Page 38 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“Stop—TMI. Don’t even go there.” She laughs at me and I laugh back because she knows how to get to me. Pretending I don’t feel hot for Jonesy is exhausting.

“Okay, you got me. I’m ridiculously attracted to him and he seems to—”

“He’s so sizzling hot for you I bet he had a stiff one inside those football pants—which are sexy as hell, by the way.”

I’m saved from dwelling on that image because the back door opens and Paul comes bounding inside followed closely by his two walkers. Now I have to let this guy down easy.

And then I have to find a way to rid myself of this unhealthy—at least for my career because I’m pretty sure it’s very healthy for me physically—sexual attraction to one off-limits student athlete.

Chapter Seventeen

Dylan

The drive to Mr. Oscar Harley’s home isn’t long enough. Discussing a deal for sponsorship of his company in exchange of the hefty sum of twenty-five thousand dollars daunts me more than anything I’ve done so far in life. Part of it is that I have no idea what products his company makes and part of it is that it seems too easy, and that makes me suspicious.

The house isn’t far off campus, in the posh nearby town of Center Harbor, and as I pull into the driveway I can see Lake Winnipesaukee out back. My whistle of appreciation is automatic.

The place is stately with a circular drive and columns, reminding me of old plantation homes back in Louisiana except those are all museums now. Taking a deep breath, I get out of my old car and walk up the steps to knock on the front door, half expecting a servant to open it and feeling like I should have brought a bottle of bourbon with me. This feels too much like a social call rather than a business meeting.

When the door opens, the last person I expect to see stands on the other side, all smiles and welcoming.

“What? Heather? What are you doing here?” Of all the people I could imagine running into at Mr. Harley’s home, Heather wouldn’t be anywhere near the list. She’d be wide of the target, not even in the ball park. She laughs at my confusion, but I have to admit, seeing her is a pleasant surprise, dispelling my nerves about coming here.

“Surprise! Mr. Harley is my Uncle Oscar. Come inside.” She takes my arm, less timid here at her uncle’s than at the college parties where I’ve seen her. In the light of day, she’s prettier with no makeup, a spray of freckles across her pert nose, and shiny straight blond hair. She’s not as tall as Amanda, but she has long legs and a fine body that she shows off with skinny jeans and a silky pink tank top. Pale pink is definitely her color. Whereas lipstick red is Amanda’s color. And I am officially pathetic if I don’t stop comparing girls to Amanda. I walk with Heather past the foyer down a hall into a great room open to a bright kitchen and a spectacular patio out back overlooking the lake.

“We’re eating outside, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“So is my being here a good surprise or a bad one?”

“It’s all good, sha. Can’t you tell by my smile?” She blushes and I need to chill because the last thing I want to do is encourage her, especially now that Shelby might be interested. The lack of chemistry when she leans in to me becomes obvious because all I feel is discomfort. Putting some space between us, we walk through the patio doors and Mr. Harley stands up. He darts his glance between us and smiles.

“Ah, I see you’ve met my niece and you seem pleased. That should make things go smoother.”

WTF? I look to Heather to get a clue what the old man’s talking about, but the look of confusion on her face tells me she has no idea what her uncle is up to.

“Have a seat and let’s eat before we bother with the business details.” I sit, but I want to tell him I’d rather deal with the business details first since I’m getting some strange vibes from him. Sliding a glance at Heather, she shrugs and sits next to me. Her presence is a comfort, I won’t lie, but at the same time, her presence is part of the puzzle and therefore part of what could be a problem. Don’t borrow trouble until it barrels you down and you can’t escape it. Gramps laughs at me from his grave somewhere in a faraway bayou. He loved seeing me worm my way out of trouble. He’d be having a fais-do-do if he were here right now and I wish from the bottom of my soul that he was.

Wish I could give him the play-by-play when it’s all over and I was on the other side of this mysteriously tricky dinner meeting—with a fresh twenty-five large in my bank account.

I should have brought Shelby with me and would have if I’d known Heather would be here. I get the idea he’d appreciate the role of running interference. He pleaded a good case to come along for moral support. But I need to handle this—whatever the fuck it is because it no longer feels like a business dinner—myself. This meeting is too important to fuck with. It’s for Momma. And trust me, there’s no other reason on the planet that would make me grovel to a stranger for money.

It would be different if I were going to a bank for a loan, but this is personal, like I’m an indentured servant—or more like a prostitute, because I have a twisted premonition that Heather plays a role by the way her uncle is eyeing us.

“What’ll you have to drink? We have beer or martinis. I’m having straight bourbon if you’d rather.” He glances at Heather with an indulgent smile. “Sorry, none for you for another two years.” Then he looks to me for my answer and everything in me wants to grab his bourbon and down it right now. But bourbon is full of false courage and I need to dig deep and come up with the real thing.

“Thanks, but I’ll stick with ice water. I’m in training.” I give him a pleasant smile and determine to keep my expression as banal as possible for all our sakes. No need to upset Heather since she seems to be an innocent party to whatever this is.

“Ah yes. A self-disciplined gentleman. It’s what I like about you most.”

“Don’t make me blush in front of the lady.” She’s the one who blushes. I turn to the lake. “You have a beautiful place here. It’s almost as pretty as the bayou back home.”

“Is it? You impress me. You’re a Cajun, but you’ve overcome your background to achieve great things for a youngster—”

Overcome my background? WTF? Fire flashes through my blood, but before I can say a word, or even think what to say in my defense that’s not going to end in violence, Heather speaks up.

“Uncle, what does Cajun have to do with it? There’s nothing wrong with Dylan’s background.”