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“I grew up with brothers. When I was little I tried to keep up. Then I got older and discovered shoes were more fun.”
I laugh. In her defense, I’ll bet she looks good in sexy, strappy platforms. Hell, she probably looks good in dollar-store flip-flops…or nothing at all. How on earth does she not have a boyfriend? Too busy with school to bother? That’s the only explanation that makes sense, because there’s no way men haven’t noticed her.
“I have a sister who feels the same way about anything requiring a ball,” I explain. “At least I have my brother, Trace, to talk pigskin with.”
“Lucky you. I’m the only girl, so I’m outnumbered. My brothers won’t debate with me whether Choo or Louboutin makes a better shoe. I don’t understand why.” With a facetious sigh, she sits again, then sprawls her shapely legs out on the lounger, ankles crossed.
I smile and look for something to keep the conversation rolling. She’s more interesting than the usual jock groupie I meet. I kind of want to know this woman. Of course I want to get her bikini off. But laying the verbal groundwork for that is a little tougher than I expected. I can’t remember the last time I had to do more to attract a woman’s attention than walk into a room and crook my finger.
“How long will you be staying in Maui?” I ask.
“I haven’t decided.”
Harlow doesn’t say more, but her reticence suggests there’s more going on than simple school fatigue or job avoidance. If she’s got a master’s degree, she’s a smart, probably ambitious girl. She didn’t accomplish that by being lazy. I wonder what’s up.
“Want to talk about it?” I offer. “An impartial ear is sometimes best, and I’ve got nothing but time for a few months.”
“Thanks but…” She shakes her head. “No.”
That’s all she says. No niceties. No explanations. No apologies.
She’s hard to read. I’m surprised by how much that intrigues me.
Harlow cocks her head at me. “So what are you going to do with the rest of your life since you’re obviously way too young to sit in your front-porch rocker and watch the grass grow?”
Isn’t that a great question? “Like you, I’m pondering my options.”
It’s another reason I’m hanging out in Maui now. I left the NFL after my last injury. As I played my final game, I knew I would never suit up on a Sunday again. Everything I’d devoted my life to since age six…suddenly gone. To take the field any more would risk my long-term quality of life. Already I have side effects—but I don’t talk about that. The team’s doctors refused to clear me to play next season. My agent absolutely threw a shit fit when I even suggested rehabbing to get back in the game. Truth is, no franchise will gamble the huge salary I command under their cap since they seem to think I have one foot out the door and the other in the old folks’ home. I always promised myself I’d go out on top, so I did—with a really tough press conference and a slammin’ after party.
But now, I have no idea what to do. At thirty-four, I’m old by pro football standards. Endorsement deals are lucrative but not a career. I’m a man used to doing, not sitting back and counting my money. That’s never been why I worked my ass off. I need purpose.
That only makes the offer recently extended my way so hard to resist…but impossible to accept. Still, I can’t bring myself to turn it down.
“You know, I’ll just go.” She gathers her book and makes to stand. “It sounds like you’ve got heavy stuff on your mind and you bought this place for privacy, so I should let you have it.”
“Stay.” I look her way, hold her gaze. “It’s been a long-ass flight, and I’d rather not be alone. You’re…interesting. I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.”
She hesitates, and I see her weighing her options. Something that looks like regret crosses her face, and I know I have to act fast. My name doesn’t entice her. I get the sense money doesn’t, either. I have to try something else. I don’t know if my conversation is sparkling, but I know damn well how much time I spend pumping iron. I’ve been snapped a few times for both bodybuilding mags andGQ.
I whip off my shirt. And I see her eyes go wide.Bingo.
Finally, I’ve impressed her.
With her eyes glued to my pecs, she nods. “I-I guess I could do that.”
The smile that curls up my lips feels slow and wide and so, so satisfied. “Good. We got any food and booze in this place?”
“If we didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” she vows with attitude. “I’ve been slow-cooking a side of cow all day. I’m a red-meat girl. But I’m also not uncivilized. I’ve got a nice selection of wines to serve with that slab of meat. I’ll even give you a fork and a glass.”
“Cow sounds awesome, but I’ll pass on the vino. Got anything stronger?”
She raises a brow at me. “I’m breathing, aren’t I? Booze is essential. But I’m warning you, I can drink most men under the table.”
“Not me,” I promise her. “I will crush you.”
Harlow scoffs. “You wish. Ever had a liver transplant?”
“The operation?”
