the drawstring at the waist of my lounge pants.
He doesn’t respond and I glance up to see his attention fixed on the wall, dented, decorated with fake snowflakes, a pool of glass on the floor.
“He was upset,” I of
fer by way of explanation.
Jared frowns, his brows jerking together.
“He didn’t . . . touch you, hurt you?”
“Of course not,” I answer immediately. “He took his anger out on the wall, not on me.”
“I imagine he’d like to take it out on me, too,” Jared says, a rueful tilt to his mouth.
“I, uh . . . didn’t tell him who.”
A heartbeat of silence in which he continues to look at me, and I studiously avoid his stare.
“Why not?” he asks.
“You move in the same circles.” I shrug. “I didn’t think it was necessary, though he did want to know.”
“You should have told him. He’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Why do you say that?” I lift puzzled eyes and find him still fixed on me.
“Because it’s going to happen again,” he says huskily, casually like it should be self-evident. “And I want everyone to know.”
Breath rises from my chest in a slow push. I’m not sure if it’s anger, frustration.
Or worse, relief.
“I wasn’t sure if . . .” My fingers find their way back to the drawstring. “You didn’t call so I thought maybe . . .”
“Jesus, Ban,” he says softly but with intensity. “I call and text every day and you ignore me, so I give you space. I lie back as long as I can stand it so you can sort this shit out with Zo, and you assume I don’t want you? What the hell?”
Welcome to the female mind. Hope you enjoy your stay.
He crosses over to the recliner where I’m seated and takes my hand.
“Do you know why I came here tonight?” he asks, stroking the lifeline of my palm with the pad of his thumb.
“No,” I whisper and look up to find an emotion so naked on Jared’s face I almost don’t recognize him. “Why’d you come?”
“To make sure he didn’t forgive you.”
25
Jared
It’s a shitty thing to say. I know that, but I’m being honest. All day I wrestled with the thought that maybe Zo would find it in that famously magnanimous heart to forgive Banner, and then she would feel compelled to stay with him. And I’d just have to break it up all over again.