She scoffs, rolling those gorgeous eyes of hers. Again. “Doubt it.”
I bite on my bottom lip, trying to hold back the grin ready to break free. “Do you want to grab a coffee?”
“The Boston Breakers follow concussion protocol, right?”
I swear my jaw tics, even as I grin and fight back a disbelieving laugh at her dig. “So you think you know how I operate?” I don’t let her interject this time. “Fine, no date, just coffee. If you don’t like me, you can leave right away.”
“I’m trying to do that now.” She sighs, her hand shooting up to twirl her ladybug earring. “When’s the last time you tooksomeone out to dinner? And don’t even lie and tell me you offer to make them breakfast.”
“You want to find out?”
She finally laughs. Might be my new favorite sound.
“Does this work for you normally?”
I shrug, scrubbing a hand over the dark scruff on my jaw. I should have shaved.
“I don’t know how to say this any nicer, and frankly, I don’t owe you an explanation. I have work, and I can’t be late.” She turns to walk away.
“It can’t wait a few minutes?”
She peeks over her shoulder to speak to me. “If you have to ask that, then I’m going to assume you don’t really care. And I’m not wasting my time on men who don’t. So…”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Her phone rings, and she turns to grab it from the small purse slung across her body. I can’t hear all the details—something about her sister—before she hangs up.
“Family emergency. Now I really have to go. Bye, James.” She dashes off, running across the street.
“It’s Jack!” I yell out after her.
But she doesn’t turn around.
Shit, how did I fuck that up?
James?FuckingJames?
I curl my hands tighter on the heated leather steering wheel, hanging a left by the old scenic highway. It’ll take me twice as long to drive home now, but…
James?
An annoyed chuckle sticks in my throat. Or maybe it’s just the fact that I can still taste the several rum and Cokes fromlast night. Maybe not my best moment. I’m working on it. I swear.
I crack the window in my new forest-green G-Wagon. Her name is Betty, and we’re in a committed relationship after I wrecked my Porsche last spring. Fitzy, my left winger, tried to take her for a drive last month, and I tackled him to the ground. Some lessons have to be learned the hard way.
I always hate Merritt Point at the end of summer, and today is no different. Fall Fest has my small hometown celebrating this caramel apple sticky idea that fall in New England is king. Summer is my favorite. September has always felt like a long, awkward walk of shame to October.
I’m stuck at another red light when my agent, Heather, calls. I answer, groaning.
“I was calling to ask if you made it to Merritt Point, but I’ve seen the videos.”
I ignore the sharp twinge at my temple. “Heather, we’ve done great things together, but I swear if you are just going to cockblock me by sending Laura to shadow me, I’ll fire you.”
She cackles. “You wouldn’t.”
I wouldn’t. She knows it. I know it.
“What videos?”
