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She chuckled. “Well, yes and no. For me, there isn’t much to do and I don’t work most of the summer. But the sales team busts their butts to sell season tickets for the upcoming season, so you’ll be busy.”
“I imagine it’s harder to do when the guys aren’t around to sign things and stuff.”
“A lot of the guys live here year-round. Wes is always available, and while some of the guys go home to Russia or wherever, most of them take a vacation but then come back to town.”
“Good to know.”
She nodded.
“What do you do all summer then? If you’re not working?”
Monique’s dark eyes were suddenly shrouded, and she stared off at nothing for a few seconds. “Usually Tony and I travel, spend time together.”
“Usually?”
“He’s asked for a separation.”
“Your husband asked for a separation?” I was flabbergasted. “Oh my god. When did this happen?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“You okay?”
“No.” She blinked furiously, as if trying to keep the tears welling up in her eyes from falling. “He told me he’s not attracted to me anymore.”
I gaped at her. “What the hell is wrong with him? You’re beautiful!”
She smiled faintly, swiping at her eyes. “Thanks. But I’ve put on some weight, and he basically told me I was too fat for him now.”
“You’re not fat,” I gasped in horror. “Your body is amazing. I would kill to have an ass like yours.”
“Oh, he likes the ass just fine. It’s the thicker thighs and the stomach that’s not flat anymore that turns him off. I used to be an athlete, a runner, and I guess he got used to that body. The one I had when I worked out all day, every day. Before I got a grown-up job.” She managed a tiny eye roll, though her heart didn’t seem to be in it.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I was shocked and disappointed in a man I didn’t even know, but mostly I felt terrible for her. What kind of man said something like that? Because she was truly a stunning woman, with cheekbones for days and a smile that lit up the room.
“I’m thirty-seven,” she said quietly. “We were talking about getting pregnant this year. And now…” Her voice trailed off and she lifted her hand, motioning to the bartender to bring us two more drinks.
“Are you going to try counseling or anything?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m heartbroken and sad, but I’m also furious. Who does his pigeon-toed, bald-headed ass think he is? Because there is zero chance I’m going on some kind of diet to win back a man who promised to love me in sickness and in health and all that bullshit. Uh-uh. No way, no how. Fuck that. If I’m not good enough at this weight, he don’t deserve me when I’m in better shape.”
“Good for you.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do going forward, but I know I’m better off without him.”
“I’m so sorry.” I put my hand on her arm. “We haven’t known each other very long, but I’m here for you, even if it’s just to listen.”
“I appreciate that.” She’d just reached for her drink when her eyes lit up. “Well, now, isn’t this a fun surprise!”
“What?” I turned in confusion, my gaze landing on…Nash freakin’ Reilly.
The amount of heat that man oozed was downright disconcerting. Even in low-slung jeans and a Metallica T-shirt, my lady parts sat right up and took notice, no matter how many times I told them to shut the fuck up. When Monique waved him and Lars Jansson over, I nearly groaned with frustration.
“Hey, Mo.” Nash hugged her tightly. “You doin’ okay?”
“Hangin’ in there.” She smiled. “You know Sariah, right?”
“I do.” He turned and fixed those damn blue eyes on me, leaving me a little breathless. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you.” I forced myself not to stare at his broad shoulders or flat stomach, keeping my gaze firmly on his face.
“Do you know Lars?” He turned to his tall, burly teammate. “Lars, this is Sariah, the new woman in sales. Sariah, Lars.”
“Hello. I’ve seen you around, but we haven’t formally met.”
I shook his hand.
“I have heard many nice things about you,” Lars said, his eyes meeting mine as we shook.
“That’s good to hear.” I smiled.
“You’ve been selling season tickets like a boss,” Monique said, nudging me. “Everyone is talking about you.”
I grimaced. “Hopefully, not everyone.”
We all chuckled.
“Sorry I am late.” Another guy from the team, Konstantin Volkov, came up to the bar, standing beside us. He had a thick Russian accent and what I could only describe as a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Hey!” Michael Boone joined us a few seconds later and Nash motioned to the bartender.
“Hey, man, can we put a few tables together?” he asked.
“Absolutely. I’ll send over a waitress.”
