Sawyer Reid chuckled as he slapped Finn on the back. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m surprised you’ve been able to remain upright on that stool as long as you have. But come on, Finn. For a guy who used to always be the life of every party he was at, you’ve turned into the biggest buzzkill on the planet. Now, stop sulking and come join the rest of us.”
Finn waved his former teammate - his one-time favorite wide receiver - away irritably. “Not in the mood to party,” he grumbled. “Just let me sit here and drown my sorrows, okay?”
Sawyer looked perplexed, clearly not having any idea about how to handle a morose Finn. “Look, I know you’re depressed because your girlfriend couldn’t make it. But you’re not the only one who’s been alone these last couple of days. Look at Warren, for example. His wife stayed home back in Dallas and he came here by himself.”
Finn glared at his friend. “That’s because Georgeanne is due to give birth in less than two weeks, you moron. And Warren must text or call her every ten minutes at least to make sure her labor hasn’t started. He’s getting on my nerves, you know?”
Sawyer grimaced. “Okay, that’s a bad example. What about Danny? He’s here alone, and I know damned well he was real serious about some woman the last time we saw him.”
Finn drained his glass and motioned to the bartender for a refill. “He caught that same woman cheating on him with his best friend. But rather than find some action of his own to get revenge, he’s spent the last two days crying into his beer and trying to think of ways to win her back. Even I’m not that pathetic.”
“Shit,” muttered Sawyer. “Strike two. Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve hardly seen anything of my wife these past two days. She’s been busy running up our credit cards at the spa and the shops. Every time I’m looking for her she’s having a manicure or a salt scrub - whatever the hell that is - or dragging half a dozen shopping bags filled with more overpriced designer crap into our suite. Given how little I’ve seen of her I might as well be here alone.”
Finn shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “Your problem, not mine, buddy. Now, go find your cute little wife and leave me alone, okay?”
“No.” Sawyer shook his head firmly. “I’m not just going to let you sit here and act like a pathetic old drunk. I never thought I’d see the day when the infamous Finn McManus looked like he was going to start crying over a girl. Where’s your pride, dumbass? Hey, if your girl doesn’t care enough about you to put aside her own needs for one lousy fucking day, then maybe she isn’t worth it, you know?”
“She’s worth it,” mumbled Finn almost incoherently.
“Is she, Finn? Is she really?” prodded Sawyer. “Christ, you’ve been in the worst mood for the past two days - grouchy, pissed off, surly. I don’t have to tell you how unlike you that really is. Don’t forget you and I were roommates most of the seven years we’ve played together, so I know all of your moods. And the mood you’re in right now isn’t one that suits you at all.”
“Leave me alone, Sawyer,” said Finn tiredly. “Like I said, all I want to do is to sit here and be miserable and drink myself into oblivion.”
“Tough. Oh, you can drink all you want. You’re just not doing it alone. Come on, you’ve been the worst party guest in the world ever since you arrived, hardly talking, having no fun at all. Everyone was laughing their asses off when you turned in early after dinner the last two nights. When word got around that you were moping over a woman - well, I’m not going to repeat some of the insults that flew around the room. But more than one person compared you to a female body part - the crude slang term and not the anatomically correct one - while a few others wondered if your backbone had been surgically removed. So, come on. I’m not going to let one of my best friends be insulted by a bunch of rookies and first and second year players who are barely old enough to shave. Let’s go show them the real Finn McManus - the one who tells the dirtiest jokes and the funniest stories, and who can drink just about anyone in the room under the table. And,” Sawyer added slyly, elbowing his friend in the ribs, “the one who’s guaranteed to attract the most women around him. I guarantee those little bastards will eat their words when they see you in action. Now, come on. Time for the real party to begin.”
Maybe because he felt sorry for himself, or perhaps because he was already more than halfway drunk, or most likely because he had just stopped giving a shit a couple of days ago, Finn stumbled to his feet and let Sawyer drag him away from his solitary misery.
***
Delilah took a deep breath, trying to fight off both her overwhelming fatigue and the cloying sensation of claustrophobia she was experiencing even before setting foot into the noisy, crowded, and chaotic room. She’d been initially afraid that she would arrive far too late, that by this time the party would already be starting to wind down. And she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or dismayed to find that in actuality things appeared to just be getting started, judging by the sheer number of bodies packed inside the night club that had been appropriated for tonight’s party.
Fortunately, she’d saved the email Finn had forwarded to her weeks ago with all of the details about this weekend’s schedule of events, including an electronic invitation to this exclusive party. Otherwise, she would have been obliged to email or text him so that he could have arranged for her to gain entry, thereby spoiling her surprise arrival. An arrival, she thought grimly as she strode briskly inside the packed room, that her boyfriend had better be damned grateful about, considering she’d practically had to move heaven and earth in order to be here tonight.
Despite Finn’s belief to the contrary, she had felt desperately guilty and regretful about not being able to accompany him this weekend. For his sake, she would have certainly been willing to put aside her dislike of these sort of big, splashy, over the top events, as well as the pretentious group of celebrities and wanna-be’s who would be attending. She had been fully prepared to paste on a happy smile, make polite conversation, and gut her way through the three day ordeal, simply to make Finn happy and to show she could be as supportive of his career as he had been of hers.
But, try as she might, she honestly hadn’t been able to carve out the time to get away for three entire days. If the deal with Bloomingdale’s hadn’t been imminent, she would have at least been able to fly out on Friday evening, and then return early Sunday morning. The sheer amount of work that still had to get done before the end of September, however, overwhelmed her at times, and she had very nearly succumbed to a full-blown panic attack on at least three occasions. The pressure Finn had been applying about coming to Vegas with him had only made things that much worse, because then she had also had her guilt to deal with.
She’d been furious at him on Wednesday night, pissed off at his total lack of sensitivity and understanding, and while she might have said a few things she’d regretted the next day, at the time they were things that needed to be said. And it was more than obvious that Finn was angry, too, given the infrequency and terseness of his texts these past few days. Delilah had hoped that he’d get over it after twenty-four hours, but apparently he was still in a snit about the whole situation since she had only received one very brief text from him earlier today, a text that was so impersonal he could have sent it to his dentist.
Calvin was the one who’d convinced her to make the trip out here tonight after all, the one who had met her in the office at three a.m. this morning to put in several uninterrupted hours of work before the rest of the staff arrived. With so much to do to get ready for the Bloomingdale’s deal, nearly everyone in the office was working six days a week lately, and many of them seven. Delilah had managed a scant four hours of sleep on Friday night before dragging herself out of bed and into the office in the middle of the night, all so she could get enough work done to be able to meet Finn in Vegas.
Calvin had been at her beck and call the entire day, bringing her coffee and tea and food, giving her neck rubs and pep talks when he seemed to sense she needed the
m the most, and making all of the arrangements for her brief, impromptu trip. He’d even gone to her condo and packed a bag for her, then arranged for a taxi to take her to the airport. She had taken one of the last flights out of San Francisco to Las Vegas, arriving in just before seven-thirty, and then immediately taken a cab here to Caesars Palace.
What she hadn’t counted on was the horrendously slow Saturday night traffic along the Strip, and it had taken nearly an hour to travel less than ten miles. Once inside the enormous hotel, Delilah had found her way to the closest ladies room, shutting herself inside one of the stalls as she’d hurriedly changed clothes. She’d been reluctant to wear her party dress and shoes on the flight, knowing that the black cocktail dress - with its low-cut lace bodice, and bandage style skirt that ended several inches above the knee - would attract way too much attention. Not to mention the fact that the four inch black lace and mesh stilettos weren’t exactly suited for dashing through busy airports.
She had touched up her makeup in the restroom mirror, adding her favorite red lipstick and making her eyes and brows more dramatic, before deciding that she would do. The bell desk had also been crazy busy considering the hour, and thus it had been after nine o’clock by the time she had checked her bag with them. Next had come fighting her way through hordes of hotel guests as she tried to locate the night club, and finally convincing the bouncer who guarded the entrance that she really had been invited to this party.
And now that she was actually inside, her next task would be to somehow locate Finn among what looked like hundreds of guests. Between the throbbing bass music a DJ was spinning somewhere, and the raised voices of all the guests, the noise level in the room was far too loud for her to ask a passer-by if they had seen Finn anywhere. And since she had yet to meet any of his friends from the network or the NFL, Delilah wouldn’t have even known who to approach.
As she made her way around the cavernous club, she lost count of how many suggestive comments and wolf whistles were directed her way, cursed each time she had to wedge her way in between a tightly packed group of people - all of whom seemed to be more than half-drunk already - and winced when someone stepped on her foot. She smacked away at least a dozen different hands who touched her hip or arm or ass far too intimately as she struggled to pass by. But then, when she was almost ready to forget about surprising him and send Finn an urgent text asking him where the hell he was, she saw him - and had to fight off the urge to toss her phone directly at his head instead. Either that or upend the contents of his drink over his stupid head. She would have preferred to dump it in his lap, she thought savagely, except for the little matter of that spot currently being occupied by a leggy, voluptuous blonde.
This, she realized with a mixture of sadness and fury, was the real Finn McManus. The hard partying, hard drinking, carefree player who had graced the cover of too many tabloids to count. The lifelong bachelor who was destined to break her heart just like Desiree had warned her he would. And the one she had stupidly, naively believed could actually change for the better, who could be the kind of man she could finally make a commitment to, and perhaps even make a life with. Why, oh why, she thought to herself wildly, had she chosen to ignore all of her instincts when it came to Finn - the instincts that had practically screamed at her to turn and run away from him as fast as she could. All the signs had been there, after all - the signs that pointed to Finn being no different than Daniel Ferris, the only other man who had ever broken Delilah’s heart.
Finn hadn’t noticed her yet, small wonder considering the crowd gathered around him, and the way he seemed to be having the time of his life, she noted scornfully. He was seated smack in the middle of the same sort of oversized black leather sectional sofa that she’d seen throughout the nightclub area. There were at least two dozen, maybe more, men and women who were hanging on his every word as he animatedly told some sort of story, or more likely one of his risqué jokes. On the low, glass-topped table in front of where he sat were scattered empty and half-empty glasses, bottles of beer, and several bottles of champagne. He looked, thought Delilah snidely, like he was holding court or something, and relishing every minute of being in the spotlight.
Besides the trashy blonde who’d taken up residence on his lap, her arms looped intimately around his neck, there was a woman seated on either side of him - the chic Asian woman who had snuggled up close enough to push her boobs against his arm, and a very drunk redhead who was laughing so hard that her voice could be heard over the loud din. The redhead kept running her hand up and down Finn’s arm, and Delilah longed to dislocate one or more of those long fingers, the way she’d learned in a self-defense class.
Her entire body was practically shaking with rage right now, and she had to clench both fists tightly to prevent her from swiping all of the glasses and bottles off that table in one motion, thereby causing a commotion that would be sure to quiet this place down real fast. But she wasn’t about to give Finn the satisfaction of causing a scene, even though she longed for nothing more than to smash one of those champagne bottles over his infuriatingly thick head. She didn’t even want to think about how hard she’d pushed herself today, how she had been awake for almost twenty-four hours straight now, just so she wouldn’t let him down by not showing up for this awful party. Because if she let herself remember all that, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t start screaming at the top of her lungs.
Just as she decided to make a hasty departure, having chosen not to make her presence known to Finn, he happened to glance up in her direction and froze. Delilah guessed that she must have been giving him the sort of evil eye that could burn a hole through a person’s head, given the expression of utter panic that came over his face suddenly.
What happened next would have been hysterically funny - the sort of slapstick scene that used to occur regularly in old comedy movies like the Keystone Cops - had she felt the least bit like laughing. Finn surged to his feet unsteadily, heedless of the skanky blonde who’d been cuddled up on his lap. The blonde shrieked as she was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor, causing several of the people who’d been sitting on the sectional to scamper out of the way. Finn bumped into the glass topped table hard enough to topple over most of the glasses and bottles, resulting in beer and champagne being sprayed on most anyone in the vicinity. There was yelling and shoving and such utter chaos that she couldn’t help smirking just a little.
But then, as Finn began to stagger towards her, she glared at him warningly before pushing her way through the crowd on her way to the exit. This time she didn’t bother being polite, or try to avoid contact, and instead physically shoved people out of her way, stepping on more than a few toes in the process, and sticking her elbow in a countless number of ribs as she hurried out of the club.
Delilah had almost made it to the elevators, thinking that she was home free, when Finn caught up to her, taking hold of her arm and spinning her around to face him. He was visibly stricken, so upset that she could swear he was about to start crying.
“Delilah,” he croaked. “What - what are you doing here?” He glanced at her sexy black lace dress and heels. “I - I mean, obviously you’re here to attend the party. What I meant was - shit, what did I mean?”
She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “Jesus, Finn. Just how much have you had to drink anyway? Enough to pickle your brain, I’d guess. Though even someone as wasted as you are right now should have guessed that I came all this way to surprise you. To support you. To make you happy, you fucking manwhore jackass. And this is what I get in return - you holding court like you’re Caesar himself at one of those Roman orgies. Which makes me wonder exactly what else has been going on these past two days. God, how stupid I’ve been to think you could ever change!”
“No, no,” he protested, trying desperately to put his arms around her, only to find her hand planted in the middle of his chest, holding him at bay. “I swear to God, Delilah, that nothing has happened since I arrived. Nothing. I’
ve been so bummed out about the fight we had that I’ve been closing myself up in my room after dinner each night, barely even talked to any of my friends. Until a little while ago, that is.”
“Yeah,” she sneered in agreement. “Guess you decided that you’d been a good little boy long enough, and that poor, lonely Finn deserved some fun. Tell me, which one of your fan club was going to be lucky enough to go back to your room with you tonight? Or maybe you planned to take all three. Wouldn’t be the first time you did something like that, would it?”
Finn shook his head vehemently. “Honest to God, Delilah, I had no intention of doing anything like that. No intention of screwing around on you. I know what you just saw looked bad, I’ll admit that, but - ”
“Looked bad!” she screeched, drawing the attention of a couple of dozen passers-by. But she was too pissed off right now, too hurt, to give a damn about being overheard or observed. “Finn, that blonde tramp was practically giving you a fucking lap dance, while the Asian chick was rubbing up against you like a cat. And if that redhead’s dress was cut any lower everyone in the place would have seen her boobs. Which, by the way, were totally fake. And if your little harem there wasn’t bad enough, I’m not even going to ask just how much you’ve had to drink tonight. You reek of booze so bad it’s seeping out of your pores. And don’t,” she cautioned, holding up a hand in warning, “try to bullshit me that someone spilled a drink on you this time. You can barely stay on your feet you’re so wasted.”
He look shamefaced at her harsh rebuke. “I know I messed up real bad,” he admitted meekly. “But I was angry and hurt and lonely, and I’d already had too much to drink when some of my buddies strong armed me into joining their group. That’s no excuse, I know, but you already knew I was an idiot, Delilah. Look, can we maybe go somewhere more private and talk about this? We can have dinner in one of the restaurants, or just go to my suite and order room service.”
The Player Gets Coached Page 31